A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Forty-Nine
"Which do you prefer, this one--"
Angelica fitted a large floppy hat with ugly silk flowers around the brim onto
her head, careful not to disturb too much the black ringlets tumbling about her
face and down her back. She pranced and preened in the vanity mirror before
replacing the hat in its box and selecting another.
"Or this one?"
Rose had to bite the inside of her cheek to
keep from grimacing at the gigantic ostrich plume, which appeared to have been
flattened in the hatbox for years and now didn't want to stand up. Not to
mention that the hat was a deep shade of violet and Angelica's traveling outfit
was navy blue. But she kept any sarcastic comments to herself. Angelica's
nerves were frayed enough as it was.
"I...I think the other," she
offered.
Angelica scrutinized her image for a long
moment. "Hmm, I like this one," she said, and stuffed the box
containing the flowered hat into an already overburdened trunk.
So much for my opinion, Rose thought. She needn't have bothered to give it.
"I do hope it isn't too unbearably hot
when we get to California," Angelica fretted, as she packed numerous jars
of facial crème, lipsticks and bottles of expensive perfume into a carrying
case. "Last time we were there, we all baked like roasts in an oven. In
the middle of October! It's all desert, you know, once you're far enough
inland."
Rose only nodded distractedly. It was
beginning to sink in that perhaps she wouldn't see the Geisels again for a very
long time.
After the disaster at the theater, the troupe
unanimously decided that it was time to pull up stakes. Now, a month later,
those who wanted to remain in New York had drifted away until only a core group
remained. Fritz had placed the boarding house on the market and announced to
the trade papers that the troupe would embark upon a cross-country summer tour,
ending in Los Angeles, where they planned to establish a new theater. Last
night, he'd gathered his flock in the parlor in an attempt to stave off the
gloom.
"I vant you all to vear your Sunday best
tomorrow," he spoke in a forceful tone. "There vill be no tears, do
you understand? We vill go out in style, our heads held high. This is a time
for celebration of a new beginning." With that he ceremoniously uncorked a
bottle of champagne, the first of many beverages they would consume that
evening.
This morning, the Geisels, Max and his
parents, Catherine, and about half a dozen other stalwart members of the troupe
would board a train for Boston, the first stop on the tour. Rose would
accompany them only as far as the station.
She'd come to the conclusion that the best
thing for her to do would be to wait for Sebastian in New York. It was a
difficult choice, one made after he learned of the fire and managed to persuade
an officer to let him phone her from the basic training camp. Though he never
requested she stay put, she just felt it would be right. His apartment in the
city had been rented to someone else, but there was still the cottage on Long
Island, his automobile, which he'd left in her care, parked in the garage. Rose
didn't see any use for it in the city, not with so much public transportation
available, and not as long as Betsy the housekeeper was still willing to look
in on the house once a week.
"Please give Charlotte my regrets for
not being able to attend her wedding," Angelica said as she pulled on a
pair of elbow-length white satin gloves. "While we're in Boston I'll have
to leave a gift with her family."
The wedding wouldn't take place in Boston,
but in Virginia, where the groom's family resided. Charlotte's parents had
raised a ruckus over it, of course, and she'd ignored them. Finally they'd
capitulated. No sense in fueling the rumor mill any further; it was bad enough
people were already whispering about how their daughter had run down South to
escape them.
She'd graduated from Vassar the previous
weekend. Angelica had accompanied Rose and Vera to Poughkeepsie after awkwardly
making peace with Rose the night before.
"I'm scared," she admitted, looking
out of the bedroom window at the street below.
"Angelica, scared?"
"I've never lived anywhere but New York,
except for when we were at school. Los Angeles is, well...so much dust."
"And the ocean," Rose reminded her.
And Santa Monica, with a pier that had a
roller coaster and artists who would sketch your portrait for a dime.
For a moment, Rose could see it...
"I don't know a soul there. What if they
hate us, too?" Angelica snapped her back to the present. She was facing
Rose, a plea creeping into her voice. "Why don't you come, Rosie? You're
the best friend I have."
It was Angelica at her most vulnerable when
not onstage. And she was not acting.
Bags all packed, Angelica surveyed her room
and its opulent furnishings for a final time. Rose noticed that her eyelashes
were wet and discreetly looked away.
Anna made her way down the hall, checking
each room to see if its tenants left any personal belongings behind, saying a
silent goodbye to every one of them. She was more elegantly turned out than
Rose had ever seen her, a bit too fancy for a cramped train ride, but that was,
after all, her style.
"Please put that hideous hat away,"
she snapped at her daughter. "Hurry, now, your father and Hans are coming
upstairs to fetch the trunk." Angelica made a face and removed the hat,
while Anna addressed Rose.
"You're sure your friend will be at home
when you get there?"
Rose nodded. She'd moved her things into Meg
and Gabriel's guest room the day before.
"All right," Anna declared, and
moved on.
They all gathered in the foyer promptly at
eight and, with a few sentimental looks backward, made their way onto the stoop
and down the stairs to where three cars with liveried drivers awaited them.
Behind them Fritz locked the brownstone's heavy door and climbed into a car
beside his wife, nodding and tipping his hat to several neighbors who'd come
outside to gawk at them.
At Grand Central Station, the stares and
whispers were repeated, as the troupe piled out of the automobiles and the
drivers set suitcase after suitcase on the sidewalk. Catherine made an
elaborate show of boredom, yawning in a decidedly unladylike fashion while
fanning herself; Angelica opened a parasol and pretended not to notice the
admiring glances of male passersby.
Hans linked his arms through Rose's and his
sister's. "Are we ready, ladies?"
"Ready!" they chorused.
Fritz and Anna led the little procession into
the terminal, with porters pushing all the luggage on carts bringing up the
rear. As their tickets had been purchased in advance, they went directly to the
gate. Rose could hear the commotion from outside: a Negro band consisting of
trumpet, trombone, saxophone, clarinet and snare drum played When the Saints
Go Marching In.
Rose knew to expect the grand sendoff. Bill
had hired them, said India's mother used to sing with them. She didn't ask
questions, but wondered how he knew about India's mother.
When the last of the troupe had boarded and
only the Geisels remained, Fritz took Rose's hands in his. "Come, my dear.
Sebastian can find you in California."
"I want him to find me here," Rose
replied. She embraced him, then Anna, Hans and Angelica in turn. "You'll
be fine," she consoled Angelica. "You'll be a star."
She waited until the train left its berth,
waving like mad to the actors, then made her way back to the car Fritz had paid
to carry her to Meg's home. The melodies of the jazz band reverberated in her
ears the entire ride.
*****
She thought she'd be lonely without waking up
to the chatter and bustle in the boarding house every morning, but Rose soon
found that pounding the pavement for work left her little time to be lonely.
Meg and Gabriel were more than generous and said nary an unkind word, but
secretly she wondered what would happen if she were to run out of funds to pay
her share of the rent and groceries.
Once a week she composed a long letter to
Sebastian filled with false hope. When he arrived in Europe, his responses grew
shorter and less frequent, but each envelope contained enough money to pay Betsy
and a gardener to tend the lawn at the cottage for several weeks, with a tidy
sum left over for Rose. She refused to spend the extra amount and put it in her
bank account instead, telling herself she'd need it to pay for their wedding.
She began to put in appearances at Quinn
family functions again. As promised, Teddy had enlisted, as did another of
Meg's cousins, and the family sometimes received word from the front. Patrick
and all the other Quinns welcomed her back like a prodigal daughter, but not
one of them ever asked after her fiancé.
When she needed to be free of her daily
hassles, Rose would socialize with acquaintances from the theater world, hoping
that her connections would lead her to a job. Occasionally Vera would join her,
but she didn't care much for saloons or the other actors, and she was devoting
much of her time this summer to a new job she claimed she couldn't talk about.
The most time Rose spent with her was en route to Charlotte's wedding, where
she donned an ill-fitting bridesmaid's gown and plastered a smile across her
face while aching for Sebastian every moment.
The day her reprieve came she was having
luncheon alone at an eatery frequented by both Broadway's glamour set and
young, hungry artists eager to be discovered by them. She heard her name called
and was pleasantly surprised to see Daphne Marceau and her husband Henri.
"Mind if we join you?" the drama
instructor asked.
"I'd be delighted," Rose answered,
quickly hiding the Help Wanted listings she'd been perusing in her lap.
"We were so sorry to hear about the
theater," Henri said once they'd ordered. "How dreadful."
"How is Angelica?" Daphne inquired.
"I can imagine her family was pretty traumatized by the whole business,
the boycotts, the threatening telephone calls--"
"You knew about all that?"
"Darling, everyone knew."
Rose felt the tremors of anger flaring inside
and fought to control them. How could so many be aware of the Geisels' dilemma
and stand calmly by, observing and gossiping about it but doing nothing to
help?
"I don't blame you for staying in New
York," Henri was saying. "The Geisel Troupe was a great place to
launch an acting career, but you've outgrown that type of theater."
"You have a long and wonderful career
ahead of you," Daphne added. "In fact, the director of Henri's new
work is looking to cast a pivotal role. You should audition."
"For a Broadway play?"
"Why, yes, of course," Daphne said,
taken aback by Rose's hesitation. "You're more than ready."
Before she knew what was happening, Rose
found herself giving consent for Henri to tell the director about her. She rode
the trolley back to Meg's in a daze and nearly collided with her when she
turned her key in the lock.
"I was just comin' to let you in,"
Meg greeted her cheerily.
"Did your shift end early?"
"Oh, no. I didn't tell ya? I had to see
me own doctor today."
"Nothing serious, I hope?"
"It could be," Meg said, adopting a
downcast expression for one second before suddenly squealing, "I'm going
to have a baby!"
Rose screamed and danced with her in the
front room, both of them looking silly and not caring; but after Meg had gone
rushing to her father's to share the good news with him, it suddenly hit Rose
that there were only two bedrooms in the apartment. And surely they'd want to
use one for a nursery.