Free The Slipper by Jennifer Wilde

cheeks. Brett was making a manly effort not to do the same. Julian Compton couldn’t believe it. The girl was incredible, absolutely incredible, so convincing in her magic that his own eyes were moist. His monsters, the one in Mickey Mouse ears, the other in coonskin cap, had been totally enraptured and couldn’t contain their emotion now. The girl in the cheap pink cotton dress and shabby shoes sighed and sat up, the puppets still on her hands. When she saw him standing there in the doorway her cheeks turned pale.
    â€œMr. Compton, I—I didn’t know you’d come home.”
    â€œThe dinner was a bore. We left early. I see you’ve been entertaining my children.”
    â€œShe’s wonderful, Daddy!” Bobbie cried. “We want to have her every night!”
    â€œYeah!” Brett agreed. “She fights Indians, too!”
    Julie put the puppets down and scrambled to her feet, horribly embarrassed. She’d rarely been so humiliated. Julian Compton smiled at her and ordered Brett and Bobbie to bed. They obeyed instantly, Brett dashing over to give Julie a hug before racing to his own room. Compton went downstairs with Julie and insisted on giving her the whole twenty dollars, even though they had returned early. Discovering she had no transportation, he said he would drive her home.
    â€œIt—it isn’t necessary, Mr. Compton. I’m used to walking.”
    â€œCome along, Mrs. Hammond,” he said with mock severity. “I’ll brook no nonsense from a chit like you.”
    Eyes downcast, cheeks flushed now, she followed him outside and got into the car. She gave him directions and sat there miserably as he drove toward the campus. Julian Compton was a glamorous figure at Claymore. He had made a brilliant career for himself in the theater, had worked with legendary names, and Julie knew that producers were still trying to lure him away from teaching and back into the fold. This man beside her had worked with Katharine Cornell, with Lynn Fontanne, and he had stood there in the doorway of Bobbie’s room, watching her … watching her pretend that she could act, too. Still smarting from her humiliation, Julie wasn’t aware that they had reached their destination, that Compton had stopped the car. He was staring at her, studying her profile in the pale summer moonlight.
    â€œSo you want to be an actress,” he said quietly.
    Julie looked up, startled. Her cheeks started burning again.
    â€œI—I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself, Mr. Compton. I was just trying to—to amuse the children.”
    â€œBut you do want to act, right?”
    Julie swallowed, unable to speak. How had he known? How had he guessed that secret dream she had nurtured for years. Lots of little girls dream of becoming an actress, it was perfectly natural, a part of growing up, but she was grown up now and she still hadn’t relinquished the dream. Julie clasped her hands together in her lap, swallowing again, consumed with guilt because he had found her out.
    â€œHave you ever done any acting before?” he asked.
    Julie shook her head, still unable to speak.
    â€œNone? Not even a high school play?”
    â€œI—I didn’t finish high school,” she confessed. “I dropped out after I finished the tenth grade. I—it was—I got married, you see, and I couldn’t—”
    She cut herself short, in anguish. Julian Compton felt a rush of compassion for this overly sensitive, painfully shy child, but that had nothing to do with his next words. When it came to spotting talent, he had an infallible eye, and he could be harsh, even brutal when his students showed a lack of it. He did not believe in wasting his time, or theirs.
    â€œI would like for you to attend my advanced drama classes this fall, Julie,” he said.
    â€œMe?” Julie was dumbfounded. “But I—I couldn’t—why would you want me to