Backstage Nurse Page 2

  Shirley took the slim, wasted hand in hers, and for a moment felt almost repulsed. Then she looked into the calm, patrician face and the large blue eyes, so filled with wisdom, and her feeling of repugnance vanished. It was plain the actor needed her, and she would not want to miss the challenge.

  Hugh Deering came over to her, all smiles. "Nice to have an ex-pro with us. We can use a little feminine charm in the company. Rather short of it at the moment."

  "This is an all-male play," Oliver Craft explained in his rich bass, "but for two minor roles. And they are character types."

  "I've been looking around the hospital," Hugh Deering went on. "It's excellently run. Did you train here?"

  She nodded. "And I work here mostly."

  "I can understand why." He glanced around. "These rooms are something like you'd find in a swank hotel. And the equipment is strictly up to date."

  She looked at him with a new interest. "You know something about hospitals?"

  "A bit." For a moment, Hugh Deering seemed vaguely uncomfortable. "Let's say they're sort of a hobby of mine."

  Oliver Craft sighed. "Then I can count on you, Miss Grant?"

  Shirley could tell by his voice that he was weary; it was time for her to leave. "Yes. I'll have another chat with Dr. Trask. And you can let me know when you'd like me to begin."

  "I can tell you that now," Craft said. "I'll be leaving the hospital over the weekend and going in to town. I'll be taking a suite at the Touraine Hotel—I always stay there when I'm in Boston— and I'd like you to join me there. I'll have an adjoining room for you."

  "Fine," she said, going to the door.

  Hugh Deering followed her. "I'll look forward to our next meeting at rehearsals." He held out his hand.

  She took it, and smiling, inquired, "The Colonial, I suppose?"

  "Yes. The Chief wouldn't play anywhere else. Till next week, then." He stood by the door watching her as she left.

  On her way back to the elevator, Shirley decided that the tour might be fun after all. The theater still fascinated her, and Oliver Craft was a wonderful old man. Working for him would be an experience. And she did like Hugh Deering. At twenty-seven, she was beginning to wonder if the right man would ever come along. And suddenly, in this charming, easygoing actor, she had met someone who really clicked with her. Perhaps she would get to know him well. There was something strangely familiar in his manner that puzzled her; it was as though she had met him somewhere before.

  The head nurse broke into her reverie: "Are you taking the job?"

  Shirley nodded. "Yes."

  "Good luck. You'll be needing it." The square-faced nurse jerked her head toward the corridor. "How did you like our friend Hugh Deering?"

  Surprised at her familiarity with the young man's name, Shirley managed, "Very much. I only talked to him a minute."

  The head nurse smiled wisely. "You should get to know him better. You have something in common. Before he took up acting, he was Doctor Hugh Deering."

  Shirley could hardly believe her ears. "He was a doctor?"

  The head nurse nodded. "Yes. That was before he was blamed for a man's death."

  Shirley repeated after her: "Blamed for a man's death!"

  The head nurse glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming down the corridor; then turned and continued in a lower tone: "It was one of those things. I know all about it because I was a student in the hospital where he interned."

  "He had a fine practice and a good reputation. But he got in with a sporty crowd and the next thing I heard was that he was drinking too much. Still does. I smelled it on his breath when he came in here yesterday."

  "But what happened?" Shirley wanted her to get to the point.

  The nurse shrugged. "He and this friend went on a hunting trip. On the way back, their car was involved in a head-on collision. Deering came out of it with only a few scratches, but the friend, who was in the front seat with him, was thrown out of the car and badly injured. And that's where the trouble came. Dr. Deering wasn't able to help him."

  "You mean, he'd been drinking?"

  "Witnesses said he was drunk. Just stumbled around and couldn't do a thing. The people in the other car were injured, too. But he did nothing. And then, the police and ambulance came, but by that time his friend had died."

  Shirley felt a wave of sympathy for the good-looking, brown-haired man. "But the doctor was probably suffering from shock, even though he'd had a drink or two. That's probably why he couldn't help. And perhaps his friend would have died, anyway."

  "A lot of people thought that way," the nurse agreed. "But just the same, his friend's family made a court case of it. The jury found him not guilty. But it hurt his practice, and I guess it upset him pretty bad. Shortly afterward, he closed his office. Next thing I heard, he was in show business. I hadn't seen him again until he came here visiting Oliver Craft."

  "He must have felt terrible about it," Shirley said. "Thanks for filling me in. It helps to know about the people you're working with."

  Then, the elevator having arrived, she got in and started down again. The news about Hugh Deering had come as such a shock she had hardly been able to take the story in. Here, she had just met a pleasant young man whom she felt she could really like, with the prospect of being in his close company for several months, and now it was all spoiled by this revelation about his character.

  Not that she believed the whole thing. No doubt, a lot of it had been exaggerated. Somehow, she had the feeling that the jury had been right: Hugh Deering could in no sense be accused of neglect in his friend's death. But public opinion was often quite opposed to justice, and it was public opinion that had ruined the young doctor's future. She made up her mind not to be swayed. She would decide about Hugh Deering on the basis of her own experience with him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  On Saturday afternoon, Shirley had a phone call from Dr. Trask saying that Oliver Craft was leaving the hospital and would be expecting her at the Touraine within the hour. Dr. Trask had already filled her in on the routine for which she would be responsible and the reports which he wanted her to send him each day.

  "You'll be staying here in Boston for the next two weeks," he said. "I'll call in at the hotel regularly until you leave. Oliver Craft has a wonderful spirit and he seems almost himself again. But you must keep warning him that he mustn't overdo. He must horde his strength if he is to work. See that he sits whenever possible at rehearsal; have a couch for his dressing room so that when he is resting he can lie down."

  Shirley made a note of the many instructions the doctor gave her in his dry New England voice. Then she did some final packing and phoned for a taxi to take her to the Touraine.

  The rooms that Oliver Craft had engaged were on the Tremont Street side of the building, and from the windows of his sitting room he could look down on the Common where it fronted on Boylston Street and the Colonial Theater. Shirley found the old man waiting for her in a chair next to the window. He was patient as she went about her first examination, and when she had finished, he put his dressing gown back on and sat again in the chair with a smile.

  "Think I'll last until rehearsals?" he asked her with a twinkle.

  "You seem much better than I'd hoped." She studied him. "If you don't overdo, you may just manage it."

  "I'm encouraged." He grasped the arms of his chair with his thin, delicate hands. "I've been sitting here watching my public. Or at least, pretending the people down there were all part of it. I've been lonesome in the hospital. It will be a tonic for me to face an audience again."

  Shirley came back from the bathroom with a glass containing a routine medication Dr. Trask had prescribed and handed it to him. "Part of your daily dose," she said with a smile.

  He sipped it and made a wry face. "Why must they always make the stuff so bitter?" Then he downed the liquid at a gulp and handed the glass back to her. "We start rehearsals on Monday morning and you'll be able to meet the rest of the company."
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br />   Shirley put the glass down and hesitated a moment before answering. Then, deciding that this might be a good time to sound out Craft's opinion of Hugh Deering, she said, "I understand you have an ex-doctor in the company."

  The old man's hawk-face raised to hers. His expression was that of grim resignation. "Bad news travels quickly. I suppose you heard at the hospital?"

  Almost immediately sorry that she had so openly exposed her curiosity, Shirley blushed and said, "Yes. I didn't mean to be a gossip. It just slipped out."

  The old actor sighed. "Nothing wrong in your mentioning it, my dear. I'd say it was good that you did, since you've heard a version of the story. May as well clear the air. Yes, Deering was a doctor. Now he's an actor, and a good one."

  "I'm sure he must be," Shirley said quickly.

  "He's trying to make a new life for himself," Oliver Craft went on slowly, "and I think he should be helped. I wouldn't mention any of it to him if I were you. He's still troubled, as it is."

  Shirley felt that she understood the meaning of the old man's slight inflection on the last few words. "He still has a drink problem?"

  "Unfortunately, yes." The old actor paused. "But I have confidence in the man. I don't think he'll let me down. By an unhappy coincidence, there is a girl in our company who seems very fond of him, but she could be a bad influence on him. She's a wild, restless sort."

  "I see," she said quietly. It seemed to her that Hugh Deering was one of those people whom fate enjoyed facing with the worst of breaks. She wondered if he would be strong enough to overcome them.

  "You'll meet her at rehearsal," Oliver Craft went on. "Her name is Joy Milland. Attractive, but thoroughly spoiled!" He settled back in his chair and gazed down at the street once more.

  Shirley moved quietly to the bathroom and finished cleaning up the glasses and putting the medicine away. When she had completed her task, she went back into the living room and saw that his eyes were closed. She left on tiptoe and went back to her own room.

  It was a large, old-fashioned room with the ornate ceiling work of another era. But the management had painted the walls a modern flat beige color, relieved by several attractive paintings; the walnut furniture was also new.

  Yet this room reminded her of those other hotel rooms she had known when she was a regular part of show business. All this was bringing it vividly back to her. She had been fond of the make-believe profession, and if it hadn't been for the jolt of her father's death, she probably would have gone on as an actress for some time. Not that she regretted her decision. But there was still a nostalgia about the theater for her.

  On Monday morning when she arrived backstage at the Colonial Theater on Oliver Craft's arm, she felt almost as if she were to be part of the rehearsal. The old man had been especially well in anticipation of the great day of coming back. He led her directly onstage, where several busy stagehands were erecting the set—a dark, unattractive prison scene.

  Indicating a tall, moody-looking blond young man, he said, "This is Lyon Phillips, our stage manager. Lyon, I want you to meet my nurse, Shirley Grant."

  Lyon Phillips smiled, and his face seemed less long. He extended his hand. "Good of you to bring the Chief back to us, Miss Grant."

  "Just don't handle him too roughly," she joked, deciding that Phillips was a matter-of-fact young man she would like and could depend on.

  Oliver Craft guided her across the stage to the right, where a florid-faced man of middle age was chatting earnestly with Hugh Deering. The two turned as they came up. Deering smiled a greeting, and the other man eyed her with an interested glance.

  "You've already met Hugh," the old actor said easily. "And now I want you to meet my co-star in The Cardinal, Jeffrey Sayre. Jeff, this is my nurse, Shirley Grant. She'll be with us for the duration of the tour."

  Jeffrey Sayre stepped forward and took her hand. As he did so, she recalled seeing him in pictures. "I've seen you in the movies," she told him. "I wasn't quite sure for a second."

  He threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Because you see me now without my wig!"

  When Shirley had seen Jeffrey Sayre in his many movie roles, he had worn a wig of thick blond hair. Now he stood before her quite bald, with only a fringe of graying hair.

  "Don't be alarmed," he told her. "I shall be wearing it at every performance. Offstage, I can afford a shining dome." Turning his attention brusquely to Oliver Craft, he continued: "I hope they've made no mistake in letting you come back to us, Oliver."

  "They've made no mistake," Craft said quietly.

  "I would have been willing to take on your role for the balance of the tour," Sayre said, in a tone that indicated he thought that was what should have been done. "Neither the company nor the management need have suffered." Then, smiling rather unpleasantly, "Assuming the public would have turned out as well for me as they do for you."

  Oliver Craft patted his arm. "I'm quite sure they would have. But in answer to an old man's whim, the doctor has been kind enough to let me return."

  "Chief! You're really back!" This came in a loud, friendly voice from behind them. And Shirley and the old actor turned to see a short, fat man in a black suit and Homburg hat smiling radiantly at them from stage center.

  Craft went to the little man with an air of greeting an old friend. "Charles! I have missed you!" He clasped an arm around the man affectionately and, turning to Shirley, said, "Another excellent actor—Charles Victor."

  Charles Victor winked at her. "A new, pretty girl backstage to flirt with! Maybe this won't be such a bad tour after all!"

  Lyon Phillips appeared through the center arch of the set and spoke to Oliver Craft: "Everything ready, Chief. Shall we begin?"

  "Fine!"

  Craft and Shirley left the stage with the others so that the play might start. Following Dr. Trask's instructions, Shirley had a chair placed in the wings for her patient to sit on while awaiting his cue.

  As they waited for the rehearsal to begin, Shirley noticed Hugh Deering standing near the wall of the theater talking with Charles Victor and a middle-aged woman, who must be one of the two females in the play. The other, the one she wanted to meet, would be Joy Milland. She wondered why the Milland girl hadn't yet made an appearance.

  Then the cue was given for the play to begin, and she watched Charles Victor and the woman go onstage for the opening scene. The play gradually took shape. It was laid in an unnamed Communist state. Oliver Craft was the imprisoned Catholic Cardinal who had dared to take a stand against the corrupt leaders.

  When it was Hugh Deering's time to go onstage, she watched with breathless interest. Deering played the part of a secondary leader in the Communist regime. He was supposed to be hard, cynical, and unswerving, and he brought all these qualities out in an excellent manner. Shirley had enough knowledge of the theater to see that he was doing a superb job. Almost automatically, she wondered if he had been just as good a doctor. What a pity that medicine had been robbed of his precise, quick mind!

  In the scene with Hugh Deering, the leading role was taken by the ex-movie actor, Jeffrey Sayre. He was the head of the party; a ruthless, cruel type played expertly by the big, bald man. The part was almost as important to the play as the Cardinal's. It was a meaty, rewarding part for any actor, Shirley realized, and in the hands of an actor like Sayre, it would certainly mean something.

  When Oliver Craft's first cue came, he gave her a nod and a smile and stepped briskly out. Shirley watched the tall, gaunt man's graceful movements on the stage and heard him utter the Cardinal's lines with all the regal dignity for which they called. It was a dazzling, exciting performance the old actor gave. Watching him, she couldn't believe that he was still in the grip of the cancer which had brought him to the hospital, that his vitality was even at this moment being drained by the dread disease.

  The first act proceeded without any breaks or interruptions. It was apparent that the forced layoff had not cost the company any of its keen edge. The people in the play
seemed to enjoy it and got that enjoyment across the footlights.

  Finally the act ended on a long, bitter exchange of dialogue between the Cardinal and the Communist leader. Shirley saw that this scene was taking a great deal from Oliver Craft. His face had become completely white as the scene advanced, and though his voice was strong and clear, she thought he was trembling. She wondered why Jeffrey Sayre had not noticed this and toned down his playing. Surely there was no need to play at this peak during a rehearsal, nor should it be done this way in the theater. The pace that Sayre was setting made it necessary for the old man to work extremely hard to top him. And the scene required that the Cardinal should tower above his opponent.

  Jeffrey Sayre snarled out the lines of the rabble-rouser: "I have won the country with my army! I will hold it with my army! Tell me, Cardinal, how many legions do you have?"

  As the Cardinal, Oliver Craft smiled faintly at him, and then, turning to the window of the prison in which dawn was just appearing, he said quietly, "I count them every morning in the sunrise."

  On this line, the first-act curtain fell. For a moment, Shirley stood in silence. It was a truly great scene she had just watched the two men play. Then, remembering her patient, she rushed onstage to meet Oliver Craft. "Are you all right?" she asked.

  The old actor nodded. "Fine! Fine! This is like a tonic to me." But he was perspiring and she saw that he walked a bit unsteadily.

  "You're to rest on the cot in your dressing room until the second act," she said, taking his arm. "Doctor's orders!"

  Against his will, she persuaded him to lie down and she gave him one of the pills Dr. Trask had provided for moments like this. She left the actor stretched out on the cot, relaxing at last.

  As she stepped out into the corridor, fat little Charles Victor hurried up to her. His face was filled with concern as he said, "The Chief doesn't look good to me, Miss Grant. Do you think this is too much for him?"

  Touched by his upset state, Shirley said, "Not if he's careful. And in cases like this, it always seems best to let the patient have his way."