Page 2 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

“Ria Fernandez.” She held out a folder, and a golden band sparkled on her ring finger.

Maggie set her hat and purse on the desk and took the folder. “Ria? That’s pretty.”

“Ria is short and fast.” She flicked the folder. “The show, Miss Oliver.”

Maggie settled into the wooden chair, and Mrs. Fernandez pulled over a chair beside the desk.

Putting on a show would be a thrilling challenge, and Maggie could do it. After over ten years dancing in Hollywood, she’d danced with USO-Camp Shows, then choreographed, then directed. This was the next step.

She opened the folder. “What do we have, Mrs. Fernandez?”

“Call me Ria. Save a lot of syllables.”

“Is that so? Call me Maggie and save a few more.”

Ria snapped up her gaze, and a smile burst out. “I like you.”

Maggie laughed. “What do we have?”

“Nothing.” Ria pointed to the folder in Maggie’s hand. “List of venues, contacts, phone numbers. An X means they aren’t available.”

Maggie whistled. “That’s most of them.”

“You have appointments this afternoon at the three best options.” Ria handed Maggie a neatly typed list. “Your schedule, your contacts, where to meet them, the trolley route.”

“Oh my.” Very efficient.

Ria slid over another folder. “Mr. Anderson gave me a list of Hollywood stars, but we’d better book them fast.”

Halfway down the list, Maggie gasped. “Prescott Duke? He’s my favorite star. I danced in three of his movies. Not with him, of course. Just in the ensemble. With his dark good looks, they always paired him with blondes, not brunettes like me. But, oh my. He’s so handsome and such a gentleman, and that voice. It’s like midnight blue velvet.”

Ria cleared her throat, and the obsidian returned to her gaze.

Maggie gave her an apologetic smile. “Too many syllables?”

She tapped the list. “See the X? You don’t want Mr. Duke. He was burned in an accident. Really bad scars.”

“I—I’d heard.” Prescott Duke’s story had been the talk of the town. He’d been one of the first stars to enlist after Pearl Harbor, but his bus to the training camp had crashed and burst into flames. Mr. Duke had escaped but then returned to the inferno to save other men. He’d been discharged from the Army due to his injuries, and he hadn’t made a film since.

The man was a hero, and Maggie slid her finger over the X. “I want him in my show. Scars and all.”

Yeoman Third Class Frank Sebastian led Maggie toward the Old Globe Theatre in San Diego’s Balboa Park. Modeled after the Globe Theatre in London from Shakespearean times, the circular building had half-timbering near the roof and Old English lettering.

With all her visits to the park, why had Maggie never been inside the theater? “I love it. I absolutely love it.”

“We’re mighty fond of it.” The square collar of the sailor’s navy-blue tunic fluttered in the wind. “It was built for the California Pacific International Exposition in ’35. It was supposed to be torn down afterward, but the city rallied, raised money, and had it built to code.”

The squawk of seagulls, the rustle of palm trees, and the scent of eucalyptus trees added a California layer to the charm. “Now the Navy runs it.”

“Yes, ma’am. After Pearl Harbor, we took over most of the buildings in Balboa Park to expand the naval hospital. We use the theater for lectures and entertainment. We use the Museum of Man over yonder for a hospital ward.”

Holding back her hair, Maggie turned in a circle. To the left of the theater, the Spanish-inspired museum raised an ornate stucco tower and a colorful tiled dome to the blue sky. “It’s perfect.”

“Don’t get too excited, ma’am. The theater only seats about five hundred. You’d need multiple showings for all the sailors in San Diego, and the theater will rarely be available for rehearsals.”

She followed the handsome blond sailor toward the theater. Frank Sebastian . . . the name was familiar, but the face wasn’t. Since he was from the South and easily ten years her junior, she couldn’t imagine where she might have met him.

He opened the door and led her through the lobby and into the theater.