Mr. Feldstein told her he’d insisted the dining and lounge cars be between the men’s and women’s sleeping cars. Hopefully they would build a natural separation and avoid some of the mishaps from the first caravan. As Audra watched the open flirting as the stars gathered with air kisses and hugs, she doubted that would be enough to keep the amorous apart.
As the dining car filled, Mark rapped a hand on the bar. “Ladies and gents, we are under way.”
Muted applause broke out.
“It’ll take us several days to reach D.C. That’s good since we’ll need the time to plan who does what in the show and rehearse. I’ve got some great scripts, but you’ll have the freedom to create your own material starting tonight.” Mark ran through the details and general rules. “Remember, first and foremost we are on this train to sell war bonds. The government has assigned a quota to this trip, and personally, I’d like to see us beat it—and the amount raised by the first caravan. Let’s show them we can work even harder.”
The stars shifted in their seats, and Audra wondered if Mark would notice the signal. Time to move things along.
“Audra Schaeffer is on the tour to help with logistics. If she tells you something, assume it comes from me.” Audra waved from her spot on the wall then faded back against it. “Dalia Carver will be in charge of costumes and set pieces. We’ve got a good many in the baggage car, but will collect more as we need them.”
A large woman with coffee-colored skin curtsied from the other side of the car.
“All right. Grab some supper. Finish unpacking. Then, be back here by eight for rehearsals. You’re dismissed.”
The stars dispersed one by one, with a few collecting in the corners of the car. Mark approached Audra. “Tonight take notes and get a sense of the personalities. We’ve got more than a few egos on board. We won’t be able to accommodate all of them when it comes to building a program. But we’ll try to minimize the bruising as much as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go relax until eight. You won’t get much opportunity for that on this trip.”
He had no idea. It might sound like a fun trip, but Detective Franklin had given her no indication he knew who had killed Rosemary. She had as good a chance as he did of learning something important. And that was her true priority. She could grab a sandwich after the performers.
She jostled down the swaying aisle, across the car’s walkway, and into the lounge car. Behind the lounge car, she’d reach the sleepers that housed the women making this trip. There were twelve sleeping berths to a car, and Mark had placed her in the first one of the first women’s sleeping car. He said she should keep the men away. She’d wanted to laugh at that suggestion but had nodded instead. How did he think she could stop a determined man? Especially if she hoped to get any sleep while on board.
A few people gathered in the lounge car. She swayed as the train rounded a bend on the tracks and found herself falling against a bolted-down chair. Robert reached up and steadied her.
“I’m so sorry.” She pulled from the contact, embarrassed as several of the men laughed.
Robert made a show of looking up and down the car. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Ignore those lugs. They’ve forgotten any manners their mothers taught them. Here, have a seat if you’ve got a minute.”
She eyed the vacant chair then decided she might as well. “For a moment.” She looked at the book he held. “What’s that?”
He flipped it over. “My Bible. I thought I’d take a few minutes to read. I have a feeling our berths are going to feel mighty small by the end of this trip.”
“Oh.”
“You seem surprised.”
“It’s not the book I expected you to read.”
“Don’t believe everything you read in the magazines, Audra. My faith is very important to me.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She stood and straightened her skirt. “I won’t keep you from your reading.”
He studied her with a knowing look in his eye. “You are up to something, Miss Audra Schaeffer. Promise me it won’t get you in trouble.”
Audra met the questioning interest in his gaze and almost shared the burden. She sank onto the vacant chair next to his.
He reached out and touched a curl where it had slipped into her face. “I like what you’ve done with your hair. The bob looks very nice.”
Her heart raced as he stroked her cheek. Could she trust a star, especially one listed in Rosemary’s book? Especially one who affected her with a mere touch? No, she wouldn’t make any promises to Robert. Not when any trouble she found would be worth it if she could identify her sister’s killer.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
__________
The dining car overflowed with performers again. Audra stood against the back corner behind the bar, watching as men and women greeted each other and found seats on the covered benches. The men covered the women as if anchored in orbit by their beauty.
Lana Kincaid Garfield sat at one table, overdressed, as usual. Her satin gown shimmered in the light, topped by yet another ridiculous fox stole that would look more appropriate in a Chicago winter than on a train headed across a desert. Royce Reynolds lounged on the bench next to her, an arm casually draped against the back of the seat. His message couldn’t be clearer—he’d staked his claim on Lana. From the way she leaned slightly away from him, it wasn’t clear whether she agreed with him or not.
The Lester twins filled a booth by themselves, their size making them look permanently squeezed into the tight space. They waved at everyone who walked by, friendly grins plastered on their faces. Audra looked forward to meeting them, since she’d enjoyed the slapstick variety of their radio spots. Based on the way everyone responded to them, no one saw them as a threat.
Several attractive gals had clustered together, inviting the men with come-hither glances. Though not immediately placing them, Audra could tell she’d need to keep an eye on them to ensure the rules weren’t breeched by visitors of the male persuasion.
One auburn beauty puckered her lips in a pout as Robert walked past the empty seat next to her.
“Well, there he is. Mr. Trouble.” Lana’s voice was coated with a thick dose of sugar. Audra followed her gaze, wondering if she meant anyone other than Robert.
“Robert, my man.” Quincy Cambridge jumped to his feet from his booth near the door and pumped Robert’s arm. “Glad you made this shindig. Should be an adventure, wouldn’t you say?”
Robert smiled and slapped Quincy on the back. “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He marched passed the clustered beauties, and Audra released her breath, then felt foolish. What did it matter to her whom he sat by? “Miss Victoria Hyde, the loveliest lady in Hollywood, may I have the pleasure?”
A soft color heightened Miss Hyde’s perfect cheekbones as she smiled at Robert. “Of course. I’d be delighted for some civilized company in this group.” She slid over to make room for Robert.
Audra bit her lip as the Lester twins wolf-whistled.
Of what she’d seen so far, Victoria was a far better person for Robert than the other assembled women. But even as she thought that, Audra’s heart betrayed her with a hitch in its beating. She silently scolded herself. She had no business thinking about a man like Robert on any day, let alone when she had a mission.
Robert met her gaze and winked. Did he realize she mooned over him like a silly schoolgirl? A flash of heat climbed her face. If only he wouldn’t wear his perfectly tailored suits and shirts. Dressed like that, he was the spitting image of Cary Grant—style with an incredibly handsome face.
The door behind Audra slid open and Mark Feldstein strode into the car. “All right, ladies and gents. We have three days to reach Washington and our first performance. Barely enough time to memorize a skit, let alone plan an entire night’s festivities, but that’s exactly what we are going to do—starting now.”
Conversations slowly ended as he stared from one table to the next.<
br />
“Thank you.” He straightened his tie then turned to Audra. “You ready to take notes, Miss Schaeffer?”
Audra resisted rolling her eyes. As if taking notes of a conversation was the hardest task he would assign. “Of course.” She lowered her clipboard and got her pen ready.
“All right. Robert Garfield here will be our emcee. He’ll come on to string all the acts together and be the handsome face America loves. We’ve got slapstick, singers, a couple dancers…” Gene Costos and Annabelle Kelly tapped their toes in a rapid beat on the floor. “…Thank you for that…. And Constance and Frank will sing for the masses.”
On cue the two hummed a measure of “Auld Lang Syne” in an off-key duet.
Good-natured laughter filled the car as Mark pulled his hat low over his face.
Mark turned to Audra and popped his fedora back on his crown. “See? This is exactly why three days isn’t enough time. We can shoot an entire movie in two or three weeks, but I can’t get these yahoos to be quiet and respectful long enough to plan one night’s agenda.”
“Maybe if you stopped talking, we’d listen,” Jim Collins hollered from the opposite side of the car. Hoots and whistles followed his words until Mark brushed his hands at the performers.
“Whenever you’re ready to scheme up the perfect evening of entertainment to get Americans to open their pocketbooks and fork over their hard-earned cash for war bonds, let me know. Until then, Miss Schaeffer and I will do some work over here.”
“Why don’t you order up a round of drinks for us, Markie boy.” Winston Portland, a star of more westerns that Audra could remember, rapped the table in front of him. His cheeks bore the flushed, veined look of someone who didn’t let much come between him and his nightcaps. “It’s mighty thirsty business, listening to you.” He caught Audra’s eye and winked. “In fact, I think your lovely assistant should be the one to serve.”
“The bar’s closed until the work’s done. Feel free to drink some water, though, if you’re parched.” Mark banged his fist on the bar. “People, the government and the boys are counting on us. It is our patriotic duty to take this seriously. Don’t worry, we’ll leave you plenty of time to cut it up, but we have to do the work first.”
“I’m sure everyone knows why we’re here, Mr. Feldstein.” Victoria looked at Mark, a composed expression coating any irritation she might feel.
Lana stifled a yawn and shrugged her fur-wrapped shoulders. “How will you use the actors among us? Only one can emcee.”
“That’s where you come in, Sweetcakes. You’re talented or you wouldn’t ride with us. We’ll create skits. Find an organ-grinding monkey to stand in front of you. Anything to keep the audience happy. If you want input on your image, I suggest you start working with me.”
Lana wrinkled her nose and settled against the bench. Royce squeezed her shoulder and Audra caught Robert watching the interplay, his brows knit together. What must he think as they carried on?
Charlie Lester leaned forward. “I think we should start with a little vaudeville routine. Loosen the crowd up with some grins and giggles.”
“Of course you’d say that. That means you’d start the show.” Royce rolled his eyes.
“Then what’s your idea? And what’s wrong with warming the audience up with some laughs? We could at least incorporate one or two of these pretty ladies into our routine. Then we could have the tappers and a singer or two. Followed by whatever talent you can display in front of a live audience. You know there won’t be a camera focused on your mug.” The intense speech seemed to deflate Charlie. His shoulders slumped, shrinking his silhouette. “I’ve been 4-F’d. This is the only way I’ll make a difference in the war effort. You’d better believe I’ll give it everything I’ve got. Whether I’m first in the line-up or tucked in the middle and never mentioned in a solitary column inch in the papers or one moment over the airways. This is about more than any of us.”
Silence settled on the train. Audra wanted to clap at his impassioned words but clutched the clipboard instead.
Mark stepped into the pause. “That sounds like something to start with. What would the focus of your skit be?”
“Something about a G.I. Joe. Maybe coming home and finding his girl with a buddy.”
“Oh, that sounds funny.” Royce snickered.
“Or dreaming of Mom’s good home cooking during basic.” Danny Lester patted his stomach. “There’re all kinds of ways we can take it once we know what works best for the show.”
Robert snapped his fingers. “Hey, maybe we could base the skits on that Rockwell character. What’s his name?”
Audra thought a moment. “From the Saturday Evening Post covers?”
“Yeah.”
“Willie Gillis.”
“That’s it!”
Mark nodded. “Jot that down. Good ideas. Charlie, grab a couple people and see if you can come up with something by tomorrow afternoon. All right. Keep ’em coming. We need more, folks.”
Constance bounced on the seat, one hand raised in the air as her blond curls jiggled around her shoulders. “Oh, we could put together a trio with some swinging tunes that sound like the Andrews Sisters. Even cover a couple of their songs. I bet the crowds would like that.”
“Yeah, we should build it like a radio variety show. Coming on and off with the suave emcee to keep us all moving.” Quincy nudged Robert, who made a show of massaging his ribs.
Mark rubbed his hands together and looked at Audra. “Catching all this? Now we’re getting somewhere.”
An hour later, Audra had captured a list of ten or twelve possible acts. The performers had a lot of work to do before the next meeting the following afternoon. As the group broke up, she wondered how she’d have time to learn all the personalities and get some of the performers to even acknowledge her presence, let alone talk to her. While many of those on the train seemed friendly and glad to know anyone, some seemed standoffish.
Lana Garfield gave no indication she’d even noticed Audra, let alone remembered she’d stopped at the star’s apartment. Audra could imagine Lana’s face twisted into a mask of disdain at the thought of talking to someone of her status.
After all, she was merely an assistant.
Audra tapped the pen against her lips, a smile forming. Maybe she could use that to her advantage. Lana wouldn’t be the first or last person to underestimate her. Many attorneys and law professors had treated her as less skilled than her male counterparts. She’d waited until their perceptions trapped them then destroyed the illusion. It worked in legal settings. That strategy should work here, too. Her smile bloomed until she couldn’t hide it.
Robert sidled up next to her. “You look pleased with yourself.”
“Shouldn’t you be with a starlet? Someone who can build your public persona?”
He studied her a moment, serious blue eyes searching through the barriers to her soul. “My mission is to convince you that’s not me.” He sighed. “You’ll see plenty of people playing to the media while we’re on this trip.”
She crossed her arms. “Admit it. You’re here for the exposure.”
“Sure, that’s part of it. But I’m not looking for a mate.” He stopped abruptly as if realizing what he’d said. “Not a Hollywood mate anyway.” He shrugged. “This is why I work from a script.”
She felt drawn into his gaze. “Are you always so…self-deprecating?”
He straightened his cuff links. “That’s a mighty big word from such a small person.”
“I guess it is.” She should turn away. Find something to do. Something. To. Do. Yes, she should. Instead, she stood mesmerized and liked it. The realization startled her.
His gaze settled on her lips, and she swallowed around a suddenly dry throat.
“Robert Garfield.” Lana’s voice reached screeching levels. “You cannot be engaged with this woman.”
Audra jerked as the words broke the spell. What craziness was Lana spouting?
“I’ve thought about
it.” Robert smiled his lazy, star smile.
For just a moment, Audra wondered if she’d somehow fallen into You Can’t Take It with You, the delightful Jean Arthur/Jimmy Stewart romantic comedy. All the screwball friends and family were missing, but the intensity between Jean and Jimmy’s characters had appeared in this moment. The almost proposal… She shook her head. What had gotten into her? He was only tweaking Lana’s words, trying to get her goat. Less than two weeks in Hollywood and she’d let her mind run away with her emotions.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
__________
Monday, June 15, 1942
Chaos reigned in the lounge car. The actors and actresses couldn’t do much about the car’s setup. After all, the seats were bolted to the floor. Then a studio head had the brilliant idea to cram a piano next to one wall. Someone had strapped it against the wall so it didn’t roll all over the end of the car. But that meant the singers and dancers had to practice and scheme in the same small space as the actors.
Robert watched the mishmash of activity from a safe spot. He’d found a vacant bench in the middle of the car so he could observe everything. As emcee he needed to know everyone’s role in the show. So he hovered, not really participating in anything. It would be a challenge to make everything fit together in a seamless procession.
Sacrifice.
Somehow it would all come back to the willingness the boys had to lay their lives down for others. And if they did that willingly, shouldn’t those left at home make sacrifices, too?
Yes, that was it. Robert snagged a small notebook from his inside jacket pocket and sketched some notes down. The words of John 15:13 slid through his mind. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
Jesus had been the truest example.
But each young man fighting in or preparing for a battle right now—whether in Africa or the Pacific—would do the same. Die for others if called to.
Stars in the Night Page 13
