Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  “I couldn’t,” she said. “My father told me never to come back because I ran off with Marty.”

  “Go back anyway!”

  “I couldn’t,” she said, though she knew he was right. Her father and mother would take her in and look after her without a murmur. And then she asked him, “Do you honestly think I have any talent?”

  He blinked at her. “You want I should tell you?”

  “Tell me the truth. I promise it won’t cost you any money.”

  “All right,” he said. “You got looks and you got a certain quality. You show up on stage and people like you. That’s important. All my life, people hate me when I step on stage. So what does it matter if I have talent?”

  “You really think I have a chance in the business?”

  He nodded. “I tell you what I’ve been thinking. But I didn’t tell him. And don’t you tell him either. I think with your face and figure you’d do great in the movies.”

  She was surprised. “You really think that?”

  “Don’t tell Marty-smarty!”

  “I won’t,” she said.

  The little man got up dolefully. “All I know is, he better show up tonight.” And he moved back to the rear of the car to sit alone.

  Nita considered all that he’d said. She was secretly more concerned about Marty than she’d let on. He’d been angry at himself for spoiling the act the previous night and he’d surely gone off to finish the job of drinking himself into unconsciousness. She hoped he would come around in time and that he would stop drinking so crazily.

  Kress had told her she had talent and that she might do well on the silver screen. Nita had confidence in the sour little man’s opinions. He was not her favorite person but he did know show business. Perhaps if she could somehow keep Marty from destroying himself they might get to Hollywood and have their chance …

  Belle Ames came to sit with her and said, “Was Kress giving you a bad time?”

  “No. He wasn’t bad at all. But he’s worried about Marty.”

  “Do you think he’ll show up?” her friend asked.

  “I can only pray that he does. We can’t afford to lose a job now.”

  “Marty doesn’t care,” Belle warned her.

  “He must have some character,” Nita said. “How can he let me and the baby down?”

  Belle’s big eyes were sympathetic. “You oughtn’t to be still dancing. You’re at least five months, aren’t you?”

  “Just.”

  “It’s time you quit,” her friend warned.

  “I will at the end of the week.”

  “You said that last week,” Belle reminded her.

  Nita smiled wryly. “I intended to. But then Marty got worse.”

  “He’s no good. We warned you!”

  “I know,” she said.

  Belle sighed. “If Marty doesn’t show I suppose we can fill in for a night or two. The Madame can go on for a second session of songs.”

  “She’s good enough,” Nita agreed. “But it would hardly be fair to her.”

  “Kress won’t worry about that.”

  Nita gave her friend a glance. “Maybe I could fill in as a single.”

  “A single?”

  “Marty did the act as a single before I joined it.”

  “That’s different!”

  “Not so much,” Nita protested. “I can do the first dance solo, and go into a monologue using some of our patter. And I can surely do the last number.”

  “You’d be dancing onstage for almost twenty minutes,” Belle warned her.

  “I could do that,” she said, though she knew she’d be taxing herself to the limit if she tried.

  Belle shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Marty. He has talent and a nice wife like you. What is it?”

  “A wild Irish taste for drink which he inherited, for one thing,” she said. “And he’s proud! Far too proud! It killed him the other night when Kress said he was only keeping him on because of me.”

  “He should know Kress talks ragtime!”

  “Even so, Marty can’t take things like that. He knows he’s good and he’s afraid he may never get his chance. It’s different with Madame Irma, she’s also good but she’s past her prime. And she knows what it means to be a big headliner. She was there.”

  Belle smiled ruefully. “And she never lets you forget it.”

  “I don’t blame her,” Nita said. “She has a right to be proud.”

  The Opera House in Milton was no more enticing than any of the others they had played in. But it was a novelty in one respect — after playing a long series of one-nighters they were going to play in the old house for a week. The manager had encountered some booking troubles and was willing to give them a better deal than usual so Sherman Kress accepted it.

  But as curtain time of opening night drew near all the little company were on edge. There was still no sign of Marty. Nita had privately discussed with Kress the possibility of her filling in as a single for the act and he had agreed after a good deal of argument. As the time approached she lined up a new cue sheet for the piano player in the pit and improvised a new routine.

  She maintained hope that Marty would appear all during the screen section of the program. The main feature was a society drama starring Neil Hamilton and Lois Wilson. The comedy which preceeded it was another Billy Bowers two-reeler. It seemed that Marty’s old friend was gaining in popularity.

  Sherman Kress came to her tiny dressing room as Madame Irma took over the stage. He was in a tense state. “No question now, he won’t be here,” he said. “Are you ready to go on alone?”

  “Yes,” she promised.

  “And the piano player?”

  “I’ve given him a new cue sheet.”

  “I’ll introduce you as a single,” Kress said grimly. “I’ve got to get back on stage now.” And he hurried off.

  Nita sat staring at herself in the murky dressing room mirror. So this was to be her big night! It was the sort of break many girls only dreamed about. But under the circumstances it meant nothing to her. She saw the sad-faced young girl in the mirror and knew that she wanted Marty back more than any stage fame.

  Yet once she went on alone and proved herself, she would have a new independence which had never been hers before. It did not matter that this was a small time troupe in a minor theatre, it would make the start of her appearing alone as a professional. If she won the audience it could open an entire new future for her. But she wanted to share the future with Marty and their child, and it didn’t seem to matter to him at all.

  They called her. She dabbed a last bit of powder on her nose and hurried out to the backstage area. Pontiface and Percy were just finishing their act. Percy was playing “The Star Spangled Banner” on his horns with the help of Belle. The act ended in the usual burst of applause. Then the curtain came down and it was her turn.

  Belle hurried off stage and paused to pat her on the arm. “Best of luck, honey!”

  “Thanks,” Nita said weakly, the pit of her stomach heaving.

  Sherman Kress gave her a look of utter despair and then with a smile frozen on his mean little face bounced out and with great zest announced, “A new act tonight, ladies and gents! A fine singing and dancing star from Broadway’s bright lights, I give you that charming comedienne, Nita Nolan!”

  The announcement brought scattered applause, cheers and a few boos from the gallery. The curtain rose and the piano player began the opening music. Nita took a deep breath and then, smiling, danced out on stage. What happened afterwards she was never quite sure. After her dance she launched into her improvised comic routine, then sang some romantic melodies and ended with a long, strenuous session of dancing, all in a sort of excited daze. When she finally danced offstage to a good round of applause the whole episode was jumbled in her mind.

  Madame Irma was waiting in the wings to give her a kiss and hug. The older woman said, “You’re a real trouper, dearie! And they loved you!”

  It
was true. As a single she had drawn as much, if not more applause, than she and Marty had together. Sherman Kress came and dragged her on again. She thanked the audience in a thin voice and then did an encore of her closing number. It went well and the show finished on a happy note.

  Kress came to her saying, “You were great! If Marty doesn’t come back we can do without him!”

  She gave the little man a wry look. “Don’t forget, I’ve an act of my own to break in a few months from now.”

  He frowned. “I’d forgotten.”

  “At least I can carry on now,” she went on quickly. “That’s the main thing.”

  “You’re not too tired?” he wanted to know.

  “No,” she said. “I feel fine.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth. She felt extremely weary and she was conscious of carrying the baby for the first time. It seemed like a weight bearing her down, which in fact it was.

  Yet she had no choice. She must continue through the week at least, and decided to tell Sherman Kress at the end of the week that he had better wire for a replacement act. She would carry on until one arrived and then she’d have to take a room somewhere and hope her small savings would carry her over until the baby was born. It was also possible she might get some easier job like being a cashier or a clerk in some store. This thought, however unappealing, gave her hope.

  By Thursday it was a torment to go on. Each time she came to the last dance she had pains in her abdomen which were more than fleeting. But she spoke of these to no one.

  On Saturday night she was feeling truly ill. The pains were striking at intervals all around the clock. She knew that she must stop dancing as soon as possible. She sat alone before the dressing room mirror praying that Marty might return. How could he desert her and their unborn child?

  She was asking herself this for the hundredth time when the door of her dressing room slowly opened as if in a perverse answer to her prayers, and a thoroughly washed-out and dejected Marty appeared. His face was covered with a stubble of beard, his eyes were sunken and feverish, and his clothes were a wrinkled mess. He came inside the door and closing it, leaned against it and stared at her.

  She jumped up and went to him. “Marty!”

  He kept her at arm’s length with a sour smile, saying, “I ain’t very sanitary!”

  “I don’t care,” she sobbed. “Oh, Marty, you did come back!”

  “What made you doubt it?”

  “I didn’t really! But we’ve all been so worried!”

  Marty said sarcastically, “That’s not the way I heard it. Kress tells me you’re doing so well alone he never wants to bother with me again.”

  “He’s only saying that!”

  “You look great,” Marty said. “Maybe he’s right! I offered to go on tonight and he refused. So I guess its no longer Nita and Nolan. Just Nita Nolan!”

  “That’s nonsense!” she protested. “I don’t want to go on. I’d much rather you did the act!”

  “I’ll be watching from the rear,” Marty drawled. “And in between I’ve got some important drinking to do.”

  Then he was gone. She could scarcely believe that he had been there, or that he had said the things he had. It was like some crazy nightmare. How could she reach this stubborn man and let him know she loved him? That all she had gone through was for him? She had a throbbing headache now as well as the shooting pains in her abdomen. She was ill and heartbroken. Sinking into the hard chair she bowed her head and sobbed quietly.

  There was a brisk knock on the door and Sherman Kress let himself in. He peered at her with concern. “Did he come in here and upset you?”

  She looked up. “He was here. He said you refused to let him go on.”

  “Did you take a good look at him?” Kress demanded. “Do you think he’s fit to go on tonight?”

  “No.”

  “I told him to go out and sober up before he came to me again,” Kress said sourly.

  She gave the little man a pleading look. “You will give him another chance? Take him on again! You know I filled in only to keep our place in the show. But I can’t go on after tonight. I wanted to hold the job for him. We need it so badly!”

  Kress nodded impatiently. “I ain’t the Salvation Army! If he turns up clean and sober on Monday, he can take over the act again. But no more drinking!”

  She felt better. “I’ll tell him,” she said. “And I promise he’ll be all right.”

  “You ready to go on??” Kress asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, better move, it’s near time!” Kress said and went on his way.

  Nita fixed her mascara in the mirror and then followed him. She knew the time onstage would be an ordeal. Together with her headache she had to contend with those occasional pains in her mid-region, which invariably seemed to get worse when she danced. On top of everything else there was the knowledge that a drunken Marty would be somewhere in the theatre watching her. And she had no idea what kind of behavior might be expected from him.

  Onstage she waited while Percy finished his patriotic horn playing. Kress stood by her nervously. There was an added tension among them all because of Marty’s return.

  She whispered to the little man, “Be sure Marty doesn’t get away. Send someone down to tell him I want to speak with him.”

  Kress shrugged. “I won’t guarantee it’ll do any good.”

  “We can’t let him vanish again!”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

  Then the curtain fell and Kress rushed out with his usual zest to introduce her. Belle came running over to her, concern in her face. “I hear Marty is back, causing trouble,” her friend said.

  Nita nodded. “I think it’ll be all right.”

  Belle stared at her worriedly. “You look sick!”

  “I’ll make it,” she told the girl. And as the piano player began her music she danced onto the stage.

  Because it was a Saturday night the theatre was filled to capacity, and the audience was in a gala mood. They took to Nita at once. She went through her act in a dazed state. By the time she had reached her final tap dance to the tune of “Gimme A Little Kiss, Will You, Huh?” the pains became unbelieveably acute. She wanted to cry out each time she whirled about on the stage, but she gritted her teeth and hoped she would manage to finish.

  She ended her routine and almost staggered off. There was a roar of applause and Sherman pressed her on again, “Give them a little more!” he urged her.

  “I can’t!” she wailed. But he had already pushed her out onto the stage.

  The pianist automatically picked up the lilting tune once more and Nita forced a mechanical smile and began to tap dance once again. She managed to continue for about a minute longer; then the pain in her abdomen blacked everything else out and she collapsed right there onstage.

  She opened her eyes to darkness and a strange noise. Belle was leaning over her, an arm around her. “It’s all right,” her friend said, “we’re driving you to a hospital!”

  Nita heard the words in a daze and then the terrible sharp pain came back and she became unconscious once more. She had no recollection of anything after that until she opened her eyes to dull daylight in a small room with a window and another bed in it. The other bed was screened from her. She tried to call out but no sound escaped her lips. All her body seemed on fire.

  Ages seemed to pass. She lay there unable to collect her thoughts. It was just enough to endure the pain. Then she heard a sound and looked up to see a white-capped nurse staring down at her.

  “You’ve come to,” the nurse said with a slight smile. “Your friends will be glad to know that.”

  Nita made a great effort to speak and only managed a whisper, “Hospital?”

  “Yes,” the nurse said. “You’re safe in a hospital and you are going to get better soon.”

  Nita stared up at her and then fainted again. She was aware of being given a sweet, thick liquid to drink and then she fell into a blissful, painless sleep. When she awa
kened again the sun was shining in the window. The screen had vanished from around her bed and the bed across from her was empty.

  A nurse came and asked, “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes,” she said, the miracle being that she had a voice, even though it was small and weak.

  “The doctor will be in to see you shortly,” the nurse said briskly. “You’ve had quite a time!”

  “How long?” she asked.

  “You’ve been here three days,” the nurse said. “Your friends have been constantly calling about you. The show has moved on to a town about fifteen miles from here.”

  “I see,” she said, remembrance coming back. She had fallen on the stage. The pain had been beyond bearing.

  The doctor and another nurse came in to examine her. He nodded and went through his professional duties and made several comments to the nurse, who wrote down his instructions. Then he gazed at her sharply. He was middle-aged and stern.

  “You’re finally coming around,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “You know you might have died?”

  “No.”

  He frowned. “You did a very stupid thing, dancing like that in your condition. You were aware of your condition?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you not have medical advice? Did no one tell you that dancing so late in your term was a stupid and dangerous thing to do?”

  “I had no choice,” she said meekly.

  “We all have a choice,” the doctor told her. “You must have been in great pain. Why did you go on?”

  “There were — reasons.”

  “I hope they were good,” the doctor said brusquely. “Not only did you put your own life in danger, you lost the child.”

  Tears choked Nita and she was unable to say anything.

  He stared at her. “You are married?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have had serious internal damage. You must not dance again for a long while. Months. And I cannot guarantee you will ever again be able to conceive a child.”

  She listened in abject silence. She knew it did not matter that he had broken her heart in a matter of seconds. She was of no real interest to him, merely a creature who had caused him a good deal of what he considered needless bother.