The announcement brought scattered applause, cheers and a few boos from the gallery. The curtain rose and the piano player began the opening music. Nita took a deep breath and then, smiling, danced out on stage. What happened afterwards she was never quite sure. After her dance she launched into her improvised comic routine, then sang some romantic melodies and ended with a long, strenuous session of dancing, all in a sort of excited daze. When she finally danced offstage to a good round of applause the whole episode was jumbled in her mind.
Madame Irma was waiting in the wings to give her a kiss and hug. The older woman said, “You’re a real trouper, dearie! And they loved you!”
It was true. As a single she had drawn as much, if not more applause, than she and Marty had together. Sherman Kress came and dragged her on again. She thanked the audience in a thin voice and then did an encore of her closing number. It went well and the show finished on a happy note.
Kress came to her saying, “You were great! If Marty doesn’t come back we can do without him!”
She gave the little man a wry look. “Don’t forget, I’ve an act of my own to break in a few months from now.”
He frowned. “I’d forgotten.”
“At least I can carry on now,” she went on quickly. “That’s the main thing.”
“You’re not too tired?” he wanted to know.
“No,” she said. “I feel fine.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth. She felt extremely weary and she was conscious of carrying the baby for the first time. It seemed like a weight bearing her down, which in fact it was.
Yet she had no choice. She must continue through the week at least, and decided to tell Sherman Kress at the end of the week that he had better wire for a replacement act. She would carry on until one arrived and then she’d have to take a room somewhere and hope her small savings would carry her over until the baby was born. It was also possible she might get some easier job like being a cashier or a clerk in some store. This thought, however unappealing, gave her hope.
By Thursday it was a torment to go on. Each time she came to the last dance she had pains in her abdomen which were more than fleeting. But she spoke of these to no one.
On Saturday night she was feeling truly ill. The pains were striking at intervals all around the clock. She knew that she must stop dancing as soon as possible. She sat alone before the dressing room mirror praying that Marty might return. How could he desert her and their unborn child?
She was asking herself this for the hundredth time when the door of her dressing room slowly opened as if in a perverse answer to her prayers, and a thoroughly washed-out and dejected Marty appeared. His face was covered with a stubble of beard, his eyes were sunken and feverish, and his clothes were a wrinkled mess. He came inside the door and closing it, leaned against it and stared at her.
She jumped up and went to him. “Marty!”
He kept her at arm’s length with a sour smile, saying, “I ain’t very sanitary!”
“I don’t care,” she sobbed. “Oh, Marty, you did come back!”
“What made you doubt it?”
“I didn’t really! But we’ve all been so worried!”
Marty said sarcastically, “That’s not the way I heard it. Kress tells me you’re doing so well alone he never wants to bother with me again.”
“He’s only saying that!”
“You look great,” Marty said. “Maybe he’s right! I offered to go on tonight and he refused. So I guess its no longer Nita and Nolan. Just Nita Nolan!”
“That’s nonsense!” she protested. “I don’t want to go on. I’d much rather you did the act!”
“I’ll be watching from the rear,” Marty drawled. “And in between I’ve got some important drinking to do.”
Then he was gone. She could scarcely believe that he had been there, or that he had said the things he had. It was like some crazy nightmare. How could she reach this stubborn man and let him know she loved him? That all she had gone through was for him? She had a throbbing headache now as well as the shooting pains in her abdomen. She was ill and heartbroken. Sinking into the hard chair she bowed her head and sobbed quietly.
There was a brisk knock on the door and Sherman Kress let himself in. He peered at her with concern. “Did he come in here and upset you?”
She looked up. “He was here. He said you refused to let him go on.”
“Did you take a good look at him?” Kress demanded. “Do you think he’s fit to go on tonight?”
“No.”
“I told him to go out and sober up before he came to me again,” Kress said sourly.
She gave the little man a pleading look. “You will give him another chance? Take him on again! You know I filled in only to keep our place in the show. But I can’t go on after tonight. I wanted to hold the job for him. We need it so badly!”
Kress nodded impatiently. “I ain’t the Salvation Army! If he turns up clean and sober on Monday, he can take over the act again. But no more drinking!”
She felt better. “I’ll tell him,” she said. “And I promise he’ll be all right.”
“You ready to go on??” Kress asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, better move, it’s near time!” Kress said and went on his way.
Nita fixed her mascara in the mirror and then followed him. She knew the time onstage would be an ordeal. Together with her headache she had to contend with those occasional pains in her mid-region, which invariably seemed to get worse when she danced. On top of everything else there was the knowledge that a drunken Marty would be somewhere in the theatre watching her. And she had no idea what kind of behavior might be expected from him.
Onstage she waited while Percy finished his patriotic horn playing. Kress stood by her nervously. There was an added tension among them all because of Marty’s return.
She whispered to the little man, “Be sure Marty doesn’t get away. Send someone down to tell him I want to speak with him.”
Kress shrugged. “I won’t guarantee it’ll do any good.”
“We can’t let him vanish again!”
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
Then the curtain fell and Kress rushed out with his usual zest to introduce her. Belle came running over to her, concern in her face. “I hear Marty is back, causing trouble,” her friend said.
Nita nodded. “I think it’ll be all right.”
Belle stared at her worriedly. “You look sick!”
“I’ll make it,” she told the girl. And as the piano player began her music she danced onto the stage.
Because it was a Saturday night the theatre was filled to capacity, and the audience was in a gala mood. They took to Nita at once. She went through her act in a dazed state. By the time she had reached her final tap dance to the tune of “Gimme A Little Kiss, Will You, Huh?” the pains became unbelieveably acute. She wanted to cry out each time she whirled about on the stage, but she gritted her teeth and hoped she would manage to finish.
She ended her routine and almost staggered off. There was a roar of applause and Sherman pressed her on again, “Give them a little more!” he urged her.
“I can’t!” she wailed. But he had already pushed her out onto the stage.
The pianist automatically picked up the lilting tune once more and Nita forced a mechanical smile and began to tap dance once again. She managed to continue for about a minute longer; then the pain in her abdomen blacked everything else out and she collapsed right there onstage.
She opened her eyes to darkness and a strange noise. Belle was leaning over her, an arm around her. “It’s all right,” her friend said, “we’re driving you to a hospital!”
Nita heard the words in a daze and then the terrible sharp pain came back and she became unconscious once more. She had no recollection of anything after that until she opened her eyes to dull daylight in a small room with a window and another bed in it. The other bed was screened from her. She tried to call out but no sound escaped her lips. All her body seemed on fire.
Ages seemed to pass. She lay there unable to collect her thoughts. It was just enough to endure the pain. Then she heard a sound and looked up to see a white-capped nurse staring down at her.
“You’ve come to,” the nurse said with a slight smile. “Your friends will be glad to know that.”
Nita made a great effort to speak and only managed a whisper, “Hospital?”
“Yes,” the nurse said. “You’re safe in a hospital and you are going to get better soon.”
Nita stared up at her and then fainted again. She was aware of being given a sweet, thick liquid to drink and then she fell into a blissful, painless sleep. When she awakened again the sun was shining in the window. The screen had vanished from around her bed and the bed across from her was empty.
A nurse came and asked, “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes,” she said, the miracle being that she had a voice, even though it was small and weak.
“The doctor will be in to see you shortly,” the nurse said briskly. “You’ve had quite a time!”
“How long?” she asked.
“You’ve been here three days,” the nurse said. “Your friends have been constantly calling about you. The show has moved on to a town about fifteen miles from here.”
“I see,” she said, remembrance coming back. She had fallen on the stage. The pain had been beyond bearing.
The doctor and another nurse came in to examine her. He nodded and went through his professional duties and made several comments to the nurse, who wrote down his instructions. Then he gazed at her sharply. He was middle-aged and stern.
“You’re finally coming around,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You know you might have died?”
“No.”
He frowned. “You did a very stupid thing, dancing like that in your condition. You were aware of your condition?”
“Yes.”
“Did you not have medical advice? Did no one tell you that dancing so late in your term was a stupid and dangerous thing to do?”
“I had no choice,” she said meekly.
“We all have a choice,” the doctor told her. “You must have been in great pain. Why did you go on?”
“There were — reasons.”
“I hope they were good,” the doctor said brusquely. “Not only did you put your own life in danger, you lost the child.”
Tears choked Nita and she was unable to say anything.
He stared at her. “You are married?”
“Yes.”
“You have had serious internal damage. You must not dance again for a long while. Months. And I cannot guarantee you will ever again be able to conceive a child.”
She listened in abject silence. She knew it did not matter that he had broken her heart in a matter of seconds. She was of no real interest to him, merely a creature who had caused him a good deal of what he considered needless bother.
She managed, “When can I leave?”
“It will be a week at least. Maybe longer. And then you’ll be very much of an invalid for awhile,” the doctor said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you young women today. You want to be mothers yet you carry on as if it made no difference at all. You have paid quite a price for your bad judgment, Mrs. Nolan.”
He left her then and she was able to let the tears flow freely. She had been too proud to cry when he was there to see. Now she gave way to her despair.
The elderly nurse came and patted her hand. “There, there, Mrs. Nolan, it may not be as bad as he said. Dr. Cronin is a stern man with little consideration for anyone, including himself.”
Days passed and Nita received flowers from Madame Irma, and letters from Belle and Sherman Kress. They both wished her well and told her they were sure she would soon be well and out again. There was no word at all from Marty.
What had happened to him after her collapse? There was not a word concerning him in the letters. And they did not tell her how they were managing without the act. They simply let her know they cared for her and wished her well.
As her strength returned, her curiosity grew. Before the end of the week she was able to walk about a little. The doctor saw her again and informed her that it would be two months before she could dance again.
The week passed and she knew she would soon be released. Her problem was where to go and how to support herself. There would be hardly any money left after she had paid her hospital bills. She began to try and work out some plans and decided the first thing she must do was attempt to get in touch with Sherman Kress. She could not resume the act again but at least he might have some word about Marty.
She was deeply hurt that there had been no word from her errant husband. Before she allowed herself to condemn him too greatly she forced herself to realize that he also might be ill and unable to get in touch with her because of that. He had looked completely down and out when she’d seen him the night she’d collapsed. He had surely abused himself badly with drink and could well be in the hospital also.
Sunday afternoon came and the hospital was filled with weekend visitors. She strolled in the hall for a little in a worn robe which Belle had donated when she’d been admitted to the hospital. After a while the press of people bothered her and she went back to her room and sat on the side of her bed.
She was sitting there thinking bleakly of her future when she heard someone enter the room. She turned and saw Marty, clean and dressed in his best suit, with a bouquet of roses in his hand.
She jumped up and cried, “Marty!”
“Darlin’!” he said brokenly and came to her. He threw the roses on the bed and took her gently in his arms and kissed her.
She stared at him, smiling, her eyes filled with tears. “You didn’t write me or anything!”
He held her. “I was too ashamed.”
“You look so well!”
“I’m sober at least,” he said contritely.
“Where have you been?”
“With the company.”
“You’ve been doing the act?”
He smiled. “Sure. You didn’t think I’d let them down? Not after what you went through to keep them on the road.”
She pressed herself against him happily. “Oh, Marty!”
“You’re almost well again,” he said.
“I must look a sight,” she worried. “I’ve lost weight and I’m so pale.”
“Makes you look all the more the angel you are!”
She smiled up at him. “You and your Irish blarney.”