Chapter 5 #2
She heaved a sigh. “It’s my grandfather.
His savings are running low, so I asked Papa to help, not knowing he was already helping—and that Papa owns Grandpa’s house.
Now Papa wants to sell and move Grandpa to Iowa.
But I’m making enough to meet our expenses now.
” Another sigh. “I made a mess of things. Grandpa says I was meddling.”
“Were you?” Prescott kept his voice soft.
She made a face. “Maybe. I was trying to help. Now Grandpa won’t even let me write to Papa about this, but I know I could convince him.” Earnestness pulsed in her expression.
Prescott shrugged. “But if it’s your grandfather’s house . . .”
“I know.” She folded the letter. “If I don’t keep this job, it’s all over.”
“You’ll keep this job. You’re doing wonderful work.” More than anything, he wanted to take her hand—in his? What was he thinking? Not yet.
But he could ask her out, and he saw a transition between scenes, between her grandfather’s woes and the evening’s plans. “You’re very fond of your grandfather, aren’t you?”
“I am. He’s . . .” She squinted at the path ahead.
Ria approached with Petty Officer Sebastian.
Maggie sprang to her feet and clapped her hands. “All right, everyone. Time to practice. Put your dishes on the cart and head inside. On the double.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Much laughing and saluting and clicking of heels.
Maggie rushed over to Vi. “Please make sure the props are in place for act 1. Barbara, would you please take care of Vi’s dishes for her?”
Prescott groaned and stood. He had one last chance to ask Maggie out, and he came up behind her and tapped her shoulder.
She faced him, smiled at him, and he opened his mouth.
Her gaze jerked past him, and her eyes widened. “Excuse me.” With a brilliant smile, Maggie brushed past him and over to the yeoman.
Turned her back on him.
Prescott grimaced and marched toward the theater. If Maggie preferred a sunny, smooth-skinned sailor to a melancholy Hollywood has-been, who could blame her?
Monday, November 15, 1943
Women bustled about the USO gymnasium, and Maggie stood in the doorway, mouth agape.
Holding a reel of red crepe paper, Mrs. Laverne gave Maggie an innocent smile. “May I help you?”
Maggie throttled back her annoyance and echoed the woman’s fake smile. “I assume we can rehearse in here this morning—as scheduled.”
Mrs. Laverne pursed her lips. “There must be a misunderstanding. We have a dance in here tonight. I’m sorry you didn’t see it on the schedule.”
How could Maggie see what wasn’t there? But she could indeed see the smirk on the older woman’s face.
In the hallway, the ten men and three ladies in Twelfth Night gave her quizzical looks.
“We’ll go to the Little Theater, then,” Maggie said.
Mrs. Laverne clucked her tongue. “If you’d looked at the schedule, you would have seen we’re holding lectures in there all day.”
And if Mrs. Laverne had looked at the schedule, she would have seen the cast was rehearsing in the gym. But no good would come of saying so.
“What’s wrong?” Prescott asked in that gorgeous voice.
Maggie refused to be riled as Mrs. Laverne intended. “We can’t practice in the gym today. Or the Little Theater.”
“But the trial performance is on Wednesday.” Panic shimmered in Vi’s voice. “This is our last day to work on Twelfth Night.”
Maggie’s head spun. Tomorrow, only the Little Theater was available, which didn’t have room for the play.
Albert slapped the wall with his long-fingered hand. “We have to cancel.”
“We can’t.” Maggie’s voice trembled. “We need to run through the scenes, rehearse the blocking.”
Prescott’s brow furrowed, but a soothing steadiness rested in his gaze. “Your boss said we could use scripts. That will help.”
Not if her players banged around like bumper cars. “We’ll go somewhere else.”
“Where?” Carol asked. “A park?”
Too distracting, too public. “We’ll go to my grandfather’s house, his backyard.”
Maggie herded the cast out through the lobby, onto Broadway, and down two blocks to Horton Plaza. Before long, a trolley for the No. 7 line arrived in the sage green and cream of the San Diego Electric Railway. Since more people were heading into downtown than out, there was room for all of them.
Prescott handed the driver a dollar and forty cents to cover the crowd, and he sat across the aisle from Maggie. “That was a quick solution. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.” She chuckled. “Wait until Grandpa sees all these show people at his door.”
And show people were . . . show people. As the trolley dinged its way up Broadway, Freddie and Ferdy sang “Who Wouldn’t Love You?” with a soft-shoe routine in the aisle.
If the twins weren’t identical, she would have cast them in the two main comedic roles, but with identical costumes, the audience would have been confused.
Since they were slender and blond, she’d cast Ferdy as Sebastian, Viola’s twin, and added a green velvet hat to Vi’s and Ferdy’s costumes to further the conceit that they could be mistaken for each other.
Prescott got Maggie’s attention and—with a wry smile—tipped his head toward a middle-aged woman who held her magazine high to block the offense of music on the trolley.
But Maggie tipped her own head to a smiling elderly lady nodding to the beat.
The trolley wended up Park Boulevard, through Balboa Park, and onto University Avenue. When the trolley stopped at 30th Street, Maggie led everyone through the North Park neighborhood and had them wait on the sidewalk outside Grandpa’s house.
“Grandpa?” Maggie stepped inside. “I have a huge favor to ask.”
In his armchair, Grandpa lowered the San Diego Union. “Don’t you have rehearsals?”
“Mrs. Laverne kicked us out. Could we practice in the backyard? No song and dance to scandalize the neighbors. Just Shakespeare.”
“Well . . . sure.” Grandpa laid his paper on the coffee table. “Let me clean up and—”
“No need.” Maggie leaned out the front door. “Come on in.”
Grandpa chuckled and pushed himself to standing with his canes to greet his guests.
Maggie introduced each as they filed through to the yard, with Prescott last in line. “Grandpa, this is—”
“Prescott Duke!” Grandpa pumped his hand heartily. “I’m Bill Curtis. Maggie’s thrilled to have you in her show. We’re both fans. She’s taken me to every one of your pictures.”
Maggie’s smile stiffened. At least Grandpa hadn’t asked for an autographed photo for Maggie to smooch every night.
“I’m honored, Mr. Curtis,” Prescott said. “Thank you for opening your home to us.”
In the yard, the men were scooting flowerpots to mark the corners of the stage. After Maggie dusted off a lawn chair, she sat down with her script.
Act 1, scene 1. Prescott stood stage left, the area designated as Duke Orsino’s palace.
In his opening monologue, Prescott’s wistfulness added poignancy to the duke’s unrequited longing for Olivia. In the second scene, Viola stumbled onstage, shipwrecked, and learned her twin brother, Sebastian, was lost at sea. Vi’s own mourning for Frank made her voice quiver.
A little over three weeks until they would be reunited, a Christmas gift and surprise party all in one. Even Grandpa couldn’t fault Maggie for keeping such a secret.
Scene 3—the comedic trio of Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. Carol possessed the wit and timing for Maria’s role. If only she’d learned her lines. Maggie gave her another gentle reminder.
Then the fourth scene, between Duke Orsino and Viola disguised as Cesario. Thinking her a man, Orsino confessed his love for Olivia, but Viola was already pining for the duke.
Such palpable chemistry between Prescott and Vi. Was it based in reality?
What about Frank?
Perhaps Maggie should try to keep Prescott and Vi apart.
That would be the worst sort of meddling, the selfish sort, the jealous sort. Because her affection for Prescott grew deeper each day.
Maggie squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. Tried to listen. So difficult when she had so much to say.
“Maggie?” Prescott said. “Did we put you to sleep?”
She opened her eyes to see Prescott and Vi grinning at her. She smiled back. “Excellent. All right, scene 5. Lots of movement. Lots of humor. Let’s be lively.”
As the final scene finished, Prescott held Vi in his arms. Thank goodness there was no kissing in this play. He didn’t miss that part of Hollywood.
Maggie rose in her dark blue suit. “Much better. That’s all for today. Ladies, please be at the club tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp. Practice your lines.” But she was speaking to the cast members’ backs as they dispersed, chattering about plans for the evening.
Did Maggie have plans? Prescott gathered his script and bag. Frank Sebastian looked awful young for Maggie, but looks could be deceiving. And it was none of his business.
“Prescott? Vi?” Maggie beckoned them closer. “Would you like to join my grandfather and me for dinner? Just tuna casserole, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” Vi’s gaze skittered to the door. “I had plans with Carol.”