A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Forty-Seven

Thanksgiving was a tense affair that year, what with all the papers trumpeting news about the Britannic and declaring that America's entry into the war was inevitable. Sebastian spent the entire day fretting over these late developments; Rose wanted to relax and enjoy the holiday, but kept her mouth shut. She understood he was out of his mind with fear for his mother. Sometimes one had to wonder why, after the woman heartlessly abandoned him as she did, but on some level Rose understood this, too. They were both, in a sense, orphans.

She made her first attempt at baking a turkey, even insisting that they drive to the cottage the night before so that she could rise in the wee hours of the morning to begin preparing. But the bird, when it was done, came out of the oven dry and tough as cardboard, despite her best efforts. Sebastian, bless him, sang high praises to Arnolde's sausage stuffing, Marie's peas and rice, Bridie's apple bread, and Randolph's pumpkin pie, without hinting he knew where the recipes must have originated.

That night, as they lay spooned together, Rose timidly whispered the question she'd been afraid to ask since Sebastian first told her the truth about his mother.

"Will you go, Sebastian? If we declare war on Germany, will you fight?"

He took a long time to answer. "Right now, I'm not going anywhere but to sleep." His tone was sharp, harsher than he intended. Her back stiffened, and he hastened to add, "I'm not leaving you, Rose."

She knew otherwise.

*****

A stout, snub-nosed man in a derby hat pressed his face against the glass of the ticket booth. "Excuse me, young lady," he yelled at Rose, who had nodded off, a volume of poetry lying open in her lap.

He began to tap on the window impatiently. "Miss? Miss?"

Rose jumped, and the book fell to the floor. "Oh, my, I'm so sorry." Her hands fumbled for the cash box on the counter. "How many did you say?"

"I didn't," the customer huffed. "I need five. Two adults and three children."

As Rose counted the crisp dollar bills and tore tickets from a roll, she glimpsed the man's wife, as stout and mean-looking as her husband, surrounded by three whining youngsters, whom their mother did her best to ignore. Rose decided not to tell them that the children's portion of the show was over. Unless they wanted to see the can-can dancers. The rollicking music had started up, and the heavy thump of high heels on the stage mingled with whoops and whistles from the audience. Yep, Santa's Workshop was closed for the night. And his elf had to sell tickets to the stragglers.

No other patrons were to arrive that evening. Rose yawned and her mind drifted...then she heard tapping, this time at the door. It was Fritz with one of the dancers, who leaned against him for support, shoes in hand.

"Lola sprained her ankle," he explained. "I have to take her to hospital. You remember her lines in Three Wise Women?"

Rose frowned. "I don't think--"

"Good, good!" He was already ushering limping Lola to the exit. "You can close ze booth now," he called over his shoulder. "Hurry and get backstage. Ze skit is on in ten minutes."

"But I'm not her understudy," Rose protested. Fritz didn't hear. No matter; she'd attended all the rehearsals. Rose locked the booth and rushed backstage, where Angelica and Catherine, the plump but glamorous actress who sat beside Rose at the supper table the first time she visited the boarding house, were being outfitted.

"Why aren't you out front?" Angelica demanded. "Tell Lola she'd better hurry."

Rose explained what happened while searching the wardrobe for her costume.

"I thought you were my understudy," Catherine said.

"As if she could fit in your costume," Angelica snapped.

"And what's Lola, a size one?" Catherine, accustomed to Angelica's insults, retorted. "Go help Rose, darling," she said to the dresser, a mouse of a girl. "I can take it from here."

"I'm telling you, Rose's costume was never finished." Angelica leaned toward the mirror and began to pluck her eyebrows with a pair of tweezers. "Mother is always so distracted--ow!"

"Serves you right for trying to do that yourself," Catherine remarked cattily.

Outside the audience was growing restless and bored with their introductory act, a ventriloquist whose dummy had no sense of comic timing. Anna Geisel stuck her head in the dressing room to urge the actresses to hurry it up. Rose was forced to make do with Lola's flimsy costume, a kimono, veil, and black wig that were supposed to identify her as an Arab woman. The kimono was entirely too tight and revealed a scandalous amount of décolletage, but there was no time to make adjustments to that or the wig.

The music began--an awful cacophony of flute, recorder, and tambourine, all at odds with one another--and the Three Wise Women glided onstage, carrying straw baskets on their heads. Rose quickly lowered hers to her chest as soon as she heard the lewd whistles and catcalls from the crowd. In doing so, she dislodged the wig, sending it flying across the stage and onto the lap of one of the bewildered musicians. The audience howled.

Angelica and Catherine, unaware of Rose's mishap, approached Anna, the Virgin Mary, and Max, Angelica's oft-times beau, who portrayed Joseph. This was a modernized version of the birth of Christ, with a squalid tenement apartment serving as the manger.

Max: (gaping at Rose) "What are you doing here?" Wrong line.

Angelica: (glaring at Max) "We're the Three Wise Women, and we've come from far-off lands to lay eyes on the blessed son of God."

Anna and Max: "Here? In our building?"

Catherine: "We followed the light from yon moon."

At this point, she was to gesture towards a spotlight in the rafters, but there were problems with the lighting this evening and a dim lantern that could barely be seen was substituted. Rose, thrown, forgot her line and decided to improvise.

Rose: "It's terribly distant. Perhaps we should try that address in Brooklyn."

Guffaws from the audience.

Catherine: (noting Rose's missing hairpiece for the first time) "Gracious, child, did you leave your wig on the el again?"

Rose put a hand self-consciously to her head, to more laughter. As Anna spoke her next line, Catherine leaned over and whispered, "Keep it up, hon, they're loving it."

Angelica: "In lieu of gifts, we come bearing advice for the parents of the king of kings." She removed the lid of her basket and withdrew a slip of paper. "Teach him humility, respect for all creatures, and above all, joy."

Catherine: "Teach him to walk a peaceful path. And make him do the cleaning once in a while."

Rose lifted the lid of her basket, frowned, fumbled around inside, and finally dumped its contents. Out came a pile of sawdust, and a sheet of paper.

Rose: "Come to Vitello's for a home-cooked Italian meal."

The audience roared.

Angelica was fuming. "Where is the child?" she asked, not giving the laughter a chance to die down.

Max: "He's around here somewheres. Joe Junior!"

Hans lumbered onstage in his underwear.

Rose received the most applause by far, and was relieved to see Sebastian smiling broadly at her from the wings. Angelica, however, was not amused. As they made their way backstage, she hissed in Rose's ear, "What was that supposed to be?"

"Looked like a hit to me," Rose replied, deadpan.

Though he never confirmed it, Rose suspected Sebastian of having replaced the gem of wisdom in her basket with the menu. He'd vowed for months that if the writing of the skits didn't improve, he'd take drastic measures. When Lola's doctor ordered her to stay off her feet, Rose saw a chance to showcase her talent. Each night, she'd substitute a different item in the basket; sometimes a menu, sometimes an advertisement from one of the papers. Once she used a cake recipe. It guaranteed a laugh every time.

In the beginning the audiences were modest in size, confirming what Angelica said about a possible boycott. But in early December, the troupe received an unexpected boost. While scouting for a new act, Sebastian managed to lure The Three Keatons, a family that been touring the vaudeville circuit for years. The son, called Buster, had a gift for physical comedy and was rumored to be on the verge of splitting from his family to make a living in moving pictures.

Buster was about Rose's age and in the short two weeks that they shared a stage they took a liking to each other. On his final night, he joined other members of the troupe for drinks at a nearby watering hole, and confirmed to Rose that he would soon be headed for California.

"Will I be seeing you there soon?" he inquired of her.

"Oh, no, I'm not leaving New York."

"That's what you say now. But you're a star, Rose. This stage, this troupe, it's too small a venue for you."

Just before they parted, he added, "When you get to Los Angeles, look me up."

*****

On closing night, the Saturday before Christmas, Rose was surprised to see quite a few familiar faces in the audience, and at the wrap party. Daphne Marceau, the theater director from Vassar, came with her husband, a respected playwright. Both were very complimentary of Rose, with Daphne's husband remarking that she had saved the Wise Women skit, a comment that did not go unnoticed.

Bill Scott showed up, escorting a young lady in a garish dress. Rose wondered if his parents had made her acquaintance. "How was the gala last weekend?" she asked.

"What gala?" the girl responded. There was Rose's answer.

"Oh, you know, it was a typical Scott gathering," Bill said. "The same stuffy social climbers, Mother falling down drunk, Father there in body but not in spirit, and my baby sister locked safely away so she wouldn't vomit on anyone."

"Sorry I asked."

As Bill made his excuses--some other function to attend--and led his lady friend away, Rose could hear her say, "You didn't tell me about no party at your parents' house."

Someone tapped Rose on the shoulder; before she could see who it was they threw their arms about her in a bear hug. It was an uncharacteristically giddy Charlotte, who wanted Rose to meet her fiancé, the son of one of her aunt's friends. They were to be married in Virginia after Charlotte's graduation in June. Rose was stunned--when had Charlotte gotten engaged? But she realized she'd barely had time to keep up with her former classmates.

Where Charlotte appeared, Vera couldn't be far, and sure enough Rose found her talking astronomy with Max. A brooding Angelica sat across the table from her.

"Max here told me what that playwright said to you," Vera said. "Does this mean you'll end up on Broadway, get a big head and forget all us little people?"

Angelica could no longer stand not being the center of attention. "Who was that writer, anyway? I've certainly never heard of him. And you can't take Daphne's word for anything. What a silly stage name. She's not even French!"

"Don't listen to her. You were amazing," Vera assured Rose.

Angelica managed to drag Max away from the table, and the discussion turned to the war. No one wanted to raise the subject while Angelica was there; they were all too aware of how touchy it could be for the daughter of a German immigrant. Max was of German descent, as well. Rose didn't want to talk about it, either. She said her good-byes and found Sebastian. They went to the boarding house to pick up Rose's suitcases and headed for Long Island, where they'd be spending the holiday.

In the car she told him about Charlotte's surprise announcement. "I thought that after...Arthur, she'd sworn off men."

"Well, she obviously met someone who changed her mind," Sebastian said.

"She's lucky."

Sebastian grunted.

Rose knew better than to pursue this line of conversation. Sebastian didn't seem to care for any talk of marriage; she'd tried to casually broach the subject once or twice, only to have him clam up.

They found a man selling pine trees on Christmas Eve. Sebastian also located a box of old decorations in the attic and he and Rose spent the evening hanging bulbs and tinsel and drinking eggnog before the fire.

And then Sebastian produced a small box wrapped in a tidy ribbon.

"I wanted to wait until tomorrow but I couldn't." He said something else, something about the very real possibility of war; Rose didn't hear it. She had opened the gift.

She was staring at a diamond ring.

"Marry me, Rose?" For once, Sebastian was unsure of himself.

"Yes," she managed in a gasp.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes." Rose began to laugh; it was sweet music to both their ears. "Yes, yes, YES!"

Chapter Forty-Eight
Stories