Songbird Under a German Moon (27 page)

“Oh, I wasn't thinking about me. I was thinking about Betty,” Irene said. “The guys will be expecting the songbird to chirp.” Even though Irene smiled as she said those words, Betty felt an underlying tension—possibly even resentment. Ever since her big blow-up with Mickey, things hadn't been quite right. All the women treated her with courtesy, but after she mentioned the possibility that maybe Kat didn't commit suicide—that someone could have taken
her life—they remained distant. As if considering the thought would put them in danger too.

Mickey glanced over at Betty, and she could tell from his gaze he didn't want to use her, but Betty wasn't going to let him get off that easily. She bit her lip, wondering what she could do to get in his good graces again.

Maybe if I take back what I said about Kat's pregnancy and my concerns that someone did this?

Betty knew it would help, but she wondered if she could actually do it.
Do I lie? Do I shove down what I know and believe to be true in order to get them to like me?

“Yeah, Mickey, give Betty a shot to show you what she has up her sleeve,” Dolly said.

“Okay, Betty. The girls want you to sing.” It was the first time Mickey had used her name, but it wasn't the sweet sound she'd expected.

She smiled as she remembered who she was and what she was here to do.
I've come to sing. It doesn't matter if Mickey thinks I'm trying to slander Kat. It doesn't matter if the other girls have a shield of protection around them—the guys will accept me. And they deserve a good show.

“Okay, I have an idea. I remember hearing Kat on the radio once. She was singing ‘Ain't Misbehavin' and she did it really jazzy like.” Betty turned to the band, who awaited their instructions from Mickey.

She focused on Wally. “Why don't I start with a tap of my foot, and then you pick it up?”

Mickey eyed her and then stepped back. “So Betty thinks she's running the show now.” He gave a harsh chuckle.

“Sorry, Mick, I don't mean to be stepping on your toes, but can we try?”

“Sure, Betty. Go for it.”

Even though the look on his face was stern, Betty hoped by the time she finished singing, Mickey would warm up to her.

She turned to the band members. “Okay, I know you guys know the song—let's just try it and see what we come up with.”

“Sure, Betty.” Billy cast her a smile. “C'mon boys, let's jazz it up.”

Betty started by tapping her foot in a lively rhythm, and on the tenth beat, Billy joined her, followed by the horns and then the wind instruments. Finally, the complete band played. On cue, Betty started to sing, “No one to talk to, all by myself….”

She smiled at the band, who indeed added their own jazz to the mix. Betty launched into the next line and decided to add her own flair with her feet. She sashayed up to the front of the practice stage just as Kat had modeled.

Seeing her, Irene whistled, and Dolly jumped to her feet and joined in. Not wanting to be left out, the Johnson sisters mimicked the steps until they had their own little production happening.

When the song was over, laughter spilled from Betty's lips, and cheers erupted around the room.

“See, I knew you had it in you,” Dolly said, clapping.

Betty turned toward Mickey, her eyes wide, anticipating his excitement. Instead, he looked at her through half-lidded eyes. He didn't smile, didn't even nod.

“I think we'll wait on that one. It seems too cheerful, too soon. Besides, it needs work. The timing wasn't right. Betty's voice sounded weak.”

Betty didn't know how to respond. For as long as she could remember, she'd never had a reaction like that when she sang.

“But Mickey, it was one of Kat's favorite songs. She would have loved it,” Irene dared to say.

“Does anyone ever listen to me?” Mickey threw his hands up in the air. “We're not going to do that song. Maybe we're never going to do it.” Then looking around, he lowered his voice. “We're all going to work together. Like a team. There aren't going to be any stars. Everyone's gonna be the same. These are the numbers that stand.” He slammed his clipboard with the schedule on the floor. “This is the program. Everyone satisfied?”

“Yes, Mickey,” Dolly started.

“Yes, Mickey,” everyone else chimed in.

“I understand.” Betty did her best to hold back her tears. She was a professional now. This wasn't the church choir. This wasn't some canteen. Mickey knew what he was doing, even though it didn't feel good.

“Fine. Why don't you take the rest of the day off. And maybe do some warm-ups or something. Your voices really stunk today.” Mickey stalked out of the building, and they all stood quietly for a moment.

Betty stared at her feet, feeling foolish. Maybe her voice did sound as bad as Mickey said. She heard someone crying and looked up, and saw that Irene had her face in her hands.

“Hey, are you okay?” Betty asked.

Irene shook her head. “No.”

“It's okay. Maybe our voices did sound bad, but we can practice tonight back at Wahnfried.” Betty approached Irene and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It's not that. I miss Kat being here. She would have stood up to Mickey. She would have given him a piece of her mind.”

Dolly nodded. “Yeah, she would have. And she would have told Mickey that if he thought he could sing better to put on a dress and try it.”

“I just can't believe she's really gone,” Tony the saxophonist jumped in. “Even though I keep telling myself it's true, I keep expecting her to stomp out of that dressing room like she owns the place.”

“I can believe it. I happened to be up here at the Festspielhaus when they were carrying the body bag off the trail,” Billy said. “More than anything else, I'm mad at her. How could she do that? It was so selfish. Didn't she think how we'd feel? How all her fans would feel?”

“Enough of this moaning and weeping.” Dolly stood. “We really should get our outfits ready for tomorrow. Should be easy enough, though, since we've got no solos. We just have to find some dresses that match and that look half-decent.”

They went through the dresses on the racks quietly, yet Betty noticed that none of them tried on any of Kat's dresses. They stayed far from her rack. Betty had a feeling that trying one on would bring tears to her eyes. She couldn't imagine actually performing on stage in one. She'd be a mess for sure.

Things were better when they returned to Wahnfried that afternoon. Everyone spoke about ordinary things—and Betty found herself more comfortable around the other women again.

Even though she still hadn't given up on the idea that Kat's death wasn't by suicide, she was content leaving the conversation for another time—when the pain of her death wasn't so fresh on their hearts.

Three handsome soldiers delivered their meal to the estate. As always, they requested a few songs.

Betty and the others sang some Andrews Sisters favorites and then sat down to the now-cold ham and biscuits.

“You know,” Irene mumbled, “after all this boogie-woogie, I'd give anything to hear some Bach. Sometimes I find my foot tapping along to this jazzy beat—even as I sleep.”

“Are you serious? I have a collection,” one of the soldiers said as he was gathering their tins to take back. “My mother sent me a small crate from home, and it had some recorded cantatas in it.”

“Really? Do you think you can bring them over? We have a record player in the foyer. It looks as if it works.”

“Sure. It'll be worth a try.”

“As long as you stay in the foyer!” Irene insisted, pushing a finger into the chest of one of the men. “It's Mickey's rule.”

“Mickey?” he asked.

“Our boss. And believe me, you don't want to get on his bad side,” Irene added.

“Unless you want a broken nose and busted eardrum,” Pearl added.

“Seriously?” Betty's eyes were wide. “Mickey did that to someone?”

Dolly leaned over and softly pushed Pearl's arm. “Way to go—don't you think before you speak?”

“Sorry. It's not like these guys are going to make a big deal out of it. They don't know anyone in the business. Besides, Mickey's been real good since he's been here.” She scanned the room, seeing the amused looks on everyone's faces. “Or rather, mostly good.”

The guys left, and thirty minutes later, they were indeed back with the records.

With eager anticipation, everyone circled up in the foyer with the record player in the middle. Expertly, Irene set up the player and placed the first record on it. A few seconds later, Bach flowed out.

“I can't believe this thing didn't get messed up in the bombing,” Dolly said. “In fact”—she scanned the room—“someone must have taken a lot of time to get everything ready for us. I've seen the buildings downtown. There are buildings that were in shambles from a bomb falling two blocks away.”

“If I ever learn who got the place in order for us, I'll have to thank them,” Irene said, sitting back in her chair. “It's as if I've found a little culture again, listening to this.”

Betty listened to the music that filtered through the quiet of the room. “To tell you the truth, I didn't get much culture growing up. We didn't have our own radio. In fact, my only singing experience had been in church. Then in high school, a friend of mine had a radio and we'd sing along. I hadn't even heard about Wagner until I got here. It's a shame, isn't it.”

“Not really. I'm the same. When we first got here Oskar gave us a tour,” Shirlee said. “He seems to know everything there is to know about Wagner. When an opera was first performed, who the singers were, what costumes they used. Sometimes we get a little anxious because Mickey pushes us so hard, but it sounds like those Wagner people really took things seriously. Before the war, people made pilgrimages here every year to attend the performances. Also, singers from all over the world would come and
perform nearly for free—just for the honor of singing for Wagner on this stage.”

Hearing Shirlee talk reminded Betty of the first MP she'd met when she arrived, and the stories he told of his mother—the opera singer—who used to sing in Wagner's operas—until she discovered the connection with Hitler.

“You know, I'll have to ask Oskar for the official tour sometime. It doesn't seem fair that I don't get it just because I came in late,” she pouted.

“Make sure you ask on a day when there are no concerts, no rehearsals. It takes awhile,” Shirlee said.

“And wear comfortable shoes.” Pearl giggled. “I knew the building was huge, but walking it made me realize how many halls and rooms and closets there are.”

Betty twirled a strand of hair around her finger, wondering why she'd never connected what Mac, their MP driver, had said with Kat's death. She vaguely remembered him talking about being warned by his mother to stay away from the Festspielhaus in the month of October.
What could he have meant?

“Pearl, do you remember Oskar saying anything specific—or important about the month of October at the Festspielhaus?” Betty dared to ask.

“October? Like this month?” Pearl wrinkled her nose as she frowned. “Not that I can remember, but you can ask. If anyone knows, Oskar does.”

Betty sat up in bed. Were others walking in the halls? Had she overslept? She opened her eyes, her confusion deepening when she saw that it was still dark. What were the others doing walking around in the middle of the night? She listened, wondering if the noise had only been in her dreams.

She heard it again. Shuffling—not in the halls. Not upstairs, but under her. Betty was afraid to move. She almost felt frozen in place.

“Irene? Dolly?” she called softly, hoping one of them wandered the halls. No one answered.

Then she remembered… There were MPs stationed outside. As quietly as she could, she stood and tiptoed to the window. Looking out onto the front lawn and driveway, she saw the MPs' jeeps still parked out front, which meant the guys were still there. She considered asking them to check—in the basement? She wondered if there was one.

Or maybe they could patrol inside the house—just in case. No, that would wake everyone.

She could head out there and ask the MPs to walk the perimeter of the building and find—what? A person? The person who'd hurt Kat? No, that didn't make sense. If someone wanted to hurt any of them, he most likely wouldn't do it when they were guarded.

It's probably an animal. One that's found its way under the house.
There were plenty of displaced animals, just as there were people.

You can't let your fears take over, Betty. There is going to be a time when the MPs aren't here. You can't spend your whole life obsessing about every little noise.

She returned to bed, but the unsettled feeling wouldn't leave her. For the last few days, she'd told herself the uneasiness deep inside had to do with Kat's death. It was only right to feel sad and worried. Add to that the way Mickey had treated her at the rehearsal, and it only made sense why the anxiety wouldn't leave.