Songbird Under a German Moon (5 page)

“Why would your mother warn you of the month of October? What does she know, what has she heard?” Frank rubbed his jaw, wondering if Mac was making the whole thing up to get Betty's attention. He wouldn't put it past him. She was nice, and pretty too.

“I'm not sure. She didn't say, but she still has a lot of friends in that circle. I just assume she's passing the warning on from something she's heard.”

“But it's the fourth of October now,” Betty said.

“Exactly, and I've decided to break my own rule not to go within a mile of the place. I'll slow enough for you two to jump out.” Mac chuckled, but Frank could see from the look in his eye he was partially serious. “Then, as soon as I drop you off, I'm heading back to Goering and Hess, where it's safe.”

“Well, I have to say, I've never had a tour guide quite like you before. I would tell you that your horror stories are going to keep me up all night, but after this long trip I don't think that'll be the
case.” Betty's voice sounded tired, and Frank could see she was trying to suppress a yawn. “Still it was a great story. I'm glad I asked.” She winked.

“I imagine you're exhausted, miss. Do you want me to drive you to your quarters first?”

“No, no, straight to the opera house, please. I know you're trying to get out of going there, but it's not going to work. I'm supposed to perform tonight, and I'll barely get there in enough time to get ready.”

“Can you give me a preview, seeing as I'll most likely never get brave enough to attend and see it for myself?”

“Sure, soldier—I mean Mac,” and then without batting an eye she broke into “That Lovely Weekend” by Vera Lynn. “—I haven't said thanks for that lovely weekend, those two days of heaven you helped me spend—”

Mac asked her to sing song after song: “I'll Walk Alone,” “The White Cliffs of Dover,” “Long Ago and Far Away.” Appearing glad for this chance to warm up before her performance in a few hours, she sang until they approached Bayreuth. Then Betty paused as the driver stopped the jeep at the bottom of a hill. From the look on her face, Frank could see she was enraptured. He couldn't help but be too, but not entirely because of the view outside the jeep.

Sloping gardens swept upward, and a large building rose—seemingly from the top of the hill—like a modern castle ready to lift into the sky.

It was a colossal structure. It was far from beautiful, but beautiful didn't matter any longer. It stood, and realizing that impressed him.

“Much of the town was bombed,” Mac explained. “Over a thousand people from Bayreuth were killed. Half of the buildings were destroyed, but not her. She still stands. It's as if she has supernatural protection, or something.”

“Or maybe bombing an opera house wasn't the Air Corps's main priority,” Frank quipped.

The jeep drove up to the Festspielhaus, and to Frank it looked like a giant turtle on the hill with stucco and wood finish. His favorite part, he supposed, was the green arbor and patio off the front entrance. He could almost imagine the horse-drawn carriages lined up there as they dropped off their important passengers. There were no fancy carriages around here, but there was a long line of jeeps driving up from town, and a group of GIs already lining up at the door.

“I can't believe it.” Betty's voice was no more than a whisper from the front seat. “Pinch me, Mac, pinch me hard. This has to be a dream. Some of the most famous singers in history have sung here—I can't believe I will too.”

“Sorry, miss, but I won't pinch you. That's not gentlemanly. I will say, though, that this isn't a dream. I mean, if you were going to dream something up, you most likely wouldn't include someone like me in it.” Mac pointed his thumb behind him toward Frank. “Him maybe, but not me.”

Mac drove around back and parked the jeep by the back door. Mac jumped out. But before he could walk around and help Betty from the seat, Frank climbed over the wheel-well and offered a hand.

“Miss, watch your step.”

Tears of joy rimmed her eyes, and she looked at him and smiled.

It was a lovely smile, sincere.

“Thank you.” She placed her hand on his. “It looks like a perfectly safe and wonderful place, no matter what your mother says, Mac.” She chuckled. “I never expected this. I still think I must be dreaming.”

She scanned the huge opera house behind Frank, and he knew she was talking about the building, but he didn't mind. His heartbeat hammered at the touch of her hand, and he wondered if he should reconsider his stance on waiting to find a girl.

I never expected this either, sweetheart, not in a million years.

Had her dreams come true?

One look at the immense, beautiful Festspielhaus—even while wearing a droopy uniform—made Betty feel like a princess. She held her breath as she entered the back doors.
I can't believe it, they've invited me to sing—here.

She followed the festive sounds of voices down a long hall. Mac and Frank followed with her luggage, setting it down as soon as they entered the backstage area. Around them, people fluttered in motion and sounds—musicians tuning their instruments, singers chatting and adding last-minute touches to their costumes, dancers stretching out long limbs. Betty turned to the guys, noticing their wide-eyed gazes, and knew hers matched.

A man approached in a gray suit and red tie, with brownish gray hair slicked back, and a wide grin. Betty could tell he was the stage manager from his commanding style. He glanced at his gold watch. “Listen here, my little chickadee, I wish we had time for you to rehearse, but we have some very important guests tonight—all of them. These GIs have seen the last show a few times, so I'd like to work in some new acts. The stuff around here is as stale as day-old bread. You got anything for me?”

“Are you—?” She scrambled through her memories trying to recall the name her recruiter had given to her, but came up blank.

“Mickey. Mickey Bench at your service.” He took her hand and kissed her middle knuckle and then swept his arm around the room. “I'll introduce you to the rest of the crew later. So you got some songs, kid?”

Betty straightened her shoulders and took in a deep breath. A dozen songs spun through her mind, and she tried to remember which ones the crowds back home requested most. “I can sing Lena Horne's ‘Stormy Weather' and ‘Silver Wings in the Moonlight.' Does the orchestra know those?” She turned to a man standing next to Mickey. He wore a light blue suit and held a baton in his hand. She guessed he was the conductor.

“Know them? My orchestra plays those numbers better than you've ever heard, kid.”

“Great. You're gonna sing those numbers after the Johnson sisters do their little dance act.”

“But that's my spot. I always sing after the Johnsons' jiggle.” A woman with jet black hair done up in a tall pile stepped forward.

“Irene, Irene, don't spin yourself into a tizzy. Tonight I'm putting you with Esther and Trudy. The duo is now a trio.”

Irene's gaze widened. “She took my spot? What are you going to do, give her the shirt off my back too?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“No, but now that you mention it, I think the dress will work. You two look about the same size.”

“I don't think—” Betty started, but Mickey's sharp look silenced her.

“Sure, Mick, but you better have this thing worked out tomorrow. I'm my own act—not a trio.” Irene turned, stomped two steps, and then paused. “You coming, kid, or are you going to strip right here?”

“I'm coming.” Betty bit her lip.

“Hey, either of you Captain Frank Witt?” Mickey called to the driver and photographer who still stood there, as if waiting to be dismissed.

“Yeah, I'm Frank.” The handsome photographer removed his cap and stepped forward.

“Great. Ready to go? I'd recommend finding a seat front and center—best place in the house, if you ask me. There's a media box, but I thought you'd like to be with the soldiers. Maybe to be part of the experience.”

“Excuse me, I don't understand.” Frank took a step forward.

“Didn't Marv tell you? It's your assignment, kid.”

“This?” Frank's face scrunched up as if he'd been sucker punched in the gut. “This is my assignment?”

“Sure is. Got your equipment? The doors open in fifteen. You'd better get your spot while the gettin's good.”

“You coming?” Irene approached and tugged Betty's arm. “Mickey's a stickler about the show starting on time. The last thing you want to do is hold him up. That wouldn't be a good way to start your ‘opera' career.”

Betty blinked, confused, but turned and followed Irene with quickened steps. Her new pumps pinched her toes as she hurried along. They didn't fit like they had when she tried them on in McMillan's
Department Store in Hollywood last week. Maybe the fact that she'd worn them for three days straight had something to do with it.

They entered a dressing room with lighted mirrors, where three other women were in various stages of suiting up. The room was clean and bright, with chairs scattered around and a lounging couch against one wall.

“I don't mind that you're wearing my dress, really.” Irene turned her back to Betty. “Can you unzip me?”

“Yes—uh—sure.” She unzipped Irene's dress and then made quick work of getting out of her USO uniform. From the way the other girls were dressed up around her, she doubted she'd be wearing the uniform much. While everyone at the canteen wore the drab USO suits, here the singers dressed like starlets in the movies.

“I bet you're beat.” Irene handed her the dress, holding up the shimmery pink gown between two fingers. “I think I slept two days when I first arrived. I can't believe Mickey's making you go on tonight.”

“I'm tired, but the idea of singing energizes me. I'll be fine once I get on stage.”

“Oh, you must be one of
those
girls.”

“What do you mean, ‘one of those girls'?” She took the dress and put it on over her head. It was silky and smooth and slid over her body like butter on hot corn.

“Oh, we all love to sing, don't get me wrong. It just starts to feel like work after a while. There's always a new song to practice or a new show to get right. Not to mention all of the impromptu shows. We can't go to the mess or even walk around town without being
stopped and asked to sing. That's not even taking into account the stuff that happens after the show.” Irene hurried to a large wardrobe filled with gowns and pulled out a simple black dress, slipping it over her head without messing up her hair one bit.

“After the show?” Betty straightened the pink gown and turned her back to be zipped.

“Yes, you don't think our work ends when the show's done, do you?”

“Ladies, ladies, save your chatting until after the show.” Mickey poked his head into the room. “We're on in ten, and I still need to give Songbird a rundown of the show.” Seeing that everyone was dressed, he walked in, writing something on a clipboard in his hand.

“Songbird?” Betty gazed at her image in the tall mirror, pleased by how the gown fit.

“That's you, kid. That's what Mickey calls all the new girls. Eventually he'll learn your name.”

“That's okay. I sort of like Songbird.”

“The dress looks good, but we have to do something with your hair,” one woman with white-blond hair chirped.

“And your makeup too. Kat, can you hand me the rouge?” A redhead in an emerald green dress brushed some type of powder all over Betty's face. Betty held her breath and tried not to sneeze.

A beautiful woman she assumed to be Kat, with blond hair and perfect curls framing her face, glanced over. Betty sucked in a short breath. She knew that woman from somewhere—from the pictures. She just couldn't remember which ones.

One of the women pulled up a chair behind Betty, and she
obediently sat. The motion of the brush through her hair and the powder-puff caused her heartbeat to quicken.
This is really happening. I'm really here.

When Betty was finally ready, she followed the others from the dressing room to the backstage rehearsal area where members of the band eagerly introduced themselves. Betty shook each person's hand, but her smile faded when she turned to Kat, who glared at her with a narrow-eyed gaze.

“Funny—don't you think it's strange that everyone's all aflutter, but we've yet to hear this one sing?” Even though Kat was looking at Betty, it was clear she was speaking to Mickey, who was scribbling something on the schedule.

Betty felt her own smile fading, and all heads turned to Mickey, waiting for his response.

“My buddy Marv promises she has the voice of an angel. Think I got time for this business, Kat, when them soldiers are already filling their seats?” Mickey pointed to the stage area and then stalked up to Betty. “Don't worry about her, kid. You'll do great. The band's prepped for your numbers. Just know that after the Johnson Sisters do their little kick-dance, you'll be on next.”