The Leading Lady

by Edna Ferber

　　

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The leading lady lay on her bed and wept.Not as you have seen leading ladies weep, becomingly, witheyebrows pathetically V-shaped, mouth quivering, sequined bosomheaving. The leading lady lay on her bed in a red-and-blue-stripedkimono and wept as a woman weeps, her head burrowing into thedepths of the lumpy hotel pillow, her teeth biting the pillow-caseto choke back the sounds so that the grouch in the next room mightnot hear.Presently the leading lady's right hand began to grope abouton the bedspread for her handkerchief. Failing to find it, she satup wearily, raising herself on one elbow and pushing her hair backfrom her forehead--not as you have seen a leading lady pass a lilyhand across her alabaster brow, but as a heart-sick woman does it.Her tears and sniffles had formed a little oasis of moisture on thepillow's white bosom so that the ugly stripe of the ticking showedthrough. She gazed down at the damp circle with smarting, swolleneyes, and another lump came up into her throat.Then she sat up resolutely, and looked about her. The leadinglady had a large and saving sense of humor. But there is nothingthat blunts the sense of humor more quickly than a few months ofone-night stands. Even O. Henry could have seen nothing funnyabout that room.The bed was of green enamel, with fly-specked gold trimmings.It looked like a huge frog. The wall-paper was a crime. Itrepresented an army of tan mustard plasters climbing up achocolate-fudge wall. The leading lady was conscious of a feelingof nausea as she gazed at it. So she got up and walked to thewindow. The room faced west, and the hot afternoon sun smote fullon her poor swollen eyes. Across the street the red brick walls ofthe engine-house caught the glare and sent it back. The firemen,in their blue shirt-sleeves, were seated in the shade before thedoor, their chairs tipped at an angle of sixty. The leading ladystared down into the sun-baked street, turned abruptly and made asthough to fall upon the bed again, with a view to forming anotherlittle damp oasis on the pillow. But when she reached the centerof the stifling little bedroom her eye chanced on the electriccall-button near the door. Above the electric bell was tacked aprinted placard giving information on the subjects of laundry,ice-water, bell-boys and dining-room hours.The leading lady stood staring at it a moment thoughtfully.Then with a sudden swift movement she applied her forefinger to thebutton and held it there for a long half-minute. Then she sat downon the edge of the bed, her kimono folded about her, and waited.She waited until a lank bell-boy, in a brown uniform that wassome sizes too small for him, had ceased to take any interest inthe game of chess which Bauer and Merkle, the champion firemenchess-players, were contesting on the walk before the open doorwayof the engine-house. The proprietor of the Burke House hadoriginally intended that the brown uniform be worn by a diminutivebell-boy, such as one sees in musical comedies. But the availablesupply of stage size bell-boys in our town is somewhat limited andwas soon exhausted. There followed a succession of lank bell-boys,with arms and legs sticking ungracefully out of sleeves andtrousers."Come!" called the leading lady quickly, in answer to the lankyouth's footsteps, and before he had had time to knock."Ring?" asked the boy, stepping into the torrid little room.The leading lady did not reply immediately. She swallowedsomething in her throat and pushed back the hair from her moistforehead again. The brown uniform repeated his question, a trifleirritably. Whereupon the leading lady spoke, desperately:"Is there a woman around this place? I don't mean dining-roomgirls, or the person behind the cigar-counter."Since falling heir to the brown uniform the lank youth hadheard some strange requests. He had been interviewed by variousladies in varicolored kimonos relative to liquid refreshment,laundry and the cost of hiring a horse and rig for a couple ofhours. One had even summoned him to ask if there was a Bible inthe house. But this latest question was a new one. He stared,leaning against the door and thrusting one hand into the depths ofhis very tight breeches pocket."Why, there's Pearlie Schultz," he said at last, with a grin."Who's she?" The leading lady sat up expectantly."Steno."The expectant figure drooped. "Blonde? And Irish crochetcollar with a black velvet bow on her chest?""Who? Pearlie? Naw. You mustn't get Pearlie mixed with thecommon or garden variety of stenos. Pearlie is fat, and she wearsspecs and she's got a double chin. Her hair is skimpy and shedon't wear no rat. W'y no traveling man has ever tried to flirtwith Pearlie yet. Pearlie's what you'd call a woman, all right.You wouldn't never make a mistake and think she'd escaped from thefirst row in the chorus."The leading lady rose from the bed, reached out for herpocket-book, extracted a dime, and held it out to the bell-boy."Here. Will you ask her to come up here to me? Tell her Isaid please."After he had gone she seated herself on the edge of the bedagain, with a look in her eyes like that which you have seen in theeyes of a dog that is waiting for a door to be opened.Fifteen minutes passed. The look in the eyes of the leadinglady began to fade. Then a footstep sounded down the hall. Theleading lady cocked her head to catch it, and smiled blissfully.It was a heavy, comfortable footstep, under which a board or twocreaked. There came a big, sensible thump-thump-thump at the door,with stout knuckles. The leading lady flew to answer it. Sheflung the door wide and stood there, clutching her kimono at thethroat and looking up into a red, good-natured face.Pearlie Schultz looked down at the leading lady kindly andbenignantly, as a mastiff might look at a terrier."Lonesome for a bosom to cry on?" asked she, and stepped intothe room, walked to the west windows, and jerked down the shadeswith a zip-zip, shutting off the yellow glare. She came back towhere the leading lady was standing and patted her on the cheek,lightly."You tell me all about it," said she, smiling.The leading lady opened her lips, gulped, tried again, gulpedagain--Pearlie Schultz shook a sympathetic head."Ain't had a decent, close-to-nature powwow with a woman forweeks and weeks, have you?""How did you know?" cried the leading lady."You've got that hungry look. There was a lady drummer herelast winter, and she had the same expression. She was so dead sickof eating her supper and then going up to her ugly room and readingand sewing all evening that it was a wonder she'd stayed good. Shesaid it was easy enough for the men. They could smoke, and playpool, and go to a show, and talk to any one that looked good to'em. But if she tried to amuse herself everybody'd say she wastough. She cottoned to me like a burr to a wool skirt. Shetraveled for a perfumery house, and she said she hadn't talked toa woman, except the dry-goods clerks who were nice to her trying towork her for her perfume samples, for weeks an' weeks. Why, thatwoman made crochet by the bolt, and mended her clothes eveningswhether they needed it or not, and read till her eyes come neargoing back on her."The leading lady seized Pearlie's hand and squeezed it."That's it! Why, I haven't talked--really talked--to a realwoman since the company went out on the road. I'm leading lady ofthe `Second Wife' company, you know. It's one of those small castplays, with only five people in it. I play the wife, and I'm theonly woman in the cast. It's terrible. I ought to be thankful toget the part these days. And I was, too. But I didn't know itwould be like this. I'm going crazy. The men in the company aregood kids, but I can't go trailing around after them all day.Besides, it wouldn't be right. They're all married, except Billy,who plays the kid, and he's busy writing a vawdeville skit that hethinks the New York managers are going to fight for when he getsback home. We were to play Athens, Wisconsin, to-night, but thehouse burned down night before last, and that left us with an opendate. When I heard the news you'd have thought I had lost mymother. It's bad enough having a whole day to kill but when Ithink of to-night," the leading lady's voice took on a note ofhysteria, "it seems as though I'd----""Say," Pearlie interrupted, abruptly, "you ain't got a realgood corset-cover pattern, have you? One that fits smooth over thebust and don't slip off the shoulders? I don't seem able to get myhands on the kind I want.""Have I!" yelled the leading lady. And made a flying leapfrom the bed to the floor.She flapped back the cover of a big suit-case and beganburrowing into its depths, strewing the floor with lingerie,newspaper clippings, blouses, photographs and Dutch collars.Pearlie came over and sat down on the floor in the midst of thelitter. The leading lady dived once more, fished about in thebottom of the suit-case and brought a crumpled piece of papertriumphantly to the surface."This is it. It only takes a yard and five-eighths. Andfits! Like Anna Held's skirts. Comes down in a V front andback--like this. See? And no fulness. Wait a minute. I'll showyou my princess slip. I made it all by hand, too. I'll bet youcouldn't buy it under fifteen dollars, and it cost me four dollarsand eighty cents, with the lace and all."Before an hour had passed, the leading lady had displayed allher treasures, from the photograph of her baby that died to her newBlanche Ring curl cluster, and was calling Pearlie by her firstname. When a bell somewhere boomed six o'clock Pearlie was beinginstructed in a new exercise calculated to reduce the hips an incha month."My land!" cried Pearlie, aghast, and scrambled to her feet asnimbly as any woman can who weighs two hundred pounds."Supper-time, and I've got a bunch of letters an inch thick to getout! I'd better reduce that some before I begin on my hips. Butsay, I've had a lovely time."The leading lady clung to her. "You've saved my life. Why,I forgot all about being hot and lonely and a couple of thousandmiles from New York. Must you go?""Got to. But if you'll promise you won't laugh, I'll make adate for this evening that'll give you a new sensation anyway.There's going to be a strawberry social on the lawn of theparsonage of our church. I've got a booth. You shed that kimono,and put on a thin dress and those curls and some powder, and I'llintroduce you as my friend, Miss Evans. You don't look Evans, butthis is a Methodist church strawberry festival, and if I was totell them that you are leading lady of the `Second Wife' companythey'd excommunicate my booth.""A strawberry social!" gasped the leading lady. "Do theystill have them?" She did not laugh. "Why, I used to go tostrawberry festivals when I was a little girl in----""Careful! You'll be giving away your age, and, anyway, youdon't look it. Fashions in strawberry socials ain't changed much.Better bathe your eyes in eau de cologne or whatever it is they'realways dabbing on 'em in books. See you at eight."At eight o'clock Pearlie's thump-thump sounded again, and theleading lady sprang to the door as before. Pearlie stared. Thiswas no tear-stained, heat-bedraggled creature in an unbecomingred-striped kimono. It was a remarkably pretty woman in a whitelingerie gown over a pink slip. The leading lady knew a thing ortwo about the gentle art of making-up!"That just goes to show," remarked Pearlie, "that you mustnever judge a woman in a kimono or a bathing suit. You looknineteen. Say, I forgot something down-stairs. Just get yourhandkerchief and chamois together and meet in my cubbyhole next tothe lobby, will you? I'll be ready for you."Down-stairs she summoned the lank bell-boy. "You go outsideand tell Sid Strang I want to see him, will you? He's on the benchwith the baseball bunch."Pearlie had not seen Sid Strang outside. She did not need to.She knew he was there. In our town all the young men dress up intheir pale gray suits and lavender-striped shirts after supper onsummer evenings. Then they stroll down to the Burke House, buy acigar and sit down on the benches in front of the hotel to talkbaseball and watch the girls go by. It is astonishing to note thenumber of our girls who have letters to mail after supper. Onewould think that they must drive their pens fiercely all theafternoon in order to get out such a mass of correspondence.The obedient Sid reached the door of Pearlie's little officejust off the lobby as the leading lady came down the stairs with aspangled scarf trailing over her arm. It was an effectiveentrance."Why, hello!" said Pearlie, looking up from her typewriter asthough Sid Strang were the last person in the world she expected tosee. "What do you want here? Ethel, this is my friend, Mr. SidStrang, one of our rising young lawyers. His neckties always matchhis socks. Sid, this is my friend, Miss Ethel Evans, of New York.We're going over to the strawberry social at the M. E. parsonage.I don't suppose you'd care about going?"Mr. Sid Strang gazed at the leading lady in the white lingeriedress with the pink slip, and the V-shaped neck, and the spangledscarf, and turned to Pearlie."Why, Pearlie Schultz!" he said reproachfully. "How can youask? You know what a strawberry social means to me! I haven'tmissed one in years!""I know it," replied Pearlie, with a grin. "You feel the sameway about Thursday evening prayer-meeting too, don't you? You canwalk over with us if you want to. We're going now. Miss Evans andI have got a booth."Sid walked. Pearlie led them determinedly past the rows ofgray suits and lavender and pink shirts on the benches in front ofthe hotel. And as the leading lady came into view the gray suitsstopped talking baseball and sat up and took notice. Pearlie hadknown all those young men inside of the swagger suits in the dayswhen their summer costume consisted of a pair of dad's pants cutdown to a doubtful fit, and a nondescript shirt damp from theswimming-hole. So she called out, cheerily:"We're going over to the strawberry festival. I expect to seeall you boys there to contribute your mite to the church carpet."The leading lady turned to look at them, and smiled. Theywere such a dapper, pink-cheeked, clean-looking lot of boys, shethought. At that the benches rose to a man and announced that theymight as well stroll over right now. Whenever a new girl comes tovisit in our town our boys make a concerted rush at her, anddevelop a "case" immediately, and the girl goes home when her visitis over with her head swimming, and forever after bores the girlsof her home town with tales of her conquests.The ladies of the First M. E. Church still talk of the moneythey garnered at the strawberry festival. Pearlie's out-of-townfriend was garnerer-in-chief. You take a cross-eyed, pock-markedgirl and put her in a white dress, with a pink slip, on a greenlawn under a string of rose-colored Japanese lanterns, and she'lldevelop an almost Oriental beauty. It is an ideal setting. Theleading lady was not cross-eyed or pock-marked. She stood at thelantern-illumined booth, with Pearlie in the background, and dis-pensed an unbelievable amount of strawberries. Sid Strang and thehotel bench brigade assisted. They made engagements to takePearlie and her friend down river next day, and to the ball game,and planned innumerable picnics, gazing meanwhile into the leadinglady's eyes. There grew in the cheeks of the leading lady a flushthat was not brought about by the pink slip, or the Japaneselanterns, or the skillful application of rouge.By nine o'clock the strawberry supply was exhausted, and thepresident of the Foreign Missionary Society was sending wildlydown-town for more ice-cream."I call it an outrage," puffed Pearlie happily, ladlingice-cream like mad. "Making a poor working girl like me slave allevening! How many was that last order? Four? My land! that's thethird dish of ice-cream Ed White's had! You'll have something totell the villagers about when you get back to New York."The leading lady turned a flushed face toward Pearlie. "Thisis more fun than the Actors' Fair. I had the photograph booth lastyear, and I took in nearly as much as Lil Russell; and goodnessknows, all she needs to do at a fair is to wear herdiamond-and-pearl stomacher and her set-piece smile, and the menjust swarm around her like the pictures of a crowd in a McCutcheoncartoon."When the last Japanese lantern had guttered out, PearlieSchultz and the leading lady prepared to go home. Before theyleft, the M. E. ladies came over to Pearlie's booth and personallycongratulated the leading lady, and thanked her for the interestshe had taken in the cause, and the secretary of the Epworth Leagueasked her to come to the tea that was to be held at her home thefollowing Tuesday. The leading lady thanked her and said she'dcome if she could.Escorted by a bodyguard of gray suits and lavender-stripedshirts Pearlie and her friend, Miss Evans, walked toward the hotel.The attentive bodyguard confessed itself puzzled."Aren't you staying at Pearlie's house?" asked Sid tenderly,when they reached the Burke House. The leading lady glanced up atthe windows of the stifling little room that faced west."No," answered she, and paused at the foot of the steps to theladies' entrance. The light from the electric globe over thedoorway shone on her hair and sparkled in the folds of her spangledscarf."I'm not staying at Pearlie's because my name isn't EthelEvans. It's Aimee Fox, with a little French accent mark over thedouble E. I'm leading lady of the `Second Wife' company and oldenough to be--well, your aunty, anyway. We go out at one-thirtyto-morrow morning."

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