"Now you've done it. You've riled her up." "What did I do?"
"It's all right. Gerta," I told her and put my hand on her shoulder. "You're Gerta. You're all right now. You're safe. Don't worry."
She stared up at me. Her eves calmed and she returned to her needlework.
"What is goin' on?" Howard muttered. "Why did that disturb her?"
"Let's get out of here before we're discovered," Rose pleaded.
We started toward the door to the costume room. Howard lingered, watching Gerta work until Cinnamon gabbed his arm and turned him.
"All right," he said."I'll leave. But I want to know what this is all about."
&nbs
p; "She was abused by her father, who called her Gerta Berta. if you have to know."
"Abused?" He looked back at her, his eyes arowing smaller. "You mean. sexually?"
"That's what we think. yes. Can we get out of here. please?"
Reluctantly, he joined us at the door. We gazed back at Gerta and then we closed the first door, stepped into the costume room and closed and relocked the second. As quietly as xre could, we trailed back through the room, closed the door behind us, shuddering at the squeaks, and then hurried down the stairway.
"Let's all go to sleep now," Cinnamon ordered
Howard stood there. thinking. I didn't like the way he was behaving and neither did the others.
"Howard?"
"What? Oh. yeah. Thanks. Good night." he said and went to his room. We watched him until he closed his door.
"He was fascinated and amazed. I think it was pathetic and sad:. Rose said.
"Me, too." Ice agreed.
"He would have stayed up there for hours feeding her lines just for his own amusement," I said.
Cinnamon nodded.
"The only living thing more self-centered than our Howard Rockwell is an amoeba," she declared.
It brought some smiles, but we were all emotionally exhausted.
I was sure we all went to sleep that night with Gerta's dramatic recitations echoing in our thoughts and spinning webs of nightmares off the spindle of our dreams.
Over the next few days, we actually thought Howard was going to let it all go. He had seen Gerta and the strange arrangements she had. He was satisfied that he was now sharing our great secret. Cinnamon said he was very energized in drama class. As we had learned, they were preparing cuts from Shakespeare's Othello, Tennessee Williams. The Glass Menagerie, and Strindberg's Miss Julie, under the heading Woman and Romantic Disappointments. In vocal class Howard's voice actually carried above Ice's at times, and he was even more enthusiastic about our dance lessons.
The second Performance Night loomed in the very immediate future now. This one seemed to be more important. We were told that, because of the success of the first, more important managers, producers, and even performers were requesting seats. Howard lectured to us about it, saving some of it might just be good hype generated by Edmond Senetsky.
"It takes a great deal of experience to be able to distinguish between what is just good public relations and what is reality," he declared.
"But naturally you have an instinct for telling the difference. right. Howard?" Cinnamon asked him and he readily agreed.
All we could do was shake our heads and smile. He was so arrogant about it that he missed her sarcasm or refused to see it. If self-confidence was like money in the bank. Howard would have enough to loan out sufficient amounts to all of us. I thought, I'd certainly line up to make such a request. although I was enjoying Mr. Bergman's enthusiasm for my work more and more these days. I was going to play a more difficult piece for the second Performance Night, and so was Steven.
As the evening drew closer, our excitement built, especially for me because my parents were going to try to be here. Ice's father said he would come, too, but she had not yet heard from her mother. Cinnamon's father was feeling better, so he and her mother said they would attend. Only Rose remained in doubt about her mother and then, one afternoon, she received a post card with a picture of the Eiffel Tower on the front of it. All it said was:
Dear Rose,