Red Rainbow by G Johanson (top books of all time TXT) 📗

some nights this way... of a 700+ capacity theatre. Saturday was different, both shows usually more than half full. Curtain calls were a thing of the past, though – people had to get home, all bar him.

Their least profitable weeknight over the last few weeks was Wednesday. A couple of the actors and the dresser had stayed over these nights as this was better than the alternative, a lift home from the Germans. Deveral had approached a German soldier who regularly attended and made a proposal to him to make each Wednesday evening exclusive to their German patrons. He presented this plausibly, offering to make these shows for free with the understanding that the soldiers kept their attendance only to these shows. He proposed segregation and they went for it, which came as no surprise. They would pick shows for their invaders’ tastes, Deveral lumping them all together. That was how he had to be. It was no good thinking of them as individuals, human beings with their own identities and values. The dead men on the beach had crossed lines in the sand, and Deveral had drawn some of his own now. He smiled at the men he was at war with and invited them into his Trojan theatre. Phase 1 of the plan had been inviting her across the pond. Phase 2 was getting the Germans to come to his shows. Phase 3, the penultimate phase, was imminent...

“‘Out, damned spot!’ Honestly, you’re not supposed to get pimples at my age, are you?” Charlotte Thiers joked to the makeup artist/dresser, Patience Condeh. Patience did makeup and maintained costumes for the whole cast, which kept her busy prior to and during the shows. The cast was small, Deveral’s company a minor one, but she definitely earned her pay. Several of the actors applied some of the makeup, with Patience applying the finishing touches. One actress left the company quickly after taking issue with having a black woman touch her. She was not missed. Charlotte, thankfully, was nothing like that, always friendly with Patience and down to earth. She was the leading lady and had no airs and graces, thankful to be working at all in these difficult times. Her career hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped, but a lot of things hadn’t for a lot of people.

“They’ll never see it. I wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t point it out.”

“Patience, my sweet, sweet girl, you are a terrible liar.” Patience stood over her brushing her face with powder, positioned to see every crack, every blemish. Every pimple. She could see Charlotte’s dark roots, which made her look like a fake blonde when all of her hair, from light tips to brown roots, was natural, though she had it coiffured to add volume, framing her features.

“It’s as well I stay this side of the curtain then.” Patience wouldn’t swap places with Charlotte for the world. She was a confident young woman in everyday life. Performing was a step too far, however, Patience happy to remain in the wings.

“Some make the transition. I was a nonspeaking part for many years – I’m making up for lost time now, I know.”

There was a knock at the dressing room door, which opened before either woman had the chance to speak. Charlotte was dressed but that wasn’t the point. She might not have been. She did not fire up when she saw that it was her boss who entered accompanied by a strange-looking woman, a gaunt geriatric with a terrible wide brown wig on, wearing a khaki and floral mix trouser suit.

“Good, you’re clothed. Some of the others weren’t, but there’s no time to delay. Florence joins our company today,” Deveral said, presenting her to them. She was almost as tall as him, and he was well over 6ft, Deveral also spindly due to losing a lot of weight in recent months. He had always been thin, especially in the face, only now he looked unhealthy with it, possibly his grey hair (quite thick for his age) turning a shade lighter?

“Welcome aboard,” Charlotte said, rising and walking across to embrace and kiss her. Florence did not embrace her back and made a point of brushing the powder off the collar of her jacket, which Charlotte’s face had smeared. Charlotte carried on undaunted, “I’m Charlotte, Bette in tonight’s performance...”

“We’re doing a different show,” Deveral said.

“Oh?”

“I don’t know that one. We’re doing one that I know,” Florence declared.

“Okay. Which one?” Charlotte said with a nervous laugh, looking to Deveral to provide this information which would be helpful for her to know.

Deveral answered, “Macbeth. You need to sort costumes.” He said this to Patience who got moving straight away, running through their collective wardrobe in her head to work out if they had enough period male costumes. She was responsible for buying and renting costumes and had taken some back after they finished their recent run doing this show. It was going to be tricky, particularly so close to showtime with the cast mostly dressed for the contemporary play they had been prepared to perform and half of them made up.

A couple of the actors came to Patience as she frantically searched her stock, one of them coming to have the first choice of gear (not thinking straight, she let him have it when that should have been for their principal, who would surely reprise his role as Macbeth). Another actor came to gossip and moan about what was going on. He made a good point too. The audience was coming to see one show and were getting a completely different one without warning. That was unprofessional. Theatre directors could do what they wanted to the cast and crew, but you didn’t fuck with the audience.

They were losing enough of their already sparse trade since word got out about the theatre being a haven for Nazis who got free entertainment that the French had to pay for. Deveral justified this to the staff well enough. Non-Nazis could