Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

THIRTEEN

I tapped on the door to the girls’ dressing room, but they must have been making quite a racket in there because nobody answered. So I turned the knob and went in. This room wasn’t at all cozy like Blanche’s dressing room. It was long and narrow, with a mirror and wooden ledge down one wall, hooks for clothing on the other, and a few stools. And it was crammed with half-dressed females. I must say I felt a little like Daniel of the Bible story entering the lion’s den. Twelve pairs of cold eyes stared at me.

“Hello,” I said. “I was told to come in here and get ready.”

“Move over, Connie,” a voice said. “Better give up your space to Miss Important here. Mustn’t upset the boss’s new favorite.”

“Look,” I said hastily, “this wasn’t my idea. I didn’t beg for this chance or anything. Oona and Blanche cooked it up between them. I feel very awkward about the whole thing.”

“So you should,” the tall girl I had met the day before said. “Do you know how many actresses are out of work in this city? Actresses and dancers who have studied hard, worked hard, and are dying to get just one chance at success? Now along you come with no audition, nothing. And I’ll bet no experience either, right?”

“Not much,” I said. “I was in a couple of plays in Ireland.” I could say this without lying because I had been an angel in the nativity play at church and once we’d put on a production of Dick Whittington and His Cat when I took lessons with the girls at the manor house. I was the cat, naturally.

“Okay. Put your stuff down wherever you can find a space,” the tall girl said. “I’m Lily, by the way.”

“Molly. Pleased to meet you,” I said.

“You’d better get a move on. Where’s your costume?”

“I don’t have one yet. I have to wear my street clothes tonight.”

I saw the looks and giggles and nudges. I was obviously going to be an object of entertainment for them.

“Then you’d better get on with your hair and makeup,” Lily said. “Or are you planning to leave them the way they are?”

“Oh no. There’s a wig coming for me tomorrow, but I suppose tonight I should put my hair into pigtails, because that’s what Blanche wants.”

“It’s Blanche, notice, girls.” Lily jabbed the next girl in the side. “On first-name terms with the star. Well, let me give you a word of warning, kid. Miss Lovejoy is a stickler for correctness. You’d better not call her Blanche in public or you’ll be sorry.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said. I took a brush out of my purse and started to attack my tangle of curls. My hair is a disaster at the best of times and today I had run against a fierce wind. It took awhile to comb out the knots and force my hair into two pigtails. Then, of course, I had no ribbons to secure them. By asking around I managed to scrounge two unmatching scraps of ribbon.

By now the girls were all in white tennis outfits, which were daringly sleeveless, with skirts above the ankle. I watched in fascination as they sat on stools, tying their ballet slippers and applying their makeup. They had boxes full of sticks of various colors and they were applying these to their faces in grotesque amounts. The girl next to me must have caught me staring.

“Where’s your makeup?” she asked.

“I don’t have any,” I said.

“You’ll need your own makeup. The girls don’t like to share,” she said. “But I suppose I can help you out just this once. Help yourself.”

I looked at the long array of the greasy sticks.

“I’m afraid I’ve never put on my own makeup,” I whispered. “Can you give me a little hint?”

“You’re supposed to be a bluestocking, didn’t she say? Then you’d look pale. Not like us. We have to look healthy. So you’ll get by with a base of number five. A touch of rouge on the cheeks and of course carmine two on the lips. When you’re done, I’ll show you how to do the eyes.”

I did as I had observed and soon my face stared back at me, quite brown and countrified.

“I thought I was supposed to be pale,” I said.

“The lights are terrible at making us look washed out,” she said. “That’s why we need extra color to start with. Now do your lips and here.” She reached across with some rouge on her finger and gave me a generous red circle on both cheeks. Then she insisted on painting a black line along my eyelids and out at the sides of my eyes. By the time she was done I looked like a doll. But then so did everybody else.