Fate Hollywood E-Book

Rebecca Binchy

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 354

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The bright side of the life and career of film icon Doris Day is well known to many. This biographical novel also sensitively describes the vicissitudes of her private life. With four marriages and the numerous ups and downs of the entertainment industry in the USA, this is a rewarding look behind the scenes A novel that will not only delight movie lovers!

Leseprobe

Foreword

This book is based on various sources about the life of the actress Doris Day, my favorite being her autobiography from 1976. All the descriptions, events and scenes, including the first one, are based on the available records of her life and have a true background, yet it is and remains a novel.

Films such as "Pillow Talk" from 1959 with Rock Hudson made her a star worldwide. This book tells the story of her life away from the movie set, as it was or could have been.

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California, 1987

Doris still wore almost the blonde of her youth, she had dressed up a bit, nothing flashy, but still chic. Hair blow-dried, light make-up, she was 65 and looked good. She didn't just see her fading fame as a blessing, it was more than that: she enjoyed every single day because she had found her heart's calling. She had to organize the next fundraiser for her animal foundation. That's why she was on her way to the office she had set up for this activity. The dogs she got into the spacious van with knew their way around, jumped into the back seats as soon as she opened the car door and lined up like well-behaved children. The drive from their home in Carmel-by-the-Sea to the city center was short. The modern office building has its own parking spaces, but they were all taken. She wasn't really annoyed, so she had a reason to park further back near the green spaces and take the dogs on a short detour to the office. It was spring, the sun was shining and the well-kept paths in the area were deserted. She saw the man very late because she was busy with her dogs. He was a shadow that she just wanted to make way for, but he stopped in front of her, looked at her, looked her in the eye in a way that she found presumptuous. "Good afternoon, am I in the way?" he asked her. Then he looked past her at the dogs and stood up straight. He was her age, handsome and . far back in her mind a door opened.

"You don't recognize me, Doris? I'm your second husband," said the man.

Only now did she really look into his eyes and she recognized the blue and the memory came over her like a wave. She smiled. She wanted to hug him, but that was so inappropriate after her harsh words. "Oh George, I can't believe it, how long has it been since we've seen each other?"

"I guess it's been thirty years since you've seen me," George said. "I've seen you a lot, in the movies, on TV, in the newspaper..." His voice became quieter.

"What are you doing here in this sleepy nest?" Doris still couldn't believe it.

"What do you want to hear? What I've made up or the truth?" George asked, tilting his head slightly to one side.

She looked at him. The friendly feeling that had remained after their short marriage was back. "What have you rehearsed?" she asked him without thinking.

"Oh Doris, sometimes I feel very old at 61 and I don't know how long I have left. I heard about your organization, Animal Foundation, just as my cat died of old age. That was a sign. I thought I'd go there, it's not far, and drop off the donation myself. I owe it to Doris." He looked at her with a broad smile.

Now she finally hugged him. "How nice to see you now!" Doris smiled. Her sincere charm was still there, Georgee realized. "Let's have a coffee," Doris said and made her way to her favorite café.

The café was an enchanted place in a backyard. Flowers framed the circles paved with small stones, on which stood round metal tables, each with four ornate metal chairs. George immediately realized that they knew her there. The waitress greeted them from afar and did not deter Doris from her determined path to a particular table. When she approached the table, Doris ordered for George. It was just like before, which reassured him. He leaned back, only to straighten up again immediately, the backrest pressing hard into his back. His eyes wandered over the enchanting garden, then he said: "Doris, I think I can see that you're happy." He leaned forward and spoke more quietly. "Was it really only four husbands, did I miss something?"

Doris laughed. He knew how to please her, even after all these years. "You didn't miss a thing, George, and you were the best of them all." She smiled in a way that told him she meant it and yet it was only a compliment. "You look like a person who has arrived, Doris," George said.

"You're right, with every word. It was a long way to get here. But yes, I've found my place and something I didn't go looking for," she replied in her own pragmatic way.

"Tell me Doris, you don't owe it to me, but I need to know what it was that I couldn't give you." With this sentence, he denied that he had left her then, and she liked it.

It was the 1980s, she was wearing a light pink blouse, he was sitting there in wide, high-waisted pants and a polo shirt. Country music was playing softly in the background. They leaned back almost in sync. Doris looked at him and there was a lot of affection in her eyes.

Cincinnati, Ohio, 1930

The red, two-storey brick house in Evanston, a suburb of Cincinnati, was her home. It was in a city whose history was shaped by German immigrants. Her parents were the third generation here in the country and the surnames of her parents William Kappelhoff and Alma Sophia Welz said enough about their origins. Cincinnati was once Indian country and German mercenary officers wrested it from them. They named the city in memory of Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus, a Roman military leader. The river ensured that Cincinnati was not as badly affected by the deep economic depression of the 1930s as the rest of the country. Trade continued, albeit slowly, and money came into the city. Money that people also brought to Christian Science, where her father was the church organist and choirmaster. She was the baby of the family, her mother a housewife with heart and soul. The early death of her first child Richard left a lot of love, which she distributed between her big brother Paul and her - in addition, because she had more of it than other mothers. Every girl loves her father, there's nothing she can do about it, and her father was good-looking too. When they went to church on Sunday and he was particularly well-dressed, he was greeted by the parishioners with "Mr. Professor", simply because he radiated it. If you asked the congregation, they described him as reserved and rather introverted in those years of his life.

Doris was eight years old in 1930, blonde, lively and almost always turned into the path to the house running and slowed down when the porch door was closed. That was the sign that her father had a music student there. She wouldn't go through the front door, but would sneak in at the back. The squeaking of the violin student drowned out the sound of the door.

That day, her mother was already waiting for her: "Come in quickly Doris, I have something to show you." She pulled her by the arm through the kitchen, down the hall towards the living room, opened the door and stood in the middle of the room, her arms spread wide. "Oh mom, what have you done again? It's so different, so very different!" cried Doris. Alma glowed with pride: "It's great, isn't it? The cupboard is out of sight when you come in, the chairs here, every guest wants to sit down right away. It was hard work, I tell you." Doris wasn't really surprised about what had just happened here. Her mother often rearranged things when she had finished cleaning and cooking. She did more in this respect than other housewives.

When Paul came home from school, there was lunch in the kitchen. His father was still working. Doris was sitting with her back to the door and was startled when he entered. He sat down at the table without saying a word.

Alma busily fetched a plate, put the soup in for him, added bread and a spoon, but it didn't help. He looked at her reproachfully. "Was that absolutely necessary, Alma?" "Yes, it was necessary. We have our house party at the weekend. I can't possibly leave it the same every time." William's voice was full of resignation. "You know I don't like your parties. All that western music wears on my nerves." He ate and stopped looking at her and no one dared to disturb his silence.

Years ago, when William and Alma met, this difference had been a great attraction for both of them. They were magically attracted to the other. Like two oppositely charged magnets, they couldn't help but marry and have children. Both were satisfied. The salary from the church was enough for her to look after the house and children. Everyday life, that so warming creature, crept in to secretly suck husband and wife dry of blood. And before they realized it, they lacked the strength to change it. William stood up. "I've got to go back later, the choir, the preparations for the service, you know." Her father was rarely home in the evenings.

Saturday came and her mother fell into the euphoric bustle that parties bring to her. There was a lot to prepare, the food, the choice of music, place cards. Doris was already dancing around the house, where western and country music had been playing all day, looking forward to the people who would soon flood the newly rearranged living room. At last the first people came up the path, the Schmid’s. He was lean, a little odd in dress and appearance and she was beautiful in a special way. Like her parents, they were in their mid-thirties and Susanne Schmid was beaming all over her face. They were the vanguard and soon the conversations drowned out the music. Her father tolerated the hustle and bustle and liked to sit a little apart. Doris ran back and forth, fetching glasses, offering drinks and bringing some to her father, who was chatting with Susanne. At some point, Doris crept up the stairs and fell into bed, dead tired. Her room was a connecting room, located in front of the guest room, which was rarely used. It was small and only contained a bed and a wardrobe; it was never rearranged.

She was so tired that she didn't lie down on her side as usual, but folded her hands like a woman on her side and heard it. She couldn't ignore it. The inside of the house was only divided by light wooden walls and there was someone in the guest room. Wide awake and against her will, she focused on the other side of the wall. It was two people. She heard deep breathing, the bed creaked, heard the suppressed moans of a woman. My God, she was eight and it was obviously part of life, but it wouldn't let her fall asleep. The sounds rushed towards a climax unknown to her. Did this have to be here, she was getting a little annoyed. At last she turned to the side, her eyes on the door to the hallway. She was almost asleep when the door to the guest room opened. A man and a woman crept past her. She fixed her hair, he stuffed his shirt into his trousers as he walked. The door to the hallway opened and a beam of light turned the silhouettes into people she knew. A couple who didn't give a second thought to the girl watching them and whose world was shaken as a result. Susanne Schmid deftly slipped through the door and her father quietly pulled it shut behind him without looking back.

The next morning, they were all sitting at the breakfast table. Her parents were quite normal with each other. This reassured Doris, but she also heard her father talking about church commitments and not having all day. Hopefully he would be free next Friday, she thought, because she had a big dance recital at the Schuster Marints Ballet School, which she attended. Her mother had enrolled her there and had already made her costume. She would be dancing with Jerry, Jerry Doherty.

Cincinnati, Ohio, 1935

Five years later, she was now twelve years old and Jerry Doherty was still by her side. They were a wonderful couple, somehow very professional. It was Saturday, a very special day. "Come on, Doris, we're late. The jury won't wait for us." Alma was a little excited. It was only a dance competition in a shopping center, but it was worth $500, which was really a lot. Doris had now joined the Hessler’s at the dance school, the talent factory for Hollywood. She stormed down the stairs, still running whenever it wasn't indecent: "Will father be coming?" she asked as she ran past.

"You know he's on church duty. He doesn't have much time for it," said Alma and Doris swallowed her disappointment.

They drove to the Doherty's in the car. Alma had sewn the costumes and put them in storage. A little later, Jerry and his mother got into the car with a naturalness that showed that there had already been so many performances and trips to see them. They were like a small business, a dance duo with brokerage and management. The housewives had moved up into this ranks and Alma didn't have to persuade her daughter to do anything. Sure, she motivated her, was always there and was very proud, but Doris didn't do it for management, she just enjoyed dancing.

After registering at small tables with grey-looking young people, they went into the vacant rooms next to the toilets and the empty area in front of the stage, which had been set up in the center of the large shopping center, slowly filled up. Many people came from far and wide to take part. The prize money justified a not inconsiderable journey. Doris had to get into the costume, her mother would sew it up when she was in it, then it would fit better. Her blonde hair was less of a problem. She was excited when it started, but in a pleasant way. Jerry and she were a team. He was good, really good and she emphasized it. She looked at him conspiratorially, but he was a shy boy. "Jerry, I think we can win this." They waited for her to make her entrance. Jerry's mother tugged at him, Doris stood close to her mother, Alma. "You smile so beautifully, Doris, don't forget it. And look forward to it. The competition is strong, but you're stronger together," said Alma.

Doris and Jerry went out on stage and delivered. The audience and the jury quickly agreed in the end. Alma accepted the sensational prize money from the organizer, beaming as they divided it up in the car.

Doris Kappelhoff and Jerry Doherty

Doris wanted to get home as quickly as possible and tell her father about this victory. He had given her violin lessons last year, with little success, but now, he had to know, she was really good at something. She stormed into the house, Paul, her brother, came down the stairs, he looked at her sadly and asked: "Are you looking for father?" "Yes," she was already resigning herself. "We won, at the shopping center ..." Paul was unimpressed, he stood halfway up the stairs and looked down at her. "He's gone, he'll be back this afternoon to get the rest of the stuff." Doris was in shock. It had not escaped her notice, she could have expected it. Back then, when she was eight, she still hoped it was a bad dream, but her father was at the table less and less often, her parents argued about the music Alma listened to, her restlessness. Then they stopped arguing and her father was sometimes not at home for days. Her mother knew that William had probably had more than one affair and had now found a woman he wanted to move in with. The divorce was ready, the impossible seemed to be coming true, because there was no divorce in the Christian Church. Her father would lose his job as a result. Her parents had tried all those years, but they had only delayed the end.

Dancing and success managed to keep the sadness away from Doris until moments like this. When her father arrived later, she was in the living room, standing behind one of the heavy curtains. He was walking up and down the stairs, talking to Paul, her mother was nowhere to be seen. Doris stood behind the curtain and cried. She refused to go on stage and no one came to urge her. Her father left the house without saying goodbye. Just like the night of the house party, he had simply forgotten about her. That same year, her parents divorced after 19 years of marriage. She and her brother stayed behind.

Cincinnati, Ohio, spring 1937

Two years later, they moved out of the house in Evanston to live with her uncle. His house was closer to the center of Cincinnati and her mother helped him downstairs in his bakery. This gave them a livelihood and Alma could continue to look after her children well.

Dance competitions continued to fill the weekends and her daughter's success and talent did not go unnoticed. An artist agency in Los Angeles, on the other side of the country, had invited her to audition, and there were various auditions for her to attend. It was the silver lining of a bright future in Hollywood, but initially without the option of earning money. Raising the money for the trip was not easy for Alma or the parents of her dance partner Jerry Doherty, but somehow, they managed.

It was a Monday in May when they finally set off. It would take them almost a week to cover the 2000 kilometers. Jerry's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Dohorty, sat in the front of the car, with Doris squeezed between Jerry and her mother in the back. They were now on their second day on Interstate 40 towards Los Angeles. The excitement had not yet subsided and with every stop for gas and food, the people and their faces became stranger. Finally they stopped again and went into one of those countless drugstores. It was hot for the time of year and, relieved, they quickly found a seat among all the travelers who didn't give them a second glance. Jerry quickly slid into the bench, but Doris let her eyes slide over the greasy table. "I'll go for little girls," she said. On the way back, she slipped past the kitchen doors and waited until a swing of the doors revealed a glimpse. The cook felt her eyes on his back. He was fat and sweating, sweat running down his almost bald forehead. He turned and looked at her for the eternity of a second. Doris was frightened. What was that? Not black, not Hispanic, not white. It confused her to see all these people working in all these kitchens and diners who didn't seem to belong anywhere. They were her traveling companions without a city, without a home and without belonging to a people. It frightened her. As soon as she sat at the table, the waitress came. Everyone placed their order, but Doris shook her head. In her mind's eye, she could just see the cook's sweat dripping onto the scrambled eggs. "What's wrong darling?" her mother asked. "Nothing Ma, I finished the whole bottle of milk in the car, I'm full."

They slept in cheap motels on the side of the highway. Doris now carried out the kitchen check at every stop. She often stuck to the milk, which actually filled her up. When they arrived in Los Angeles, they found their rooms in a bungalow tucked between others on the outskirts of the city. It was the cheapest they could find from a distance. Dirty from the road dust of crossing an entire continent, the five of them stood in the small apartment with living room and bedroom. One of the three beds was by the door and had to be folded down. As always, Alma took the reins. She was a tall woman, not expensive but neatly dressed and her hair was perfect despite the strain. "We'll do it as we discussed: At night, the children and I sleep" - she turned to the Doherty`s" and during the day, Martha and Jack rest." Mr. Doherty nodded in agreement; he and his parents had never been beyond the borders of Ohio and this adventure, brought to him by his son's talent, was a high point in his life. Fortunately, Lawrence, their older son, was big enough and they had left him with an aunt. Alma's son Paul was also in good hands with his relatives.

In the 1930s, Los Angeles was a gathering place for people who wanted to gain a foothold in the film industry. The Nazi regime overseas had ensured that many talented Jews and freedom-loving artists had emigrated here from the theaters in Europe or the film studios in Berlin, bringing their knowledge with them. The standard that made Hollywood the world's leading location for the production of impressive films was nurtured by all those who made their way to this barren landscape on the west coast so far south. Alma Kappelhoff, her daughter Doris, Jerry Doherty and his parents were among them. Like many before and after them, they took a risk for their dream. Alma had named her daughter after Doris Kenton, a well-known actress, and she wanted to go down this path with her.

And the tour group made the most of every day. Well organized, they drove from casting to casting and Doris and Jerry were hired to rehearse for theFachon and Marco Stage Show, which toured around Hollywood. The miracle happened, they were signed.

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California, 1987

George saw the dreaminess in her eyes, saw that Doris' thoughts fromcame from far in the past, and he wanted to seize the moment: "What was it like with Marty? I've read so much in the press. It must have been terrible." He hesitated, then continued. "I only had a condolence card for you at the time." Doris looked at him a little uncomprehendingly, but she wanted to answer his question. "Yes, first his sudden death and then the realization that all my money was gone. It made a lot of waves, but so should six million dollars. It was bitter, believe me."

"You've always trusted, Doris. I don't know if that's a mistake," said George, sipping his coffee.

"Yes, I guess it was, but Marty was my husband and manager. Who should I trust if not him? Rosenthal and he had become a team I couldn't figure out - and unfortunately they weren't playing on my side." She looked around briefly, but no one in the café was within earshot. "Didn't you suspect it, Doris?" asked George. "I worked a lot during that time and came home totally exhausted in the evening," said Doris. George wanted to comfort her: "Rosenthal only lost his license last year, at least that," he said. "How are you now? You don't seem to be looking for work."

"No, thank God there was insurance to cover the damage, albeit not completely. It's enough to maintain my modest lifestyle. I could even get a little older and it would be enough." There was no triumph in her voice. "Why did Marty do that?" It remained a puzzling subject for him. "You don't want me talking bad about dead people. We had good years too, he listened to me, was there for me and with Arwin Production, our joint company, he had put my professional existence on a fairly independent footing. After Warner Brothers, we produced almost all the films through that company, but you're right, it was like his first wife."

"He's been married before?" George was astonished. "Yes, twice even, like me back then, that wasn't the point. But it wasn't a nice thing that happened with her before. Patty Andrew was anything but thrilled about my existence, and I felt it. She was a singer and actress, like me, just not quite as successful." She lifted her cup of coffee and thought back to the beginning, not the end, of her career.

Cincinnati, Ohio, fall 1937

Doris was happy to return to the apartment above the bakery after more than three months of traveling. The dance tour was exhausting, never being alone was exhausting, being a stranger was exhausting. They resumed their daily routine and, like every Wednesday, she and her brother visited their father. They were stiff and somehow sad afternoons when they usually went out to eat. Today was Wednesday and this time she could already feel her mother's accusing gaze on her back. It was hard for Alma to know that her children were sitting at a table with their father and, more recently, with a woman. Alma had seen her from afar, her brother had pointed her out to her as she passed the bakery. It was just a nod of the head and a glance in her direction and she knew. Her ex-husband's new lover was very thin, a classical singer, elegant, reserved and soft-spoken. She was the opposite of Alma and the perfect counterpart to a man who used to be hers. That was mortifying, but Alma had no time for self-pity, there were a thousand things to do before the move to Hollywood. She only wanted to sublet the apartment for a year. Doris had just turned 15, she wouldn't have to go back to school after this summer. It was an adventure to leave this area, all her relatives, cousins, aunts who lived in Trenton, the neighboring town. On Saturday there was a farewell party with them, a farewell to an eventful future.

"Tell your father that the visits won't be happening for the first time," she called after her children. Paul, her son, looked at her uncomprehendingly. "Why is that? I want to see him."

Alma forgot his presence from time to time. Paul would be moving in with an aunt in Trenton, he should find a job here. She breathed in heavily: "Paul, as long as you can't afford a car, you won't be able to make it to your father's on Wednesdays." Paul knew she was right. Doris and he were picked up here by his father, but surely his father wouldn't drive over 30 miles twice to get there and back just to have lunch with him.

When Alma saw William's car coming down the street, she disappeared wordlessly into the front door. The gaunt silhouette next to him had not escaped her notice. Doris and Paul lined up to the left and right of the road to get in. The car stopped and they scurried inside. Doris had sat down behind her father's new wife, looked out of the car window and yawned profusely. Her father looked at her briefly over his shoulder: "Doris, tell us about Hollywood. Where did you dance there?" "I'll do it later, Pa, at the table. Where are we going to eat again?" she replied, bored.

Trenton, Ohio, October 13, 1937

It had become chilly, and just as nature had lost its flowers, shed its leaves and retreated, the Kappelhoffs' apartment was now without cushions, vases and books. Everything had been placed with relatives or was in the moving boxes, only the furniture remained for the lodgers, like bare trees in the autumn forest. They still had to lug a few boxes into the car, which was driven by Lawrence Doherty. He was Jerry's big brother and so very different, a bit chunky, harsh, masculine - not someone you thought of dancing when you saw him.

Alma came up the stairs in the hallway: "Doris, please take some more boxes. We're running late." Doris, like Paul, dragged the sturdy boxes up to the trunk of the huge car. It was their last trip to Trenton and they would be saying goodbye today. Like Jerry, Doris couldn't believe that they would be leaving their hometown for a long time.

She didn't see the shadow of the future, the shadow of her mother, who would drag all these boxes back up to this apartment before the end of the year. Doris stood halfway up the stairs, grabbed the boxes and blew a little with exertion as the shadow ran up through them.

Doris was really looking forward to meeting all her friends and relatives, and yes, she was looking forward to flirting with Lawrence. He was almost 20 years old and all grown up. She would have liked to sit next to him in the car, but it wouldn't have been proper. Paul was older, so the four of them drove north out of Cincinnati. Her aunt had prepared the party. Mother had thrown in what she could, and her cousins treated her like a star. It was very special that Hollywood had signed her, she and her mom had worked hard for it.

Everyone was already waiting for them in the house, there were loads of cakes, sandwiches, even chicken and liqueurs, as Doris found out. She was sitting in a corner with Marion Bonekamp, a friend, when Lawrence Doherty stood up in front of them: "Hi girls, wouldn't you like to go for a drive, just around the corner to the diner? Aunt Betty says we're out of wine." His voice dropped meaningfully. "Everyone's drinking wine in style." He rolled his eyes and held out his little finger. "I love driving, why don't you both come with me?" Albert Schroeder, Marion's boyfriend, stood behind him and shouted in his ear: "I'm in." Albert looked at him. "When did I ask you?" Everyone laughed and it was clear that they were ready to go.

They put on their jackets and Albert and Marion immediately sat in the back of the car, as they could be all to themselves here. Doris was very happy in the front next to Lawrence, in this stylish car. It was already dark and the sparse streetlights showed little of what was around them. Lawrence's car pulled like a string toward Fifth and High streets, while at the same time a freight train rolled north toward Pennsylvania. Lawrence joked with the girls, the road was gloomy but visible. There was a hint of a railroad track; they should have gotten in the car ten seconds earlier or later. The traffic light at the railroad crossing failed, it stayed dark that night and they talked loudly, hearing and not even seeing the coming train. Marion's laughter mingled with the noise of the shattering metal, the screeching splintering of the windshield. The train was coming from the right, where Doris was sitting. There was no fear, it had happened before they realized it. The railcar pushed them away, but didn't run over them. The passenger side was completely destroyed. Doris saw her friends hit the windshield, and when the car stopped, it was dead quiet. She was able to open the door, got out and stood briefly on her legs, which no longer obeyed her, she collapsed. The double fracture to her leg was the most serious injury of all. Later it was reported in the newspaper that she had shouted "Get my mother!". She couldn't remember.

Jerry visited her in hospital the next morning, not knowing how serious her injuries were. "How are you feeling, Doris?" "My leg is broken, Jerry," she said. When he realized what it meant, he sobbed. "Don't be sad, we'll dance again Jerry." Doris looked at him confidently.

The hospital announced that Mr. Albert Schroeder, 20, and Marion Bonekamp, 18, were in good condition. Lawrence Doherty suffered only minor injuries. Doris Kappelhoff's recovery will take many months. The evening of this farewell party was a farewell to life as a dancer.

Newspaper article: The Cincinnati Enquirer, 10/15/1937

Jerry and with him the Doherty´s disappeared from her life. Doris Kappelhoff, a divorcee from Cincinnati, was faced with the ruins of her young career and she could have left it at that. Jerry Doherty did, he became a milkman.

Cincinnati, Winter 1937

Alma was sitting at the kitchen table in the apartment they had left six months ago. The radio was on, it was early morning and the smell of the bakery wafted through her window. Next to her sat a black dog that she had bought after Doris came out of hospital. She was alone a lot and although she couldn't go out with him straight away, he forced her to move around. Alma had come up from the bakery for a short break to check on Doris. She announced her arrival with a clatter and a scrape of crutches and first her leg, still in splints, and then her blonde head appeared in the kitchen doorway. Doris smiled at her mother. "Good morning, my child. Your first day without high school. I don't know if I did the right thing taking you down there," Alma said. "Oh mom, you wouldn't believe how hard it was just getting there. Look at the crutches and I have to ride three streetcar lines, change twice." "That was exercise, that was good for your arms." Alma's voice was less convinced. Doris looked at her seriously. "Of course, everyone at school was very nice to me. Betty always carried my books for me. But when I arrived in the next room, lessons had often already started. So I was just on my own." Alma just looked out of the window. What could she say to that? They had made the decision together. Doris limped over to the radio, turned it up a little louder and said: "It is what it is, mother. I'll make the best of it."

Alma smiled again. Her daughter's stoic composure was strange to her and a blessing in this situation. "If you like, you can help downstairs later. The cake needs decorating, that's what you like to do." Doris was now sitting opposite her, her leg stretched out and drinking her milk. She would go downstairs later.

When the door slammed shut, she got up, turned the radio up a little louder and sang along while she did the dishes and Tiny, as she had named the dog, adored her so that she would turn to him. She sang as she tidied the rooms and sang as she went downstairs. She paid attention to every note, the intonation, soon she knew every word in every song that was played. The leg healed very slowly and immediately after the accident it was clear that there was no hope that she would be able to dance again. She should rather wish she could walk normally, the doctors said.

Cincinnati, summer 1938

The news from her uncle that he was selling the bakery turned everything upside down once again. He used the money to buy a tavern in Hamilton, another suburb of Cincinnati, and again Alma moved into the apartment above with Doris. Alma ran the tavern and was a good cook and hostess. Her self-selected experience with private parties stood her in good stead and she still loved having guests. The Juxbox was on all evening and there was plenty to do, even for Doris who, despite her crutches, enjoyed helping in the kitchen and listening to music. She was her father's daughter and everyone heard that she was very musical.

It was not yet lunchtime when the door to the dining room opened. A well-dressed, stern-looking woman stood there. "Doris, please come," Alma called out. "I'd like you to meet Grace, Ms. Grace Raine."

Doris looked at the woman in astonishment, she didn't fit in at all in the tavern and was certainly not the new waitress. "Good afternoon Ms. Raine." She almost curtseyed, "I'm Doris, the daughter." "I know, because you're the reason I'm here," Ms. Raine said. Doris looked at her mother in astonishment. Alma put her hands lightly on her hips and turned to her daughter. "Sing something, child, sing the new song like you always do." Doris didn't understand. Why should she sing now? It was completely inappropriate in this situation with the strange woman. You could see it all on her face and the women laughed. Alma finally resolved the situation. "Ms. Rain will teach you to sing, she's an institution." She raised her voice meaningfully at the end of the sentence. Doris was beaming now. "Oh, that's incredible, I think I've heard of you, but didn't know we could afford you." "Neither can you." Grace smiled mildly. "But something whispered to me that I should teach you at half price after this stroke of fate and the talent you claim to have." "When do we start?" Doris asked excitedly. "I'd say now." Ms. Rain looked around. "Where can we go?"

Alma led them both into the apartment. On the table was the money for two lessons for the first week. She had painstakingly saved it up from tips. While Doris and Grace discussed the repertoire Doris was already singing from the radio, she served tea and lemonade. Doris loved Ella Fitzgerald, her voice fascinated her. "I'll leave you two alone." Alma went to her beloved tavern, she had a lot to do.

And Grace Rain was delighted with Doris. A student who was already at this level before she started working with her was an exception and she had a career ahead of her, she realized after the first few lessons. She now came weekly and practiced breathing, tone sequences and volume with Doris and Doris was a grateful student. The money she took was more symbolic, but Alma struggled to always fork it out. Grace didn't just practice singing technique with Doris, however, because her student was mature enough at 16 to understand that it was always about more than technique "When you sing, Doris, don't sing for a big audience. Sing for the one person who really listens to you, sing just for them."

It was spring and Grace knew how tight the single Mrs. Kappelhoff's finances were. That Wednesday, she arrived early and didn't go up to the apartment as usual, but stuck her head into the tavern where Alma was preparing the food for the evening guests, instructing the staff and discussing the shopping with her brother. Alma was very happy to see her. She spread her arms.

"Oh Ms. Grace, you are a blessing to us. Doris is so balanced and full of strength. I'm sure you've noticed, the crutches are almost gone." She embraced her gently and hinted at kisses to the right and left of her cheeks. "Mrs. Kappelhoff, you really do have a wonderful daughter, and I would say the same if she couldn't sing so well." Alma beamed. "Let's sit down." She led them to the nicest of the many tables. "Is everything all right or are you just coming for a coffee?" "I've come because I want to talk to you about an offer I've received." She smiled gently and briefly enjoyed the moment of astonishment in Alma's eyes. "It's about a job at a restaurant that's opened in Cincinnati. It's a very fine Chinese place that wants to attract customers with live music, or rather singing. An American girl takes the strangeness out of the place. They're looking for it, it would be perfect for Doris." "That sounds good. Have you asked Doris yet?" Alma was very pleased with how the conversation went. "I wanted to talk to you about it first. It would always be Saturday night and the fee would cover the singing lessons," Grace Rain said. Alma looked at her with a broad smile. "That's wonderful, you have my blessing." They talked some more and Alma thought about how she could arrange it so that she would have her brother's car and time on Saturday.

Grace went to Doris and only at the end of the lesson did she visibly relax. It was as if she was going from work to pleasure. "Doris, you've shown me again today that you're ready." "Ready for what?" Doris looked at her in astonishment. "Ready to succeed, to earn money, to sing for others ... Take your pick." Grace smiled at her. Doris was still unsure, "The money thing would be kind of important, I guess." "I have an offer for you. You know that new hotel in Cincinnati? There's a Chinese restaurant in the basement, it's not doing so well and the owner thinks live music could change it. It would be a three-piece combo, or rather, number three, the singer, is missing." "Oh!" That was all Doris could manage. "That sounds good." "That's good, even the fee. It would only be Saturday night and covers my costs exactly. And you could use a bit of practice, audience, excitement, a pianist who's too fast," Grace said. "Will I be able to do it?" "I wouldn't have put you forward if I wasn't convinced." Grace leaned back now. "Okay, then I'll try." Doris's voice still sounded weak, but Grace was delighted to see her go. And she had lost the sternness with which she had once walked through the door. "I'll go and see your mother and find out when you're picking me up," she called over her shoulder to Doris. When she asked for Alma again downstairs in the tavern, she was sent to the back room. Alma was sitting there at the sewing machine. She had already designed and tailored all the clothes for the dance performances for Doris herself. When Grace came in, she held up the fabric and asked. "Do you think the Bordeaux red is appropriate?" "It's wonderful, Ms. Kappelhoff - or may I say Alma? Now that we're taking this step with your daughter." "Of course, Grace." Alma jumped up and went back for lemonade.

From then on, Grace came to Alma's every time after class. They were almost the same age and Alma's refreshing manner, her life as an innkeeper and her commitment to everything she did appealed to Grace and Alma found an ally in her when it came to music.