perked up at “Ann,” which could be a shortened, more anglicized version of Angelina. Her gaze immediately sought out the actress with the darker complexion. The woman certainly looked the part of a Mob princess with her slashing black eyebrows; glossy, dark hair; and full, sensual lips. Perhaps her nose was too bold to be strictly beautiful, but the woman was still striking. Traffic-stoppingly so.
Or was that Luciana? Vi frowned. The name was more typically Italian, which would match her appearance. But if so, that would make the blonde Ann, and she didn’t look Italian in the least.
“Don’t count on becoming friends with them, though.” Marcie cast a disparaging look at the actors and actresses. “They ignore us chorus girls as much as possible. They treat us as if we’re bringing the quality of the production down, but I disagree. They should be danged happy to have us. I mean, let’s be honest, soldiers like dancing girls!”
“Professional snobbery isn’t uncommon,” Vi said mildly, her attention on the two actresses as she wondered if she should press Marcie for more information. She would likely find out on her own soon enough, so why risk making her travel buddy suspicious?
Marcie sighed. “You’re probably right, and I try not to let it get to me. But it seems so . . . unfair.”
Vi worked to keep her expression sympathetic, but honestly, had the girl never worked in theater before? “What about the rest of the cast?” She flicked a glance toward Gertie and the rude brunette, her stomach filling with dread. Please don’t be Angelina.
“Those are the other two dancers.” Marcie’s voice dropped to a whisper again. “Gertie, the one on the right, is a real sweetheart. You’ll like her. But Frances . . .” Marcie let her voice trail off, leaving Vi to supply her own ending.
Vi nearly sighed with relief that the girl who had accosted her in the theater yesterday wasn’t going to be her responsibility. At least fate wasn’t that cruel. “Is there anyone else in the show? Anyone who isn’t here today?”
Marcie looked puzzled for a moment. Then her expression cleared. “Oh, you mean Janet?”
“Sure,” Vi said, recognizing the name from yesterday, though the chances of that being Miss Maggio were slim to none. “Frances said she was ratted out?”
“Well, no one knows for sure, but a representative from the USO showed up at rehearsal on Monday, pulled Janet aside, told her she was out and that she needed to leave immediately. So she did.”
“And no one protested?” Vi asked, momentarily distracted from the problem of the missing Mob princess.
Marcie shrugged. “Everyone knows that the USO is a stickler for moral values, and Janet was a little on the loose side. The bigger problem was that it left us with only three dancers and that we’d have to change all the choreography.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Vi reassured her as Sue started handing out train tickets to the assembled cast. “So your worries are over.”
“And I am so glad,” Marcie said fervently as the troupe started heading toward the platform. Vi smiled, though in truth she was feeling a bit ill. While she might have solved all her travel buddy’s problems, her travel buddy had not solved hers.
Had Sal misheard the daughter’s name or gotten the show wrong? At this point it seemed likely, but with the conductor calling all aboard, she didn’t have time to call him and check. All she could hope was that if there had indeed been some kind of mistake, she would find out in time to fix things. Her future pretty much depended on it.
Chapter 6
US Army Camp Kilmer turned out to be nothing like what Hollywood matinees had led Vi to expect. It was more of a small city than a rustic Boy Scout camp. And while there were indeed white-painted wooden barracks and American flags flying proudly in the breeze, there was also a score of very large, very permanent buildings that wouldn’t look out of place in her hometown, including what appeared to be a multistoried modern hospital.
The traffic was very urban-like as well, with a steady stream of cars, trucks, motorcycles, and jeeps buzzing by. And there were the signs, which were posted everywhere. Besides the expected ones indicating street names or pointing the way to “ORDNANCE” or “ARTILLERY” or the “PX,” there were more surprising ones, like “SOFTBALL DIAMONDS”—plural, she noted—“CINEMA,” “THEATER,” and even “BILLIARDS.” Everything a GI could want while he waited for the orders that might