Here Today

by Ann M. Martin

  The producer sat down again.

  From the back of the theater, Ellie watched one woman after another walk across the stage. Several times the producer jumped up and called out, “Thank you!” before the woman even had a chance to say her name. He thanked one woman before she finished walking across the stage, and she left the theater in tears. Others, though, were asked to pose or to read cue cards, on which were written things like, “Circus, where your burger is served with a smile.” Or, “Circus, now in six new locations!”

  By the time the producer called, “Number thirteen!” Ellie’s palms were growing sweaty. By number fifteen, her heart was pounding.

  “SIXTEEN!” roared the producer, and Ellie jumped. Then she leaned forward, gripping the arms of her seat.

  Doris stepped calmly from the wings, every hair in place. She walked slowly across the stage, smiling out at the audience the entire time. When she reached the other side she turned casually, still smiling, and walked confidently back to center stage, “my name,” she said in a voice as smooth and rich as chocolate ice cream, “is Doris Day Dingman.” She continued to smile at the producer.

  The producer smiled back at her. Then he nodded toward the woman holding the cue cards.

  Doris glanced at the first card and read, “‘Here at Circus, burgers are served with a smile.’” Cheerfully, she pantomimed setting a plate on a table.

  The producer indicated that Doris should read the next card. And the next and the next. Doris read them flawlessly, her smile never wavering.

  Ellie relaxed in her chair.

  Much later, when the last woman had taken her turn, the producer stood up once again. “Ladies!” he called. “Everyone onstage, please. Form a line.”

  Twenty-eight women were left and they lined up along the front of the stage.

  “Very nice work,” said the producer. “I’m going to call out some numbers now. If you hear yours, take one step forward. Ready? Three, seven, sixteen, eighteen, twenty-five.”

  Doris and four other women stepped forward.

  “Thank you,” said the producer. “You ladies in back may leave. You five in front, please stay behind.”

  Ellie’s mouth dropped open. She expected Doris to jump up and down and clap her hands, but Doris stood, smiling and casual, and waited for the producer to speak again. Doris did offer Ellie a small, private wave, though, and Ellie grinned at her.

  “Ladies,” said the producer, “my assistant is going to give each of you a scene to rehearse. Please return tomorrow morning at eleven and be prepared to read it. I’ll make my decision then. Have a good evening.”

  Not until Ellie and Doris had left the Little Town Theater and were walking back to the Buick did Doris grab Ellie’s hand and say in a loud whisper, “I got a callback! I got a callback!”

  “I got a callback!” Doris announced the moment she opened the front door to Nan and Poppy’s house.

  “Watch this!” called Albert, rushing at her with a purple scarf in one hand and a small silver ball in the other.

  “I can do magic!” cried Marie, holding an egg aloft.

  “What? What’s this?” asked Nan. She emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

  “I got a callback,” Doris repeated. “There were forty-one other girls there for the audition, and the producer only asked five of us to return tomorrow. I have a scene to rehearse and everything.”

  “Well now, well now,” said Poppy. “This is exciting.”

  “You have to go back tomorrow?” repeated Marie. “You mean we get to spend another night here? Nan, Poppy, we get to spend another night here! Doris, do you want to see a magic show? Me and Albert learned so many tricks. We’re going to put on a show for you. When do you want to see it?”

  “Oh, later, hon,” said Doris. “I’ve got to rehearse. I don’t have much time to prepare.” She started up the stairs.

  “But—” said Albert. He dropped his hands to his sides, and the scarf trailed to the floor.

  “Aren’t you going to put on a show for me?” asked Ellie. “I want to see a show. Unless Nan needs me to help her with something.”

  “No, no. You sit down right there, honey,” said Nan.

  Ellie plopped onto the couch. “I’m ready,” she said.

  Albert stuffed the scarf in his pocket. “It would be better if Doris was here, too.”

  That evening, after Ellie and Albert and Marie had telephoned their father, after dinner, after Doris had said she had rehearsed enough and had gone off with her friends again, and after Albert and Marie had climbed the stairs to the spare room, Ellie sat at the kitchen table with her grandmother.

  “Nan? Did Doris always want to be a star?”

  Nan poured out two cups of tea from a pot with ATLANTIC CITY scrawled on it in very fancy writing, and pushed one toward Ellie.

  “Well, she always liked being the center of attention, that’s for sure. She never was shy. Any chance to perform … there was your mother.”

  “We saw the trophies in her room. Are they all for beauty pageants?”

  “Mostly. But she won a talent contest when she was in junior high. Won by reciting that poem by Edgar Allan Poe. The one about the talking bird. ‘Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”’ I never did understand what that was about. I’m not sure your mother did, either. But she sure said it beautifully.”

  “How old was Doris when she met Dad?”

  “Oh, goodness. Now let me see. Eighteen, I guess. And they’d up, run off, and married in the space of four months. He was your mother’s ticket out of here.”

  “Doris was too big for Baton, I guess,” said Ellie.

  “No, honey. But Baton was too small for her. There’s a difference.”

  “Not much of one,” called Poppy from his den.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” whispered Nan. “He’s an old grouch.”

  “He’s mad because Doris is out again,” said Ellie.

  “Well, he’d like to see more of her. So would I. We’d like to see more of you and Marie and Albert, too.”

  “I wonder what will happen tomorrow,” said Ellie. “After the callback.”

  Nan reached across the table and laid her old, leathery hand on Ellie’s smooth one. “No sense in speculating,” she said. “Leave tomorrow be. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Where’s my good-luck charm?” called Doris the next morning. “Come on, Eleanor. We have to be back at the theater in half an hour.”

  “Are you leaving already?” asked Albert. He emerged from the den wearing a black top hat. “You never saw our show.”

  “We’re going to take turns being the assistant,” added Marie. “When Albert is my assistant I’m going to make him wear Nan’s high heels.”

  “Are not,” said Albert.

  “Am too.”

  “Well, I’ll have to see it later,” Doris told them. “I absolutely cannot be late for this. Ready, Eleanor? Here, take my script. You can read it with me in the car. I already have all my lines memorized, but I want to practice a few more times.”

  In the car on the way to Magnolia, Ellie read the three lines belonging to someone called Announcer over and over, while in between Doris recited Circus Girl’s lines.

  “So come on and join the Circus,” Doris said as she nosed the Buick through the two blocks that made up the center of Baton.

  Ellie wanted to say, “Doris, show me your school. Where did you go to school? Show me the drive-in where you said you saw Laura. Show me where your friends lived. Is there a hospital here? Did you ever have to spend the night in it?” But she settled back in her seat and listened to Doris recite.

  “Okay, one more time,” Doris said when she had finished.

  Ellie let a small sigh escape, then started the scene again.

  ANNOUNCER: Hello, America. When you’re tired, when you’re hungry, when the kids are underfoot, when you just don’t feel like cooking … where do you go?

  CIRCUS GIRL: Why, to Circus, o
f course! Welcome to the home of family food and family fun! Where a complete meal costs less than a dollar, and the entertainment is free. That’s right. While you wait for your food, you can ride the Circus Train, watch Boffo the Clown make balloon animals, and color the place mats. Children under twelve get a free box of Circus Crayons!

  ANNOUNCER: And the food is fabulous.

  CIRCUS GIRL: There’s something for everyone. Circus Burgers, Happy Clown Hot Dogs, Acrobatic Onion Rings, steak, French Fries, and even peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the kids.

  ANNOUNCER: Or for the kid in you! And with our new locations, the Circus is closer than ever.

  CIRCUS GIRL: So come on and join the Circus!

  “You know,” said Ellie, “this commercial doesn’t really make much sense. First of all, Circus is only in New York, so at the beginning, the announcer should say, ‘Hello, New York,’ not, ‘Hello, America.’ Because if you live in Idaho or somewhere you can’t go to Circus. And also—”

  “Eleanor, stop! Don’t say anything else. You’re going to confuse me,” said Doris. “Please just read the lines.”

  “Okay,” said Ellie. She paused. Then she added, “I think you’re doing great, Doris. I really do.”

  “Thanks, hon.”

  “And I think you’ll get this job. If you do, I’ll bet we’ll get to eat free at Circus from now on.”

  “Hon, if I get the job, we won’t need to eat at Circus. We can eat at La Duchesse Anne anytime we want. Okay, let’s try this once more.”

  “All right.” Ellie cleared her throat. “Hello, America,” she began.

  This time when Ellie and Doris entered the Little Town Theater, the bored man at the door ushered them right inside.

  “Now you go sit down, Eleanor,” said Doris. “Sit where you sat yesterday, and keep thinking good thoughts for me, okay?”

  “Okay,” Ellie replied, and found her seat again. The silence in the theater that morning was, as Ellie had once heard David Levin’s father say, deafening. Ellie crossed one leg over the other and jiggled her foot back and forth. She drummed her fingers on the arm of her seat as quietly as she could manage. And even while she told herself not to do it, she let her thoughts stray to Doris as the Circus Girl, to meals eaten at La Duchesse Anne (Ellie might even try snails), to climbing onto the school bus and calling hello to row after row of friendly faces.

  Ellie, determined to think only happy thoughts, pretended that Doris had already been chosen the Circus Girl and that today’s callback was actually a rehearsal. She straightened her back as the producer greeted the five returning women and asked them to sit in the front row and wait for him to call their names. She watched, feeling somehow detached, while the first woman walked onto the stage and read the scene with a young man who had been sitting next to the producer. She noted that the woman, who smiled and spoke very chirpily, left out the part about the Circus Train, and said, “Happy Clown Burgers and Circus Dogs,” instead of, “Circus Burgers and Happy Clown Hot Dogs.”

  Ellie stiffened a bit as she watched the second woman, who didn’t make a single mistake and was very beautiful. She wasn’t quite as chirpy as the first woman, but she did smile a lot.

  Ellie’s confidence returned, though, when the third woman stumbled over her lines, started again at the beginning, stumbled a second time, and finally rushed through the rest of the scene, making it up as she went along. “That’s right. Circus is happy to serve all kinds of food. Hamburgers and hot dogs and food just for the kids.” She missed her last line completely, nodding and grinning when the announcer said that the Circus was closer than ever.

  “Thank you, honey,” said the producer after a short pause during which Ellie nearly jumped to her feet and called out, “So come on and join the Circus!” just to fill up all the empty air in the theater.

  The producer looked at the man sitting next to him. Then, “Thank you,” he said again. “You may go.”

  The woman put her hand to her mouth, walked quickly off the stage, and left the theater.

  “Doris Day Dingman!” called the producer.

  Ellie clasped clammy hands together, squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. Doris stood on the stage, smiling at the man playing the announcer.

  “Hello, America,” said the announcer, and Ellie found herself silently reciting the rest of the line along with him. But when Doris began speaking, Ellie sat back and listened. From time to time she stole a glance at the producer. She saw him nod his head as Doris finally exclaimed, “So come on and join the Circus!” in a bouncy rhythm: So come on and join the Circus!

  When the fifth woman began the scene and said her lines smoothly but way too fast, Ellie stopped listening. She turned toward Doris, who had taken her seat in the front row again, wanting to give her the thumbs-up sign, but Doris’s eyes were fixed on the people onstage.

  The producer thanked the fifth woman when she had finished. He scribbled on a pad of paper. He consulted with the man sitting next to him. He walked to the back of the theater and stood not far from Ellie in a dramatic pose, eyes closed, hands behind his back, taking deep breaths and turning his head upward as if silently consulting someone in the balcony. At last he returned to his seat. He eased himself into it. Then he stood up again and addressed the hopeful Circus Girls.

  “This has been a difficult decision,” he said. “Very difficult. But I can ask only one of you to remain behind. Wendy Johnson, Pamela Curtis, and Doris Day Dingman, you may go. Betty Creason, please come talk to me. You are our new Circus Girl.”

  Very quietly, Ellie got to her feet. She looked across the theater at Betty Creason, the beautiful woman. Betty had rushed to the producer and was squealing, “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” while Wendy, Pamela, and Doris gathered their coats and pocketbooks and made their way to the aisle.

  Doris was the last to reach the aisle, and Ellie hurried to meet her.

  “Doris!”

  Doris Day Dingman, her eyes fastened on the back of the theater, walked stiffly behind Pamela Curtis.

  “Doris?” said Ellie.

  But Doris didn’t answer.

  On the way back to Baton, Doris swerved the Buick around corners and passed cars on narrow country roads. Ellie leaned cautiously to her left and peeked at the speedometer. The needle hovered near seventy.

  “Doris,” said Ellie tentatively, “you were the best one there. You really were. That producer doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He—”

  “Eleanor,” Doris replied quietly, “shut up.”

  Back at Nan and Poppy’s, Doris stormed into the house and said only two sentences. “Eleanor, Albert, Marie, pack your things. It’s time to go home.”

  “But—” said Albert, who was wearing the tall black magician’s hat and Nan’s high heels.

  Ellie nudged him. “Don’t argue,” she whispered. “Just do what she says.”

  Half an hour later the Buick, with Doris and her things in front, and Ellie, Albert, Marie, Kiss, and their things in back, screeched away from Nan and Poppy’s driveway. Ellie craned her neck around for one last look at her grandparents and saw them standing hand in hand on the front stoop, Nan holding a handkerchief to her mouth.

  In early November of 1963, the weather in Spectacle grew unseasonably warm. Ellie and Marie started sleeping with their window open. Ellie missed the summertime night sounds—the crickets and katydids and peepers—but she breathed in the autumn smells and, when she had trouble sleeping, she let her mind wander ahead to the Harvest Parade—just two weeks away—and then to Thanksgiving and Christmas and anything that would take her out of school for a while.

  One Saturday morning, after a particularly restless night, she awoke with a start when she heard a scream. She sat up, her mind foggy. Across the room, Marie’s bed was empty. Light filtered through the curtains that fluttered by the open window. Ellie reached for her clock and peered at it, rubbing her eyes. Eight-thirty. She rarely slept this late. She listened for a moment but heard nothing. She
must have been dreaming, she thought. And then she heard the front door slam and voices in her yard.

  By the time she had tossed off her nightgown and pulled on the clothes she’d worn the day before, which were lying on the floor, Kiss had begun barking.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Ellie called as she dashed outside, still barefoot. Her parents and Marie and Albert stood uncertainly in the front yard, looking down the street.

  “Something at Miss Woods and Miss Nelson’s!” Albert replied.

  “I think it’s a Bad Thing,” added Marie.

  Ellie, her feet freezing, because it was warm for November but not all that warm, jammed her feet into a pair of Albert’s sneakers that she grabbed from the front porch. Then she pounded down the street, narrowly avoiding tripping over Pumpkin, who was flying along behind Holly. Ahead of her, the Witch Tree Lane families were gathering on the ladies’ lawn.

  “Who screamed?” Ellie asked Holly. “What happened?”

  “I’m sorry!” Miss Nelson was saying. “I’m so sorry. Oh, I woke up the whole neighborhood.”

  “That’s all right,” said Mrs. Levin, putting her arm around Miss Nelson’s shoulders.

  When Ellie saw that everyone else—every single other person who lived on her street—was crowded around Miss Woods, who was standing defiantly by the Witch Tree, she let out a great lungful of held-in breath. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but no one seemed to be hurt, and so she sank to the grass and sat there for a moment. Ever since the afternoon when Doris had told Ellie to shut up, had wrenched her and Albert and Marie away from Nan and Poppy’s, Ellie had felt doomed. It was why she couldn’t sleep at night. It was why she jumped when the phone rang, why her heart pounded harder than usual each time the doors to the school bus swung open. Doris’s mood had slowly improved since that awful day—and now all she talked about was the Harvest Parade—but Ellie had become jumpy. She didn’t know what she thought might happen, just something bad.