This Enemy Town Read Online Free PDF Page A

the fake keyboard.
    â€œMidshipman Monroe, what have you done to your head?”
    The midshipman caressed his glossy, hairless scalp. “I shaved it, sir.”
    â€œWhy, pray tell, did you do that?”
    â€œLast night was Service Assignment Night, sir,” he said, as if that explained everything.
    â€œTell me what that has to do with you showing up for rehearsal today wearing a bowling ball on your shoulders.”
    â€œI’m going Marines, sir.”
    â€œI see.” Medwin Black rested both hands on the back of the theater seat in front of him, bowed his head, and seemed to be consulting the toes of his brown oxford shoes. A deathlike silence fell over the auditorium until he looked up again and said, “So, you and the other jarheads went out to celebrate, I presume.”
    â€œYes, sir. With the senior Marine, sir.”
    â€œAnd then you came back to the Hall and shaved your head.”
    The midshipman playing the Beadle shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, sir.”
    Professor Black sighed. “Never mind, we’ll work around it.” He waved an arm. “Continue!”
    Beadle Bamford’s parlor song was interrupted onceagain by the arrival of box dinners. Rehearsal ground to a halt while the midshipmen launched a full-frontal assault on the food tables. Dorothy and I decided to avoid the stampede and wait until after the midshipmen had eaten before picking up our boxes.
    In the meantime, Dorothy invited me up on the stage, where she spread out the sketches the set designer had made on top of Mrs. Lovett’s pie-making table and discussed with me what still needed to be done. “A lot will be taken care of by the backdrop we’re renting,” Dorothy said, to my great relief. “How would you like to be in charge of the barbershop?”
    I turned and tipped my head back to get a better look at the structure. From where I stood, perhaps a dozen steps led up to the platform that would eventually be transformed into Sweeney Todd’s place of business. There was a back wall—wallpaper would cover that—but other than that, the room was open on three sides, nothing to keep me from tripping and tumbling ass over teacup onto the stage eight or nine feet below.
    I shook my head. “I don’t do heights,” I explained. “I went to Paris once. At the top of the Eiffel Tower there are iron girders that still carry the impression of my fingernails.”
    In the end, I volunteered to construct the oven, while Dorothy would work upstairs, concentrating on making Sweeney’s diabolical barber chair—also rented—function properly.
    Suddenly I grew light-headed, whether from hunger or from the stage lights raining relentlessly down on us, it was hard to tell. Sweat prickled my scalp and gathered under the sweatshirt I wore, running down my back and between my breasts.
    Dorothy noticed, and tugged at her wig. “Are you hot, too, Hannah, or is it just me?”
    I managed a laugh. “My late mother always said, ‘Idon’t have hot flashes. I have short, private vacations in the tropics!’” I gathered up my bag. “Let’s get out from under these lights.”
    We moved to the edge of the stage, where the lighting was less ferocious, and sat down, side by side, dangling our legs over the lip. “Remember when you said you wanted me for a role model?”
    Dorothy wiped her forehead with the tail end of her shirt. “Yeah.”
    â€œWell, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought you something.” I set the bag I’d been carrying on her lap. “Open it.”
    Dorothy grabbed the handles of my duffel and pulled them apart. She peered into the bag, and I watched a smile spread slowly across her face. “Hats!”
    â€œFriends gave them to me,” I confided, “more than I could ever use. I don’t need them anymore, thank goodness. I thought you might