Vintage Love (266 page)

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Binghampton,” he said dolefully. “We play a split week there and then go on to Pumptown.”

She listened blankly. “Binghampton and Pumptown? I’ve never heard of those places.”

He sighed. “No, and neither has anyone else.”

“Why are we going there?”

“Because Shermy Kress has a wicked, bad reputation for cheap shows and he can’t get anything but third-rate bookings in the smallest towns.”

“But you played in Lynn!”

“Which ain’t exactly Broadway, New York,” Marty said sourly. And then with pride, “Kress only got us in there because I was a local. I got us our only decent booking!”

“You mean Binghampton and Pumptown are smaller than Lynn?” she said with dismay.

He gave her a look. “Lynn,” he told her, “has indoor toilets.”

This made her think for a little. It seemed there was much she didn’t know about show business. She’d realized that Marty was not at the top, but she’d felt he was in a very good, respectable troupe. It seemed he didn’t share her opinion.

She turned to him and said, “What about getting married?”

“What about it?” he asked, draining down the rest of the black coffee and brushing the crumbs of cheese and bread from his wrinkled suit.

“Can we get married in Binghampton?” she asked. “I don’t think we should travel around too long before we do it.”

Marty eyed her bleakly. “We’ve already done it,” he said, leaving her somewhat puzzled. And then he went on, “I guess we can find a JP there.”

“A JP?” she asked, wide-eyed. These show people talked a different language.

“A Justice of the Peace,” he said. “Don’t you know anything? Lynn isn’t darkest Africa. Where have you been all your life?”

“A Justice of the Peace to marry us?” Dismay was strong in her quavering voice. “We’re Catholics!”

“If we keep quiet, he maybe won’t notice!”

“But I want a priest to marry us!”

“Then you should have stayed in Lynn!”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Aren’t there any priests in Binghampton?”

“Listen,” he said, turning to her with a solemn look on his youthful, freckled face. “In this part of New York State they not only have outdoor toilets, but most of the people are Protestants.”

“I don’t believe it!” she gasped.

“Such places exist,” he said. “And you better get used to the idea. You travel with me, you’ll see a lot of them!”

“I’ll have to travel with you as your wife,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “Do you still think it’s a good idea?”

“Marty!” she gasped.

He bent quickly to her and took her pert little chin in his hand and carefully kissed her on the lips. “You know I love you! It’s just that I’m always snappy in the morning after I drink too much!”

“I’ll have to get used to that,” she said, happier for the kiss. “Will a JP marrying us be legal?”

“You bet your life,” Marty assured her. “Lots of people get married by JP’s. I think Doug and Mary did!”

“Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford were married by a Justice of the Peace?”

“I think I remember reading it in the papers,” Marty said. “And I know my friend Billy Bowers was married by one. Show biz people tend to use them. Saves a lot of time and hiring a church and all.”

“I guess I have a lot to learn,” she sighed.

He smiled. “You’re smart, kid. And you’re pretty. You’ll learn quick enough!”

“Are you going to put me in the act?”

He nodded. “Why not? It’s the only way I’ll ever be able to get Kress to pay your expenses.”

“He told us he wouldn’t ever!”

“He says a lot of things he changes his mind about,” Marty said with a new optimism since he’d finished the coffee. “I’m going down and wash up and take a stroll through the other cars. I like to stretch my legs.”

“Can I go with you?” she wanted to know.

“No,” he said. “You make yourself comfortable here.” And he left her.

Seeing her alone, the fat woman leaned across the aisle to her and said, “If you’ll follow the advice of Madame Irma, you’ll get off the train at the next stop and run home as fast as your legs will let you!”

“I couldn’t do that. I’m going to marry him!”

“I heard his enthusiastic comments about that,” Madame Irma said grimly. “Better go now, dearie. He’ll be tired of you in a few weeks anyway. And you’ll only be worse off married.”

Anita protested, “I love him. And I’ve given him all my money!”

“The last is your biggest mistake,” Madame Irma groaned. “I can see you’re just like me where men are concerned. And that’s not happy news, dearie.”

Anita decided she would get up and stroll around a little in the car, following Marty’s example in a more limited way. She hated to go on hearing Madame Irma’s doleful comments.

As she walked slowly up the aisle a pleasant young female voice said, “Hello, you!”

She halted and looked down. It was the young girl whom she’d seen sleeping the night before in the seat with the older man. She looked prettier and more animated now. She had long chestnut curls and a round, friendly face.

“Hello,” Anita said. “My name is Anita O’Hara and I’m going to marry Marty Nolan.”

The girl stared at her in consternation. “It would be smarter to go over Niagra Falls in a barrel.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Marty doesn’t marry girls, he’s married to the bottle.”

“May I sit down for a minute?” Anita asked.

“As long as you like,” the girl said. “My name is Belle Ames and Pruneface has wandered off somewhere. Likely in search of a drink.”

“I remember!” she said. “You and that older man do an act with a seal named Percy!”

“That’s us,” the girl said grimacing. “I’m not sure that I wouldn’t rather be riding in the baggage car with Percy than here in this uncomfortable one with Pruneface. At least Percy doesn’t drink!”

Anita said, “The act is called Pontiface and Percy, isn’t it?”

“Right again,” Belle Ames said. “I call him Pruneface. If you’re going to marry Marty you must be a Catholic?”

“I am.”

“So am I,” Belle Ames said. “Ran away from an orphanage when I was fifteen. Been on my own ever since. And Pruneface was once a brother in a seminary outside Buffalo.”

“A brother?” Anita echoed, amazed. “What is he doing in show business?”

“He lapsed and they decided it was better for him to leave. Too much booze! So he bought Percy and went into vaudeville. And then he added me to the act. Now get me right, he doesn’t expect me to sleep with him or anything. My relations with him are pure business, just like Percy’s. Only Percy gets paid in herring and I get tossed a few bills now and then.”

“It’s amazing!” Anita gasped.

“It’s more than that,” Belle Ames said with a cheerful smile. “I not only work in the act, I have to be house mother to Percy and Pruneface.”

“Oh?”

“Percy’s no problem. But every so often Pruneface gets the D.T.’s and he thinks that Percy is his father, transformed by the Devil, because he deserted the Church. He gets down by Percy’s tub and begs forgiveness until I drag him away to sleep it off.”

“What a strange lot of people you are!” Anita said.

“You haven’t heard anything yet,” the girl said. “Where is your precious hubby-to-be?”

“He left me to take a stroll in the other cars,” she said.

“Ah!” Belle said knowingly. “Do you know where he probably is at this exact moment?”

“No.”

“I’ll give you two guesses,” Belle said with wry amusement. “I’ve watched him operating for weeks. Right now he is either sharing a bottle with some travelling salesman or sitting with some pretty country girl giving her a pitch about his stage career!”

Anita timorously made her way from one swaying railway carriage to another. She continued on in her search for her missing fiancé until she moved from second class into first. She was at once impressed by the more elegantly furnished first class cars with their soft upholstered seats and general air of luxury. And as Belle had predicted, it was in one of the first-class cars that she found Marty hovering over a lovely blonde seated alone, and giving her the full benefit of his Irish blarney and charm.

Anita was usually a mild-tempered girl, but she was also Irish and an O’Hara. The O’Haras were noted for their fighting spirit. She bridled at the sight of Marty so clearly engaged in a flirtation with the strange girl. Fire blazing in her green eyes, she marched down the corridor to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Your wife is looking for you!” she said sternly. “She sent me to find you!”

Marty turned to her, his mouth gaping open. And then he managed awkwardly, “Sure! Sure! Tell her I’ll be right along!”

Anita lifted her chin and said, “I think it best if I stay and see that you get back right away. She’s
not
in a good mood!”

A blushing Marty now bade the blonde a hasty farewell and followed Anita back along the corridor. When they were in the next car he seized her by the arm and angrily demanded, “Why did you do a thing like that?”

She glared at him and said, “To let you know I’m not putting up with any funny business!”

Marty complained, “I just went to stretch my legs and I happened to pass this girl and she smiled at me. There was no harm in it!”

She said, “Everyone in the company is warning me against you. If you don’t behave, I’m going back home!”

“That’s a fine way to talk!” he grumbled.

“I mean it! No O’Hara was ever a doormat for a Nolan!”

He placed a placating arm around her and told her, “I love you! I don’t want to make you a doormat!”

This interesting conversation was brought to an end by the conductor and the trainman arriving. The conductor eyed them with a scowl and said, “You’re with the vaudeville company, aren’t you?”

“We are,” Marty said.

“Then back to second class with you,” the Conductor told them. “That’s what your tickets entitle you to! And don’t let me catch you up here again!”

“We were just going,” Marty said, attempting to show regal pride, which didn’t prove convincing.

They made their way back to the miserable, hard-seated second class and Anita began to wonder if this was the usual way of life for Marty and his companions. She began to understand her father’s lack of respect for theatre people. Behind much of the glamor it was apparent that many theatre folk were doomed to a second class existence which extended far beyond railway cars.

When they were back in their own seat she noted that Madame Irma had moved down in the car to conduct an earnest conversation with the shabby, sour production manager, Sherman Kress.

Encouraged by the privacy this gave them, Marty began to show some ardent interest in her. He placed an arm around her and kissed her several times.

“You’re not angry with me any more, are you?” he asked in a soft voice.

She sighed. “I just won’t be treated badly. Remember that!”

“I never will be cruel to you,” he promised again. “You’re going to be my wife!” And he kissed her with more passion and his other hand began to explore the intimate parts of her lovely young body.

She pulled away from him and thrust his probing hand away. “And I’ve had enough of
than
No more funny business until we are married!”

Marty looked shocked and miserable. “What kind of a girl are you?”

“A decent one, and I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize it,” she replied tersely.

The gangling young man stared at her forlornly. “You’re the sort drives a man to drink!”

“You don’t need to be driven far, from all I hear!”

“Nita!” he pleaded. “Is this a good way for us to start?”

“As good as any,” she told him. “There’s no point in not being honest with you!”

“I thought you left home because you loved me!”

“I left home because I let my blind romance with the movies and theatre close my eyes to the truth. I’ve run away with a small time vaudeville actor who doesn’t even respect me!”

He blinked at her. “You learn fast!”

“The O’Haras have always had to!”

“I’m not a small-timer,” he said hotly. “And I do happen to love and respect you!”

“I’ll believe it when you prove it,” she told him.

“All right, I will,” he said emphatically, after which he sat silent and sullen, preoccupied with what he considered her bad treatment of him.

Anita watched him covertly with an inner glow of hope. There was just a chance she might change him and help them have a decent life. If only she could instill some ambition into him and keep him from drinking and womanizing he might amount to something. Most important of all, he must really care for her since he was going to try and show her he could live up to her expectations.

The weary journey to Binghampton seemed to be endless. When they finally reached the small upstate New York village it was almost like arriving nowhere. Aside from the railway station there were two main business streets and a scattering of private houses in the surrounding area.

“We’ll be staying at the Depot House,” Marty told her. “The rest of the company farm out in private houses to save money. But this is to be our honeymoon.”

“
After
we see the Justice of the Peace,” she reminded him firmly.

“It’ll be legal!” Marty said with exasperation. “You’re treating me like some kind of con man!”

“I’m not certain that you aren’t,” she said, amazed at her newly found gift for barbed repartee.

Marty stared at her as he started carrying their bags down the railway platform. “I’m beginning to think I don’t know you at all!”

“Good!” she said. “Now you’re starting off right!”

The tall youth gave a great sigh and led her across the street to the dingy brick building with a large black and white sign across its front announcing, “Depot House.” They went inside the small, dark lobby whose only outstanding features were several potted plants and a thick aroma of strong tobacco smoke. A little bald man peered at them from behind the counter.

“You want to register?” he asked.

“Yes,” Marty said importantly. “My wife and I are with the company playing the Opera House this week!” He signed “Mr. and Mrs. Marty Nolan” with a flourish.