The Chelsea Girls(8)
After the last news item was announced, Maxine said a few lines in German, then signed off with a kiss. “Danke fürs Zuh?ren.”
They tiptoed outside the room as the technician put on a record.
The colonel beamed down at Maxine. “Well done. Come back next week. Same time.” He looked her up and down. “Maybe we’ll get some photos taken, fire them over the lines so they can get a long, sweet look at our girl Lina. This could really be something big.”
“I’m thrilled you’re pleased.” Maxine drew close. “Maybe you could do something for me.” She went on to describe the story of the boys they’d rescued on their way into town. “We were hoping you could follow up, make sure they’re properly seen to, in case it turns out that they did work for the resistance. It would mean the world, if you could inquire.”
“I suppose I can look into it. A German and an Italian, you say?”
“Yes. Paul and Matteo.”
“Fine, fine.” He took his leave, even shaking Hazel’s hand. “See you gals in a week.”
Out in the bright sunshine of the plaza, Maxine let out a deep laugh. Hazel couldn’t help but join in from relief.
Maxine elbowed Hazel in the ribs. “I couldn’t have pulled it off without you. Looks like Lina aus Amerika’s new fans are getting two girls in one package: I’ll be her voice and you’ll be her brains.”
To think that, twenty-four hours earlier, Hazel had written off Maxine as a bossy witch. Now they were linked as comrades in arms. She hoped her brother had made a similar friend in the short time before his death.
“You look a little wiped out.” Maxine led her to a fountain where a trident-wielding Neptune stood watch over lions that, before the bombing, had spewed streams of water. Instead, their empty mouths gaped, as if they were uttering silent roars at the destruction of their city. “Let’s sit over here a minute.”
Hazel scanned the streets. Their ride was nowhere in sight. “I hope we make it back in time for the show.”
“The soldiers will still be waiting, no matter how late we show up.”
The giddy bubbles of relief slowly faded, replaced by the memory of the angry mob earlier that afternoon. Hazel spoke quietly. “Do you think the colonel will follow up like he said?”
“I don’t know. Hopefully, we’ll have more news next week.” Maxine waved an arm out in front of her. “Every person here has a story, and most of them will probably end more pitifully than the ones we got a glimpse of today. Children dying of hunger while their mothers watch, unable to help. The world is a horrible place, and in the frenzy to be right, to force their will, these armies trample over each other. Trust me, I’ve been out here since last year and the one thing I’ve learned is that we’re all at the mercy of the powers that be.”
Maxine’s view was so tragic, Hazel couldn’t agree. She got the distinct impression that under the grand speechifying lurked the same fear for the boys’ safety that gnawed at Hazel. “Once Hitler is stopped, and all the newspapers say that might be any day now, we’ll be able to right all these wrongs,” she insisted. “Fix what was broken. Take care of the children.”
As the Jeep pulled up, Maxine stood and straightened Hazel’s tie. “Enough with all this gosh-shucks optimism, Hayseed. For now, you just worry about not missing your entrance cue again.”
* * *
A week later, the news broke that Hitler had committed suicide, lifting the spirits of the soldiers, but Hazel detected a hesitancy behind the celebrations. The war in the Pacific was still raging, and no doubt the troops would soon be shipped east to join in the battle against Japan. Even after four long years of war in Europe, the fighting wasn’t over.
The book of plays had warmed Hazel’s welcome among the actresses, to her grateful delight. During the next week, they rehearsed in the mornings, filling in the men’s roles with soldiers who had some acting experience, and often learned their lines faster than the professionals. Hazel’s confidence grew with every show. Her knees stopped quaking before she stepped out onstage, and she could be present, in the moment, for most of her scenes. As the latest addition to their motley troupe, she didn’t get the leading roles, but that was fine with her. Better to have Maxine or Betty-Lou garner the loudest applause at the curtain call.
Not that it was perfect. She noticed that sometimes Maxine went off the deep end, overplaying her lines, but the men loved it when she swaggered about with a singsong cadence, even if it had very little to do with the character she was portraying. Betty-Lou often forgot what she was supposed to say next, but she shrugged it off with a good-natured squeal, while Verna had an annoying tendency to drift too far upstage.
At least half the soldiers had never seen a legitimate play and were intrigued by the whole concept. With an average age of twenty-six and a hunger for drama, they reminded Hazel of what she’d read about Shakespeare’s audiences, the groundlings, who stood out in all weather and had no qualms about letting their enthusiasm rip. The USO tour’s sets were basic, with scenery painted on fabrics that could be easily switched out between shows, and the minimum number of stage props. Yet for a few hours, there was no doubt the men were instead imagining the grand interior of an English manor house or a tiny village in Andalusia.