The Joys of Love by Madeleine L'Engle Read Free Book Online Page B

corridor and spoke briefly to Miss Hedeman and Huntley Haskell. A group of apprentices was in Dottie’s dressing room. Elizabeth had not liked her performance. “You can’t play that girl with glamour,” she had whispered indignantly to Jane. “The thing that gets her audience’s sympathy is that she’s pitiful and frustrated and doesn’t know the score. Wouldn’t you think that Kurt—or somebody—would have stopped her? Dottie, I mean?”
    â€œIt’s a tough job trying to direct and act in a play,” Jane whispered back. “Anyhow, I don’t imagine La Dawne’s easy to direct.”
    Elizabeth was rather disgusted at the overgracious way Dottie (and whatever was her real name? No one was christened Dorothy Dawne) was holding forth, and she was angry with the apprentices for fawning over her simply because she had made two or three grade-B movies. I don’t suppose she’s any older than Jane or I, she thought, and she certainly doesn’t have as much talent. Either of us would have been better in that part.
    She did not admit to herself that Dottie’s lack of talent was not the only thing that annoyed her.
    In spite of his promise not to be long, it was after one on opening night when Kurt was ready to leave. Most of the apprentices and the company had already departed. They had gone down the boardwalk to Irving’s, the nightclub that was very popular among the company and the more affluent apprentices.
Jane and John Peter had been there once that first week, and had said that once was enough, but this evening they tagged along with everybody else.
    â€œAfter all, there’s only one opening night to a season,” John Peter said. “Coming, Liz?”
    Elizabeth was glad she had a legitimate excuse. “Nope. Can’t. Mr. Canitz asked me to wait.”
    â€œWhat for?” Jane asked curiously.
    Elizabeth shrugged. “I don’t know. Letters to type or something, I suppose.”
    â€œAs long as he doesn’t ask you over to his hotel to show you his etchings,” Jane said.
    Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t be a nut.”
    She waited in the corridor outside Kurt’s dressing room. When his last visitor left he stuck his head out and saw her.
    â€œThere’s my good little Liz,” he said, “though not so little, are you, Liebchen? Come in and sit down.”
    She went into the dressing room and watched while he finished removing his makeup, wiped it off with cotton saturated with witch hazel, and repeated the process three times.
    â€œElizabeth,” he said, “how old are you?”
    â€œTwenty.”
    â€œAnd this is your first experience in the professional theatre?”
    â€œYes, Mr. Canitz.”
    â€œAre you enjoying it?”
    She nodded. “Terribly.”
    â€œYes. You look happy.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “This tiny little dressing room! Really, it’s more like
solitary confinement than a place for an actor to prepare for a role. Do you suffer from claustrophobia?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œWell, I do. I thought if that mob of well-meaning but stupid people didn’t leave me alone I’d scream or at least be stupidly rude. And the thought of going to Irving’s, that mediocre little boîte de nuit —I should get claustrophobia all over again if I went there. I think that I shall telephone and say that I have a headache and have had to go home to bed, and will everybody please have a drink—two drinks—on me. No. Better yet. I shall donate the entire party. That would more than make up for my absence, don’t you think? That would make up for anybody’s absence.”
    â€œNo, they’ll be disappointed,” Elizabeth started, and meant it.
    â€œRubbish,” Kurt said. “Anyhow, it is myself I am thinking of. I saw you passing by, looking so fresh and cool and clean as I was surrounded by