She would take, for the present,
anything that offered. Because any sort of work, even menial work, would
be a relief after that nightmare tour. The weeks since she had left
Chicago, especially the last two or three of them, seemed unreal, and
the incidents of them as if they couldn't have happened. Anything that
didn't involve associations with that detestable company, and the
unspeakable piece they had played, would seem--well, almost heavenly. If
she couldn't get a job in a store, she'd go and be a waitress at the
hotel. She could make a pretty good waitress, she thought.
But her confidence was short-lived. She cut short her ramble about the
streets because of the stares she attracted, and the remarks about
herself that she couldn't ignore. Young men shouted at each other
directing attention to her with a brutality of epithet that brought the
blood to her cheeks. During all the time she had had that room on Clark
Street in Chicago, through their rehearsals and that month of
performances, she'd gone alone about the streets at all sort of hours,
both in the theatrical part of the loop and in the district where she
lived, without any molestation whatever.
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