witch in”—Vi’s gaze drifted back to the directorial group and the sergeant—“I think it’s Frances who should be careful.”
“Why? You think I’m afraid of some wop and her sidekick?” Frances snorted. “Hardly.”
Marcie went rigid. “What did you call me?”
Vi reached out and caught Marcie’s fist. “Let it go. The only person being diminished here is Frances, by demonstrating how small her mind is.”
“Easy for you to say.” Marcie twisted, trying to break Vi’s grip. “You weren’t the one being insulted.”
At that Vi gave her friend a little jerk, forcing the girl to look at her. “Actually, I’ve been insulted more times than I can count, by people of much higher consequence. And you want to know something? No good comes from letting it get to you. Especially with one’s career on the line.”
Marcie pulled her arm free, her dark eyes snapping. “Fine.” She turned and bared her teeth at Frances. “But if she does it again, I’ll claw her eyes out.”
Frances made a rude gesture and then walked away. Marcie growled but stayed put by Vi’s side.
Low male laughter echoed off the walls. Vi glanced back at the sergeant. The discussion appeared to be over, with Wyatt and the sergeant walking toward the central gallery. Wyatt’s hand rested on the man’s shoulder as if they were old friends, though nothing in the soldier’s posture suggested the sentiment was returned. Everything about him was as alert and self-contained as when he’d walked in.
“I wonder why he was sent to find us,” Vi said aloud.
Marcie shrugged. “Perhaps to request another stop to our tour?”
If so, Vi suspected that stop would be close to the front lines. He had that look about him. And the addition would make sense. Battle-weary soldiers would likely be more desperate than most for entertainment. Anything to take their minds off what they’d just lived through. Rather like the men back home in her club, hoping for a little escape after a hard day’s work. Except dodging bullets had to be far more stressful and dangerous than even the worst factory job.
As she considered the role of the USO from that perspective, a sense of rightness stole over her. If there had ever been a role she had been born to do, making men forget their troubles was it. More, she wanted to do it as a way to atone for her sins, to make something admirable out of all those nights learning to entertain men onstage. A way to use her fall from grace for good.
Sue clapped her hands. “All right, everyone. Let’s pick it up where we left off. Ann? Charles?”
As Vi and the rest of the company regrouped, with Ann and Charles taking up their position, arm in arm in the “wings,” she remembered the USO briefing on how they would be paying visits to hospital wards and rest areas, where the troupe would be interacting one-on-one with the soldiers. As long as she managed to remember she was Virginia and not Lily, and thus not get canned, she could kill three birds with one stone: do a good turn for the family, stay clear of the Chicago police investigation, and perhaps find a way to redeem herself. All wonderful things in her book.
While it was one thing to make the boys back home forget their troubles for a night. It would be something altogether different, and nobler, to do it for the men fighting to free the world.
Lighter than she had felt in weeks as she took her place with the other dancers, she could almost see the soldiers’ smiles, feel their adoration warming her skin. It would be like a return to heaven.
She couldn’t wait.
Chapter 15
Two days later, Vi dragged her exhausted body into the common room seeking breakfast. Excitement hummed beneath the usual chitchat as Vi sought out a clean coffee cup. Bleary eyed from a restless night, she decided she wasn’t up to hearing whatever news had everyone in a tizzy. Not yet. First things first. She poured herself a cup of coffee and snagged the last sfogliatella.
Her stomach rumbled in ravenous anticipation. A specialty of the region, the pastry was a flaky, multilayered slice of heaven with a delicate orange flavor and sweet cheese filling. She had never tasted anything so delicious in her life and would be perfectly happy if the troupe never left Caserta. It almost made up for the awful army-supplied coffee.
“Vi, over here.” Marcie waved at her from the couch. Gertie, next to her, waved also.