Backstage Nurse (7 page)

"I agree. But he'll just make an appearance, that's all."

"See you at the Statler, then." Lyon gave her a jaunty wave and went out the stage door.

The stage manager's gay mood was shared by everyone at Dr. Trask's party. The tall New England doctor proved to be a fine host, and by the time Shirley arrived with Oliver Craft and his grandson, the affair was well along and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Dr. Trask had reserved a large table in one corner of the Terrace Room that had complete privacy because of two large columns that stood between it and the rest of the dining area. From this vantage point, they could hear the orchestra in the adjoining room and yet be private.

In addition to the doctor and his wife and the members of the company, there were several middle-aged couples, friends of the doctor's. There was a hush and then loud cheers when Oliver Craft made his appearance. Dr. Trask gave him the place of honor at the head of the table and briefly introduced him to the strangers. Shirley sat only a few chairs away, next to the character woman, and Roger Craft took a place almost opposite her, beside one of the men in the doctor's group.

Shirley saw that Hugh Deering was sitting near the other end of the table, with Joy Milland on one side of him and Charles Victor on the other. Joy was leaning forward listening as Hugh whispered some confidence in her ear. Then she straightened up and laughed a loud stage laugh, looking around to see if she were noticed. She was wearing an evening dress of some garish flowered silk with a black net stole.

Jeffrey Sayre, completely at ease in a dark-blue dinner jacket, was talking pleasantly with one of the women in the doctor's party. Lyon Phillips, chatting with Charles Victor caught her eye and winked at her.

Then Oliver Craft rose and there was quiet at the table again. He spoke in a low voice quite different from his stage tone. First, he thanked Dr. Trask for his thoughtfulness and then he talked of the show and the people in it. He spread his hands at the end: "What more can I say? The ovation we received tonight was so perfect I doubt if anything will ever match it in the future. I shall hesitate to book Boston again for fear of marring the memory of this wonderful evening."

Hearing him say this, Shirley felt a lump rise in her throat. She knew, as Dr. Trask and many others at the table must, that there never would be another Boston opening night for the old actor. Glancing across the table at Roger Craft, she saw the look of sadness in his face as he listened to his grandfather. There was a hint of the old man's patrician features in his grandson's face. And she was certain that Roger had a great deal of the same sensitivity.

Oliver Craft bowed and, his speech finished, shook hands again with Dr. Trask, raised a thin white hand to the others in a gesture of farewell and started out. Shirley and his grandson followed, joining him in the hotel's large lobby.

The gaunt star beamed at them. "Now I don't want to spoil the fun for you two youngsters," he said. "I'm perfectly all right. So I want you both to stay here and enjoy the rest of the evening."

"Oh, no!" Shirley's pretty face showed alarm. "I couldn't think of letting you go back to your hotel alone."

"She's right, Grandfather," Roger Craft agreed.

"Please!" The old man raised his slim hands in protest. "I will have my say." He turned to Shirley. "My dear, all my life I've been used to returning to hotel rooms alone. I rather like it. I'm nothing more than tired. If I need you, I promise to phone. After all, my hotel is only a couple of blocks away. You can be over to me in no time."

So they saw him to a taxi. As it drove off, with Craft sitting upright and dignified like some retired Army chief, Shirley couldn't help giving voice to her admiration. "What a fighter he is," she said.

Roger smiled faintly. "It's always been like that. Grandfather is used to getting his way." He led her through the revolving doors back to the hotel lobby.

Midnight quiet had come to the main lobby now. There were only three or four people scattered about. One lone desk clerk remained on duty and the single note of excitement was the sound of the orchestra from the Terrace Room at the lobby's far end.

Roger Craft took an expensive-looking case from the pocket of his smartly tailored dinner jacket and offered her a cigarette.

She shook her head. "No, thanks. I don't smoke."

Taking one himself and lighting it, he said, "You're wise." Then, nodding toward the Terrace Room, he smiled. "Mind if we don't go back there for a few minutes? I'm not too fond of loud parties. Especially when I feel like an outsider. We could sit here for a little while."

Looking at him with interest, Shirley raised her eyebrows. "I'd say you were very much a part of it. The guest of honor's grandson."

He studied the lighted end of his cigarette. "I guess it's the old story. I always did feel a bit uncomfortable standing in Granddad's reflected glory."

She smiled and sat down on one of the divans. She wondered what sort of person Roger really was. So far, she had seen several different sides of him. His bluster of anger in the morning. His charming repentance this evening at the theater. And now his boyish mood of inferiority.

Sitting beside her, he said, "You are probably used to this sort of thing. I understand you were once in the theater yourself."

"For a short while," she said. "But there weren't many parties in those days. Just a lot of hard work."

"You can't find nursing much easier?"

"That's not why I decided to take it up," Shirley told him. "I felt it was something I had to do."

He considered. Then he said, "That's the right attitude. I mean, for success. I feel the same way about the real-estate business. My grandfather built it, of course, my mother's father. It was a challenge to me. If I didn't make good, the business would go to outside management. So I didn't dare fail."

"From what I hear, you haven't," Shirley said.

"The breaks seemed to come my way. Of course I had a wonderful setup to start with." He spoke apologetically. "I'd have had to be a real dumbbell to have ruined it."

She laughed. "The important thing is that you're doing what you like."

"I guess so." He paused and stared at her. "But my personal life hasn't been such a success story. It's hard for poor little rich boys to score on everything. I missed out with girls."

"Really?" She was intrigued, but she tried to sound casual.

"I married at nineteen. We eloped. Big deal!"

"Oh!" It came as a surprise. She was puzzled that it should mean anything at all to her. She had only met Roger Craft that day. But suddenly the news that he was married came as a depressing blow. She wondered what his wife was like.

As if reading her mind, he went on in his earnest way: "It didn't last! The marriage was a farce! We were just a couple of kids who didn't really know each other, or have any idea what love and marriage meant. On top of that, we were both badly spoiled. Within a year, we were divorced."

"Are you still in love with her?" she said quietly.

He gave her a one-sided smile. "That was quite a few years ago. Maybe I still think of her and wonder how it might have turned out if we'd waited and done the thing decently, but that's all. We didn't give ourselves a chance to really fall in love."

"You were in such a hurry to get married."

"That's right." He nodded grimly. "Well, that got me off to a bad start. Since then, I've never been able to make up my mind about any other girl. There's never been anyone else I'd care to risk taking the gamble with."

There was a moment of silence. From the Terrace Room the refrain of a popular waltz drifted out to them. Roger stubbed out his cigarette in the floor tray and stared off into the distance. She studied the profile of his sensitive face; without the glasses, he would be almost a young version of Oliver Craft, the same strong features.

Roger Craft was not a really good-looking young man, but he had an interesting face. She wondered why he had told her about his personal affairs this way.

"Love is a gamble," she finally said.

"Have you had a shot at the dice?" He looked at her.

"I was engaged once to a boy in one of the shows I played in. He accused me of being career-obsessed and father-obsessed. There were quarrels. What had started as a lovely thing became rather ugly. So, by mutual consent, we called it off." She smiled.

"And that was your only serious venture?"

"Uh-huh." She stood up. "Don't you think it's about time we got back to the others?"

He got up. "Must we?"

"I think so. We could be called rude. And Dr. Trask is so nice. I wouldn't want him to think we didn't appreciate what he's done."

Roger sighed. "Well, that's plenty of good reasons." They started to stroll toward the entrance of the Terrace Room. "When you come to Philadelphia, I want you to meet my mother. I know she'll like you."

"Thanks." Shirley frowned as she tried to remember. "That won't be for a month or so. We're booked in Toronto and Ohio next."

"That's right. I'm glad you're looking after Granddad. We'll all feel better knowing it's someone like you."

"I'm not doing too well tonight," she pointed out.

"This is different," he said.

When they arrived back at the table, some of the party had drifted to the dance floor. Dr. Trask was still sitting there, along with several of his friends, Charles Victor, and Jeffrey Sayre.

Sayre was expansively addressing the group: "Of course I make my permanent home in Hollywood. We decided to do that a couple of years ago. I work out there a good deal, and it's a grand place for the youngsters."

"How large is your family?" Dr. Trask asked him.

"Three boys. Healthy as sea lions. Oldest is sixteen and the youngest eleven. That's one of the things I don't like about touring. Keeps me away from the family too much."

One of the women in Dr. Trask's party smiled at the actor. "I suppose you joined the play because it was such a fine show. And because you enjoy your very excellent part."

Jeffrey Sayre puffed deeply on his cigar, then exhaled slowly. "Well, actually," he said. "I joined
The Cardinal
because I felt that Oliver Craft wasn't in too good health and they might need someone to take over his role."

"Really?" Dr. Trask's voice had taken on a cold note.

Apparently, Jeffrey Sayre didn't notice, or didn't care. He went on: "That is why I'm in the show. In the event of Craft's giving up, I would move into the Cardinal's part and Hugh Deering would take mine."

The woman who had questioned him in the first place queried him again: "And who would replace Mr. Deering?"

"The understudy. But it doesn't seem likely that it will happen."

"No." Dr. Trask coughed. Looking at Shirley, he said, "Oliver seems very fit. Wouldn't you say so, Miss Grant?"

"I'd say tonight's performance proves that," Shirley said, thinking fast.

Charles Victor spoke for the first time. "And I agree." The old man's face was bright with happiness. "There's not too much wrong with the Chief when he can give a performance like that."

Dr. Trask nodded. "It was one of the finest I have ever seen. Oliver has a magic gift. The theater would be poorer for his loss."

"I think Grandfather will manage," Roger Craft said, his eyes meeting Shirley's in a glance of understanding. "He wants to do this tour, and I think that he will."

Jeffrey Sayre must have sensed the mood of the table, but he seemed to have no idea of giving agreement. He studied his cigar. "His performance tonight was, shall we say, remarkable, but it took a great deal from him. The question is, dear people, where will he find a new reserve of strength each night?"

"From his staunch company!" The answer came in Lyon Phillips' bluff, good-natured voice. He had returned from the dance floor with his partner, the character woman, and had come up behind Jeffrey Sayre just in time to hear the question.

Sayre glanced up at the stage manager and, though his face went crimson, managed a smile. "Very well said, Lyon," he agreed, a slight anger showing under his tone of enthusiasm.

"Great party, Doc!" Lyon smiled at their host, his too-bright eyes revealing that he had had more than his usual quota of champagne.

At the same time, Hugh Deering and Joy Milland came back from the dance floor. Joy rushed up to Shirley with a shrill: "I did tell you how much I liked your dress, didn't I?"

"At the theater," Shirley said. "I'm glad you like it. Yours is very striking."

Joy simulated a laugh. "Striking is hardly the word! Struck would be closer. I fished this out of my wardrobe trunk, darling! I don't suppose I've had it on in years! But it seemed to fit so I decided to wear it. Lucky me. I have no weight problem like some of you girls!" She gave a smile to the rest of the women at the table.

Dr. Trask's wife filled the moment of awkward silence that followed. "I imagine you enjoy dressing up offstage, after having to wear that very simple frock in the play."

Joy's round, too-made-up face registered dismay. A hand went to her cheek. "Have you noticed what they make me wear? Isn't that costume a horror? I've complained, but it does no good."

"It's in keeping with the show, I'd say," Dr. Trask suggested mildly.

Lyon Phillips tittered loudly from his place at the other end of the table. "Costume is, but the actress ain't!" He burst into loud laughter at what he apparently considered a witty line. He repeated it to an embarrassed Charles Victor and roared at the humor of it a second time.

Hugh Deering, who had been standing by Joy, spoke through Lyon's hilarity. "I understand you'll be making a visit or two with us while we're on tour, Doctor."

Trask pursed his lips. "It's been discussed tentatively. Easier for Oliver than having him rush back here. He's had a very major operation and I shall want to make a check from time to time."

"And of course he can always be examined at a hospital along the line," Hugh continued.

"That's right," Trask agreed. "We can make use of the hospital facilities in whatever city I visit. And then we have a permanent nurse in Miss Grant, who will keep me informed."