insisted. Scooting her chair back, she wiped her lips on the frayed but spotlessly clean napkin. “Thanks for everything, Mrs. Wittman. Breakfast was delicious. And would you have any clue on how to get a passport on short notice?”
The question had been worrying her all morning.
Mrs. Wittman pursed her lips thoughtfully while Vi stood and collected her dishes. She didn’t want to burden the woman any more than she already had.
“Can’t say that I do. But I bet Wyatt would. I’m always amazed at how much that man knows about everything. I tease him that someday his head is going to explode with all that knowledge.”
Vi weighed the idea as she sprinted to the bathroom to brush her teeth. He had helped her enough already. If she asked another favor, would it be the one that would push their relationship into a sexual one? Turning men down, particularly ones who held power over whether she got a part or not, was tricky.
On the other hand, she wouldn’t need a passport if she missed her train. Deciding to worry about it later, Vi gathered her things, thanked Mrs. Wittman profusely—yes, she would take the crackers if that would make her feel better—and then bolted for the nearest subway stop.
It was a near thing. With only two minutes to spare, Vi slid into the vast central plaza of Grand Central Terminal, her lungs burning with exertion. Please, please let the troupe be here somewhere.
A brief parting in the crowd exposed a large group of well-dressed people drifting toward where the regional trains boarded. Among all the wool coats and brightly colored ladies’ hats, Vi caught a glimpse of a tall, lanky man who looked a lot like Wyatt chatting with a stoop-shouldered gentleman who could easily be Mr. Stuart, the director. But what sealed the deal was when a smartly dressed blonde turned to speak to someone behind her, the comment punctuated with a dramatic flourish of a gloved hand. Bingo.
The tightness in her shoulders dissipated. She waved to get the group’s attention. “Mr. Miller, Mr. Stuart. Hello!”
Mr. Miller glanced her way and then pulled Mr. Stuart to a stop. “Miss Heart, you made it. And in the nick of time.”
“Mr. Miller, I’m so glad I found you all!” Smiling brightly as she hurried over, she held out her hand. “Mr. Stuart, hello again. I’m Virginia Heart. We met yesterday at the rehearsal.”
Mr. Stuart ignored her outstretched fingers. “I remember. You’re replacing that irresponsible child that ran afoul of the USO, the one in the chorus . . .” He turned to the fortyish blonde woman next to him expectantly.
“You mean Janet,” the woman said. “Janet Robinson.” Intelligent, pale-blue eyes set in an attractive face examined Vi from head to toe. After a beat, the woman extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Heart. I’m Sue Daldakis, the stage manager.”
Ah. So more than just an elusive assistant. Vi turned up the wattage on her smile, as stage managers were often the real power behind the throne. “I’m so excited to meet you. I can’t even believe my luck. I’ve always dreamed of being in a Gerald Stuart show. And to be in the USO, too!”
That last part might have been pouring it on a bit thick, since Sue’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, well, you’re not officially in until I see how you perform. Remind me again of your theater experience?”
Vi tucked a stray hair behind her ear as she quickly curated the list of her performances into something Virginia might have done. “Um, a few community productions. I know how to tap-dance, have taken ballet. Worked in a few musicals.” The most thrilling being a starring role in the Des Moines stage production of Broadway Melody of 1936. The Des Moines Register had called her an “up-and-coming talent,” a “girl protégé,” and “absolutely stunning in the role of Irene Foster.”
It had been her last big role before the disaster with Robert.
“Do you sing?”
“No,” Vi said as the warm bubble of remembered past successes popped.
The answer clearly disappointed the stage manager, but it was an issue on which Vi wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sing, because she could. Quite well, in fact, or she never would’ve landed the role of Irene. The truth was she wouldn’t sing, because she could no longer bear the awe she saw in people’s faces when they heard her. The same awe she had seen in Robert’s face when her singing had first captured his attention.