paused as light cues were called out and adjusted.
Silently, wanting to get the lay of the land before announcing her presence, she chose a seat so as to watch. The chair mechanism stuck at first and then released. She winced as the metal hinges scraped open, but no one looked back.
Sinking onto the soft velvet cushion, she almost groaned with pleasure. She had forgotten how tiring travel could be. It had been more than five years since she had completed that final leg of her journey and arrived at the Chicago Greyhound station, nervous as heck and yet so full of hope. She’d had it all planned out in her fifteen-year-old head: She’d get a job as an actress or work as a costumer for one of the Windy City’s many theaters; then she and her baby would find a room with a friendly widow, just like in the movies. She would work and bring home her paycheck while the kindly widow babysat and prepared home-cooked meals.
It had all seemed so simple and straightforward, until reality had hit her like a bucket of ice water. Turned out no one wanted to hire an underage runaway. And the kindly widow she had hoped to meet in church? The woman never materialized. Soon the little money she had brought with her, which had constituted every penny stored in her ceramic bunny bank, had run out.
Finding herself in dire straits, she had then stumbled upon her most useful ability to date—becoming someone else. She became the counter clerk who’d had her purse stolen and needed a quarter for the ride home or the newlywed who had gotten lost downtown and needed a dime to call her husband at work. Or an experienced stripper who needed a new gig because her boyfriend manager had knocked her up and then fired her.
Sal had readily seen through that lie but had at least given her points for trying. On the other hand, the ticket seller at the bus station three days ago had fallen for her latest act, hook, line, and sinker. At first the troublesome fellow had tried to tell her everything was sold out until next month, on account of America’s fighting men getting first priority. Then they had gotten to talking about the heat and how his live-in mother-in-law was getting on his nerves. On a pure whim, Vi created a cantankerous mother-in-law of her own, one that she was so desperate to escape she was going home to New York City to see her own family for a while, and oh—did he want to park his mother-in-law in her apartment while she was away?
Her “husband” wouldn’t need it, since he was in the army—something she relayed with a tragic catch in her voice—and it wouldn’t do for it to go to waste. In the pause while his gaze narrowed in possibilities, she had pulled out the key to her “second floor” apartment that “occasionally catches a breeze off the lake,” and offered to sublet it to him for a couple of months. She had even offered to write a quick letter to her landlady, who was herself a crotchety old woman, so the two women would get along famously . . .
And just like that, a seat had appeared on the next bus out of town. And not one just to Indianapolis, like Sal had recommended, but one that went all the way to Philadelphia. Of course, the long stretch of unbroken travel also meant next to no sleep, since she hadn’t dared let her guard down. Not when the Chicago police might have already noted her absence and called in the FBI for help.
Securing a second ticket to New York had been just as touch and go, requiring another sob story, convincingly delivered, to an elderly gentleman with the last seat. She hadn’t liked lying to such a nice old man, but Angelina Maggio’s father was counting on her to get to New York City as soon as possible, so her motives hadn’t been entirely selfish. And, to be honest, the elderly fellow had seemed rather eager to give her the ticket. Of course, the attractive older lady making eyes at him from across the waiting area may have had something to do with that.
In any case, all that was behind her. She was here with nothing to do for the moment but soak in the heady smells and sounds of a legitimate production underway: the tang of varnish and paint