From the Improvement Era, April 1963 –

All the World is a Stage

By Frances C. Yost

“Here’s an item of interest.” Mike Thompson handed the evening paper to his wife Karma and pointed to an article on the stage and screen page.

Karma laid down the little stocking she was darning for Donny and read the headlines aloud. “Miss Rashell Ramone, popular actress of stage and screen will appear in person at the Reo Theatre for one matinee performance only.”

There was more to the article, but Karma read the details silently. She dared not trust her voice for Mike was watching her, studying her face. If her voice should crack, or her eyes water, Mike would think she was sorry she had married him and given up her stage career. She had never exactly regretted her marriage to Mike, not really. It was just that she had planned a career like her friend Rashell and had fallen short. She wished she were successful and important. If she had only continued as Rashell Ramone had done!

Karma remembered the old days, when she and Rashell had been girlhood friends. Karma had planned to drop her simple Smith surname and be known as Karma Cornell. Rashell Jones had coined the name Rashell Ramone for herself. The girls had dreamed their dreams early in life. Both would be great performers on stage and screen, and their names would be in bright lights. Rashell had made those dreams come true, but Karma had dropped by the wayside and was now darning socks in front of a fireplace for a family of small children.

“Since your friend will be here for one matinee performance only, I think you two should get together for a good talk fest. You could invite her to the house and cook one of your perfect dinners,” Mike suggested.

“Oh, Mike, you’re sweet, but this house. . . .” Karma made a gesturing sweep of disapproval.

“Then get a sitter for the afternoon and take your friend to dinner downtown.”

“Mike, if it were as simple as that. . . .” Karma groaned softly.

“If you’re worrying about picking up the check, I have a crisp five spot right here.” Mike withdrew a bill from his pocket.

“But Mike, even if this would cover the lunch, which it no doubt won’t, why there are other items. . . .”

“Stop off and buy yourself a new dress. You deserve a new one anyway.”

“I’d need to have more than a dress, and I’d have to have my hair done, and . . .” Karma glanced at her broken fingernails, but didn’t mention the needed manicure. She would do something about that herself.

“You’ve been saving for something, Karma, how about using some of your lay away?”

“I’ve been saving to buy you a new suit. You haven’t had one since we. . . .”

“This is more important, Karma. You get what you need; my suit’s good for a lot of Sundays yet.”

“Oh, Mike, you’re wonderful, and thoughtful, and I really shouldn’t indulge, but I . . . I . . . just have to see Rashell, for old times’ sake.”

Karma shopped in several stores and at length decided on a two piece beige suit. The suit of course, begged for brown heels and purse and gloves, and a perky little hat, and a fresh white blouse. Karma felt guilty about buying so much for herself when they needed the money so badly for so many things. Why, she thought, I’ve spent on myself alone, almost enough to make a payment on our home, when I include the hair styling and the accessories. But every item is important, a must. Without these things I could never make myself look good enough to gather courage to even try to get in to see Rashell.

And now, here she was knocking at the door of a famous star’s dressing room. Karma felt her heart trembling.

“Who is it?”

Yes, Karma recognized the voice. It had been a long time, and this voice had acquired a sophistication, but it was Rashell’s voice which she heard through the closed door. Karma would have recognized that voice anywhere. Why she had helped her to develop the lovely tone quality when they had practised in the old summer stock barn theater years ago.

“Rashell . . . Miss Ramone. This is an old friend.”

“I know no one. … I am very busy.”

“Rashell, it’s Karma, Karma Smith,” she said gayly. “You remember, Karma Cornell?”

The door opened suddenly, and there she stood. Rashell Ramone, more beautiful than Karma had ever dreamed. Rashell was not only beautiful but as lean as the shoot of a willow.

“Karma, my darling! It is you!” The famous voice trembled slightly. “Come in, Karma, honey.”

Karma felt the tears coming. She hadn’t dreamed of such a warm welcome. She had practised before the mirror, offering her hand in friendship. But this . . . these hugs . . . and kisses on the cheek, she had never dreamed that Rashell would be . . . would care to remember.

“At last we’re together,” Rashell murmured. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It’s been a long time,” Karma said.

“Too long.” Rashell held her at arm’s length and said, “You’re so pretty, so … so unspoiled and beautiful.”

“You’re the one that is beautiful, Rashell.”

“This is makeup, honey, and it clings like glue. The me, beneath all this is . . . but we won’t go into that. Tell me about my dear Karma. Tell me about your husband.”

“Well, Mike is a regular guy. He works very hard to keep us all sheltered, clothed, and fed, and he helps with the children and dries the supper dishes. That’s about all there is to tell about my life. It’s very dull, really.”

“You call life dull when you have developing children to watch? How many little ones are there?” Rashell seemed genuinely interested.

“Five with little Donny.” Karma smiled thinking about each little personality.

“You are so lucky, Karma. These children are living things, something to have and to hold from here . . . through eternity. You chose so wisely.” Rasheli’s eyes misted.

“But tell me about yourself. Your life must be so exciting,” Karma queried.

She watched the various memories, both good and bad, make their small changing tides of expression on Rasheli’s face. A smile lay motionless along her mouth. “After you left the summer stock company to marry Mike, I went to New York. I’d rather skip the part about knocking on doors of agents, managers, producers, and so on. Four years later I had a bit part and a flat on the East Eighties.”

“I want to take you someplace for lunch, where we can talk,” Karma said, looking about the windowless dressing room with its cardboard like walls. “Could you break away and go down to the Emerald Room?”

“Karma, I’d like nothing better, just sitting down to a table for two and visiting over fried chicken and mashed potatoes, and thick, rich gravy, and two or three slices of bread like your mother used to bake; then top it off with homemade ice cream, and chocolate cake. Ah, those were the days. But it can’t be done now. I’ve tried on occasion, and I’m simply mobbed, going out in public, I mean. Karma, it’s just like we dreamed long ago. There’s the name in bright lights, and people swarming about, and there’s excitement, but it isn’t real living, Karma, just acting. Honey, you’re the one that’s really living, and I envy you so much.”

“And I envy you. If I could only trade you places right today, Ramone.”

“No, dear, you’re smarter than that. But back to the luncheon idea. If you don’t mind eating here in the dressing room with me. . . .

“Honey, I can’t even eat like a real human. If I did I wouldn’t be able to squeeze myself into this straight jacket.” Her fingers outlined her form.

During the lunch they talked about their girlhood days, and their mutual friends, where they were and their successes in life. But always they came back to the comparison of their own lives. How the twigs had bent their separate ways.

Karma’s eyes grew dreamy. “Remember how we used to paraphrase Shakespeare’s words : ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women players; they have their exits and their entrances and one gal in her time plays many parts.’ If I had only made the grade, stayed with it as you have. I, too, would be playing roles now.”

“Karma, darling, don’t you see? You’re playing many roles, many more than I. . . .”

Just then a knock was sounded on the door. “Miss Ramone, you’re on stage in two minutes.”

“That’s my cue, honey. Be sure and stay for the show. The door- man will show you to the reserved section. I’ll catch my plane immediately after, so I’m afraid this is good-bye.”

The famous Rashell Ramone was gone.

Karma found it very exciting being ushered from behind stage to her seat near the curtain. She felt the eyes of many upon her, as she took her place. She was glad she had sp’ent the money for her new beige and brown ensemble, instead of wearing the old paisley dress.

Only too soon the play was over, and Karma found herself riding the bus out to the suburbs back to her home with Mike and the children. The bus was not crowded at this hour, and ho one she knew came to occupy the seat beside her. There was time for meditation.

“I’m glad Rashell made the grade,” she mused. “I sort of feel an osmosis joy in her success. Rashell was more friendly, more human than I ever dreamed she would be, being so successful.” Karma had wondered if she would even care to remember an old friendship since she became a star. But she had remembered, and welcomed her into her arms, and even bought her dinner.

What was it Rashell had said about her children? “Those children you and Mike have are living things, something to have and to hold from here through eternity.” She had said something, too, right at the last, just before her curtain. What was it? “Karma, darling, you’re playing many roles, many more than I.”

What had she meant? Karma thought of her own life. Was it as simple and drab and dull and lifeless as she herself had felt it was? She was sort of playing many roles, just as Rashell had said. Why she, Karma Thompson, had the role of companion to Mike, the nicest guy in the world. And she had the role of mother to five growing children. She had the role of housekeeper, cook, nurse, buyer, manager, seamstress, and teacher.

Her whole success lay not in being passably good in one or two of these different roles, but in being highly proficient in all of them. Her entire family’s happiness and success in life, not only their lives now, but through the coming generations, depended on how she raised her children, how she met the demands of all these many roles she played.

As the bus came to a stop at her corner, there was Mike waiting in the car for her.

“How’s my leading lady?” he asked as she seated herself beside him in the car. “Have a nice time?”

“She actually was happy to see me!”

“And why shouldn’t she be. You were friends for. . . .”

“Mike it was simply wonderful, and yet it’s all been more than that. It’s been an eye opener for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s hard to explain, but I will say this, Mike— though it may sound sort of corny to you— I’ve never been so glad to be just plain Mrs. Mike Thompson as I am this very minute.”

“I don’t see anything corny about that.” He eyed Karma again from the tip of her toes to the crown of her head, and he liked what he saw. “I don’t see anything plain about Mrs. Thompson, either.”

Mike was steering the car into the driveway. He turned off the ignition, then gathered Karma to him affectionately.