with me to my dressing room now? I should freshen up , but I don’t want to go up there alone .”
At that moment, Gladys returned with Dr. Fellowes, who carried a heavy tea tray laden with tea things. Bother. Now I wished I hadn’t asked the two of them to prepare tea.
“Here’s the tea,” Gladys said unnecessarily.
Dr. Fellowes carefully laid the tea tray down on the coffee table before the crushed-velvet sofa and stepped back, the better to gaze worshipfully at Lola de la Monica. He didn’t speak.
“Thank you very much, Gladys and Dr. Fellowes. As soon as Miss de la Monica freshens up a bit, I’ll see that she gets a good, strong cup of tea to carry her through the next few hours.”
Gladys glanced at the watch pinned to her shirtwaist. “Better hurry. You ’ve only five minutes left. I don’t think Mr. Bohnert will be pleased if Miss de la Monica delays production further.”
Lucky me. Now I was responsible for getting John ’s schedule back in line. Why me, God ? But I already knew the answer to that stupid question. This was my life. And I had to deal with it.
“We’ll hurry,” I assured Gladys. Then I grabbed one of Lola de la Monica’s hands and all but yanked her off the sofa.
She grunted softly, but didn’t object. Rather, she meekly followed me up the stairs. When we reached the top, I stepped aside and followed her, since she knew where her dressing room was. As she’d said, it was the last room on the right. As we approached the door, she seemed to shrink back. I braced myself for another fit, but she only said, “Please. You open the door. I’m so afraid.”
Since she couldn’t see me, I puffed out my cheeks and rolled my eyes. Then I passed her and turned the knob on her door. Voila! The dressing room, presumably as she’d left it.
“Do you see anything amiss?” I asked as soon as we’d entered the room.
Lola stood at the door, her hands clasped at her bosom, glancing with profound fear around the room.
I waited.
And waited.
Until I got fed up with waiting. “Well? Do you see anything amiss?”
Gradually, Lola drifted into the room, still glancing around as if she were a gazelle who expected a lion to pop out and devour her at any moment. At last she spoke. Goody gumdrops. “I . . . don’t know. My maid picked up after me.”
Must be nice. I said, “Well, can you poke around and tell me if anything is different than it should be? Where did you find the letter, by the way?” I probably should have asked her that in the first place.
She pointed a willowy finger at the huge , ornate mirror in front of which sat a huge vanity covered all over with pots and boxes and bottles. Face cream, powder and perfume, I presumed. “There. It was propped against the mirror.”
Hmm. I walked over to the mirror and inspected it, looking for fingerprints. Not that fingerprints would have helped me one teensy bit, since I’d already determined not to tell Sam Rotondo about the lousy letters. What a stupid job I’d taken on! It didn’t matter, though. I guess the maid had cleaned the mirror, too, because it sparkled, fingerprint-free against the wall. It was probably all for the best .
It took some prodding, but at last, after only ten or fifteen minutes, I got Lola de la Monica downstairs and out of the house. We forwent—is that a word?—the tea, since I didn’t want to irritate Mr. Bohnert any more than was absolutely necessary.
I hadn’t anticipated receiving any praise for my valiant efforts on behalf of The Fire at Sunset , but I sure as anything didn’t expect John Bohnert ’s, “For God’s sake, what took you so damned long?”
Chapter Seven
I must have looked as annoyed as I felt, because John instantly came to my side. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I know this isn’t your fault.” He turned like a tiger on Lola de la Monica. “Get into the costume tent instantly, Lola. You’ve delayed us long enough for one day.”
Lola sniffed and said, “I received
At that moment, Gladys returned with Dr. Fellowes, who carried a heavy tea tray laden with tea things. Bother. Now I wished I hadn’t asked the two of them to prepare tea.
“Here’s the tea,” Gladys said unnecessarily.
Dr. Fellowes carefully laid the tea tray down on the coffee table before the crushed-velvet sofa and stepped back, the better to gaze worshipfully at Lola de la Monica. He didn’t speak.
“Thank you very much, Gladys and Dr. Fellowes. As soon as Miss de la Monica freshens up a bit, I’ll see that she gets a good, strong cup of tea to carry her through the next few hours.”
Gladys glanced at the watch pinned to her shirtwaist. “Better hurry. You ’ve only five minutes left. I don’t think Mr. Bohnert will be pleased if Miss de la Monica delays production further.”
Lucky me. Now I was responsible for getting John ’s schedule back in line. Why me, God ? But I already knew the answer to that stupid question. This was my life. And I had to deal with it.
“We’ll hurry,” I assured Gladys. Then I grabbed one of Lola de la Monica’s hands and all but yanked her off the sofa.
She grunted softly, but didn’t object. Rather, she meekly followed me up the stairs. When we reached the top, I stepped aside and followed her, since she knew where her dressing room was. As she’d said, it was the last room on the right. As we approached the door, she seemed to shrink back. I braced myself for another fit, but she only said, “Please. You open the door. I’m so afraid.”
Since she couldn’t see me, I puffed out my cheeks and rolled my eyes. Then I passed her and turned the knob on her door. Voila! The dressing room, presumably as she’d left it.
“Do you see anything amiss?” I asked as soon as we’d entered the room.
Lola stood at the door, her hands clasped at her bosom, glancing with profound fear around the room.
I waited.
And waited.
Until I got fed up with waiting. “Well? Do you see anything amiss?”
Gradually, Lola drifted into the room, still glancing around as if she were a gazelle who expected a lion to pop out and devour her at any moment. At last she spoke. Goody gumdrops. “I . . . don’t know. My maid picked up after me.”
Must be nice. I said, “Well, can you poke around and tell me if anything is different than it should be? Where did you find the letter, by the way?” I probably should have asked her that in the first place.
She pointed a willowy finger at the huge , ornate mirror in front of which sat a huge vanity covered all over with pots and boxes and bottles. Face cream, powder and perfume, I presumed. “There. It was propped against the mirror.”
Hmm. I walked over to the mirror and inspected it, looking for fingerprints. Not that fingerprints would have helped me one teensy bit, since I’d already determined not to tell Sam Rotondo about the lousy letters. What a stupid job I’d taken on! It didn’t matter, though. I guess the maid had cleaned the mirror, too, because it sparkled, fingerprint-free against the wall. It was probably all for the best .
It took some prodding, but at last, after only ten or fifteen minutes, I got Lola de la Monica downstairs and out of the house. We forwent—is that a word?—the tea, since I didn’t want to irritate Mr. Bohnert any more than was absolutely necessary.
I hadn’t anticipated receiving any praise for my valiant efforts on behalf of The Fire at Sunset , but I sure as anything didn’t expect John Bohnert ’s, “For God’s sake, what took you so damned long?”
Chapter Seven
I must have looked as annoyed as I felt, because John instantly came to my side. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I know this isn’t your fault.” He turned like a tiger on Lola de la Monica. “Get into the costume tent instantly, Lola. You’ve delayed us long enough for one day.”
Lola sniffed and said, “I received
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