[Juliana 02.0] Olympus Nights on the Square

by Vanda

  “A television!” I gracelessly climbed over the coffee table, hiking my skirt above my knees, to get a closer look. “I don’t know anyone who actually owns one of these.” Words were tumbling out of me fast. “Of course, I’m working all the time, so I don’t visit many people in their homes. Most people I see at the club, so—”

  “Are you all right, Al?”

  “Splendid!” I said with too much cheer. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll get myself a TV next week.”

  “Then the rumor is true?”

  “What rumor?”

  “That you’re part owner in the Mt. Olympus.”

  “I do all right. It makes a nice piece of furniture, doesn’t it? A Motorola. I was thinking about getting a G.E.” I had never thought about getting a TV, but if she could have one, so could I. “And it’s got an AM/FM radio on the side. Where’s the antenna?”

  “It’s built-in. Why don’t you sit down over here?”

  “Built-in, huh? That’s modern.”

  “Come. Sit.”

  “Okay.” I climbed back over the coffee table, knowing that was driving her nuts. “I like the new curtains you put up.” She knew I could care less about curtains.

  “Yes.” She took a sip from her glass. “Part of our new look.”

  “Our? You mean, both you and Richard decided on the color? How does that work? Did you show him swatches and he nodded yes or no? Or did you drag him to Bloomies? Tell me, Jule, how did you and Richard do it?” I was yelling at her. I didn’t expect to do that.

  “Al, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. I’ve been putting in a lot of hours at the club. And I’ve been taking classes at City College like you suggested. Do you remember suggesting that?”

  “Uh, well—”

  “You don’t, do you?”

  “Well, I think—”

  “We were in your bedroom, and you told me I was the college type. What type is that, Jule? Huh?”

  “Well, you were always smart and—”

  “Do you still have your own bedroom?”

  I jumped over the coffee table and pushed open the door to her room. “I see you haven’t changed a thing in this room. You know, I used to think of this room as our room, but it never really was, was it? Tell me Jule, does he sneak in here while you’re sleeping and stick it in you? Or do you tip-toe down the hall to the other room so he can stick it in you there? I know! He drags you by the hair and—”

  “Stop it. I don’t know what’s the matter with you, but I don’t deserve to be spoken to in that manner.”

  “You don’t, huh? Well, I stopped going to your rehearsals because it was too hard watching him kiss you, putting his arm around you. Right out in public. Did you notice I wasn’t there anymore?”

  “Of course, but what did you expect me to do? He’s my—”

  “Husband. I know. He’s allowed to do that. Right in front of everybody, he can kiss you on the cheek, even on the lips if it’s not too long and there’s no tongue involved, and everyone thinks it’s so damn sweet. I want to kiss you, goddammit.” I banged my fist on the mantel.

  “Then why are you standing over there, yelling at me? Come here.”

  “I want to kiss you in the street. Now. Let’s go.”

  “Stop talking silly.”

  “We can’t ever do that, can we? We can’t hold hands or kiss in public because of what people will think we are. What are we, Jule? What are we that we can’t do that?”

  “What we do is illegal. Haven’t you read in the newspapers about the police arresting men and women who go into those bars? The last thing I need is to be arrested for …”

  I ran to sit beside her. I’d never seen her scared before. “Easy, hon.” I took her hand in mine and kissed it. “Don’t worry. I won’t sneak up behind you in public and give you a peck on the cheek. I’ll save up all my pecks for the really good stuff behind closed doors. Right now, I’ve got a whole lot of pecks saved up. It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, it has.”

  “Why didn’t you contact me?”

  “I did. A few years ago, I invited you for Sunday brunch.”

  “With him. How did you think I could …?”

  “Why did you disappear?”

  “I didn’t. I’ve always been a few blocks away. I couldn’t take it—you and him. But you never called me to tell me when he wasn’t around.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “I know. You don’t chase after your women. Yet you contacted me now. Why?”

  “Business.”

  “Business? That’s all?”

  She put her glass on the coffee table and leaned close to kiss me, but stopped. “Uh, can we first …?”

  She pulled the bobby pins from my hair. “You look like an old-maid librarian who got lost in the stacks.” She fluffed out my hair. “We can work on the styling later.”

  She kissed me, and I kissed her back. Her lips on mine were like coming home. We sat on the couch, and kissed and kissed, and it was oh, so much more than a peck, and it was oh, such delight to have her lips and her tongue against mine again. She could have asked anything of me and I would’ve done it.

  “I’m worried about Richard,” she said when we paused from our kissing.

  “Oh, swell. I’m sitting here kissing you, and you’re worried about Richard.”

  “I’m beginning to think maybe everyone was right. Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Could you come to my rehearsal Monday, and tell me what you think?”

  “Why would you trust me to advise you?”

  “You’re managing Max’s Mt. Olympus. You work with talent all the time. You’re getting your experience with the master.”

  “Why don’t you call Max? Max is the one to advise you. I’m still learning.” This was happening too soon. I wasn’t ready.

  “You’ll come on Monday. Won’t you?”

  “You are such an enigma.”

  “I’m a what? Your vocabulary is certainly benefiting from college.”

  “It means—”

  “I know what it means.” She smiled.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound—”

  “Like a show off?”

  “Pedantic.”

  “You don’t have to use all your new vocabulary in one afternoon. You’ll come Monday?”

  “It’s hard seeing you with him.”

  “I know, but you’ll come, won’t you? Because I ask you to?”

  “Jule …” I whined.

  “You know, Richard is gone for the weekend.”

  “He is?”

  “Won’t be back until Sunday night, late.”

  “Juliana, you’re manipulating me.”

  “And I’m doing a magnificent job, aren’t I? Come. I have a surprise for you.”

  I leaned on the doorsill of her bedroom while she stood on tiptoe, pulling a package from the shelf. She laid it on the bed. “Open it.”

  I undid the paper that was taped around the box. The box said, “Electric Spot Reducer.” I opened it, and inside was a strange round thing with a metal top sitting over a rubber cup. It had a black handle and looked like something that belonged in a Flash Gordon movie.

  “What is it?”

  “I saw it advertised in Confidential Magazine, not a great source, I admit, but lately, I’ve been concerned I was putting on a little around the hips. It’s supposed to help you reduce in certain areas.”

  “Come now, you look great.”

  “And I’m in show business and have to think about those things. So, I put it on and—let me show you.” She plugged it in and turned on the switch. The thing whirred and buzzed. I hopped off the bed. “My goodness, what is it?” I crept back toward it. “That thing helps you lose weight? How? Where do you put it?”

  “Sit down.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Sit. You’ll see.”

  I sat down on the bed, keeping my distance from the thing.

  “A little
closer,” Juliana said.

  I slid closer.

  “Now, stay there a minute.”

  I did as she said while she sat opposite me, making us into two bookends around the buzzing, whirring, out-of-space thing. “Well?” she said.

  “What? Oh! Oh, my. Oh, my ...”

  “Yes.” She laughed. “The first time I used it, I had three orgasms, one right after the other. Richard wasn’t home. Take off your underthings. I’ll show you.”

  “You want to put that where? No, I don’t think—” I backed up.

  “Think how much fun it’ll be for the two of us? Richard would never understand or let me use it.”

  “Really?” I jumped up and tore off my stockings, girdle, and underpants. So did she. We laughed and kissed. The thing still buzzed on the bed. We looked down at it.

  “Shall we give it a go?” she asked.

  Chapter 17

  MY MOOD WAS lighter than it had been in a long time. I practically flew down the street toward the Carnegie rehearsal studio Richard rented.

  Juliana and I spent the most spectacular weekend together. I called Max and told him something important came up, and I couldn’t do my shifts at the club. He interpreted that to mean I had to study, and he always supported that. Guilt seeped into my stomach. I didn’t like not being honest with him, but it wasn’t me who said I had to study.

  We cooked and ate meals together. Well, Juliana cooked. I set the table. We laughed more than I think I’d laughed in four years, and I wore rolled-up dungarees all weekend.

  I tried to find out what she didn’t like about how Richard was managing her, but she only said, “Come see. Give your unbiased opinion.”

  Unbiased? Didn’t she know I’d do anything to push Richard out of her life?

  Friday night, when she was on top of me using her fingers, her tongue, and that vibrating thing, I made— “The Big Mistake.” I was going up, up, up toward my climax, becoming lost in her hair, her mouth, and her breasts … At the highest, deepest moment I yelled, “I love you, I love you, Juliana!” As soon as I said it, I knew I’d doomed myself. Instantly, she removed all stimulation and slid off me. I came crashing down.

  She didn’t say a word, only pulled on her robe and stepped into the parlor. I scurried out of bed and stood in the doorway as she took one of Richard’s cigarettes from the gold case that lay on the coffee table.

  “Jule, you don’t smoke.”

  “Sometimes, I do.” She flicked the lighter at the tip. “Sometimes, I need to.”

  “It was a reflex. I haven’t been with you in four years. It slipped out.”

  “Surely you’ve been with someone during all that time.” She blew out a stream of smoke.

  “No.”

  “No?” She turned toward me. “Four years? Four years, Al. No. You’re giving me too much responsibility.” She stamped the cigarette out in the ashtray. “I can’t have that.”

  “I’m not giving you any responsibility. Let’s go back to bed.”

  We did, and the rest of the weekend went fine, like my big mistake had never happened. Except—I wondered who she’d slept with during my four years of abstinence. Had she meant Richard? Thinking it was him was somehow easier to take. But I didn’t think that’s who she meant.

  It was a beautiful, sunny day, already warm; it’d be sweltering by noon. When I entered the Carnegie Studio, Juliana was on a low stage singing, and Johnny was playing the piano. Richard sat in the front row, moving his head to the music, thoroughly enjoying himself. I took a seat in the back. Juliana was singing and moving like Carmen Miranda. It was awful. I wanted to cover my eyes with my hands. Thank God, she wasn’t wearing the outfit.

  Richard turned around, saw me, and waved. I nodded.

  “No, Richard!” Juliana shouted. “I am not doing this. You are not going to make a fool of me.”

  “But Julie.” Richard stood. “This will get you into the Copa. The Spaniards are all the rage this year.”

  “Carmen Miranda is Portuguese.”

  “She is?”

  “Brazilian,” Johnny said, taking a drink from the glass on top of the piano.

  “Portuguese,” Juliana shot back. “Look it up.” Then she turned back to her real target. “I’ve had it, Richard. I’m not going to do this anymore. I’m done. Finished. You’re an idiot.” She stomped off the stage through a back door.

  “Wait. We can fix this,” Richard called, bounding onto the stage, his small stature requiring a little hop. He waited, his arm poised in the air, but Juliana did not come back. “Johnny,” he said, turning toward the piano. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  Johnny shook his head sadly and took another sip from his glass. He started playing some melancholy tune I’d never heard before.

  “Richard,” I walked toward him.

  “Alice.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it over his wrinkled, sweat-stained shirt, then tightened his tie. “You see how she gets? How can she expect to get anywhere when she acts like that? You’re in this business. Did you think it was bad?” His slicked-back, dark hair was coming loose from whatever he’d slicked it with, and sliding onto his brow.

  “Well …” I should tell him it was horrible and get her away from this no-talent oaf. “Richard, Juliana’s her own person. She’s not someone who should be doing another singer’s material.”

  “That’s what all the singers do. Check Bill Board. Perry Como and Russ Morgan both have a hit with “Forever and Ever,” and a few years ago there were three versions of—”

  “Yes, but Juliana has her own special style. You have to help her get that out so it’s clear to her audience that she’s not like those others doing different versions of the same song. She’s unique. That’s what has to come across to the audience.”

  Richard took a pack of Marlboros from his inside pocket and shook one loose. “That seems pretty risky.”

  “It is. Playing with risk is the only way Juliana will be a success.”

  “What should I do?” He pulled the cigarette from the pack with his teeth. “I don’t know what to do, Al.” The cigarette wiggled up and down as he spoke. “I think she’s beginning to sense I’m in over my head. Don’t tell her I am. I love her so much, and if I lost her … I’m a good businessman. I don’t want you thinking I planned on taking her for a ride when I offered to manage her career. If we were talking real estate, stocks, bonds, mortgages I’m the best.” He lit the cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke over my head. “I figured show business is a business. How different could it be? But … she’s such a passionate woman.” His face got instantly red. “I mean about her singing. I want to give her what she wants, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “Maybe I can come up with something.”

  “You think so? Hey, let me take you for a cup of coffee. We’ll talk. No. Dinner. At the Oak Room. That’s in the Plaza. Expensive.”

  “I know where it is, Richard. You don’t need to spend money on me. I need time to think.”

  “Sure. Take your time. But not too long. How long do you think you’ll need?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I know you’re busy. I’ve read about you working with Max Harlington at the Mt. Olympus in the papers. Being a career woman must take a lot of time, but would you … talk to her? Now? She’s pretty upset. I’m afraid she’s going to walk out on our partnership. Tell her I can fix this. That I’m not such a bad guy. She’ll listen to you. She respects your opinion.”

  Richard just asked me to save his ‘partnership?’ Which one? The marriage or the business? This was my chance to be rid of him forever ... “I’ll talk to her,” I said.

  He grabbed my hand in two of his and shook it vigorously. “Thank you. Thank you.” He was so sincere.

  As soon as I walked through the backstage door I heard Juliana singing, a capella, “O Mio Babbino.”

  I leaned against the wall, listening. The vibrations of her voice seeped inside me. I hadn’t heard h
er sing opera in a long time. I closed my eyes to feel her more deeply. I could be her manager. I could tell her Richard doesn’t know anything. But I didn’t know enough yet to manage her whole career. I didn’t have enough contacts or money. Richard didn’t know anything, but he did have money. Lots of it. And he knew people with money. This will take a lot of money. And he was a man.

  I followed the sound of her song, and it led me to a small room. I stood in the doorway, listening. She looked so alone standing in the middle of that barren room, with only one chair pushed up against the wall. I had no idea what she was saying, but my heart split open with the sounds of passion and love exploding out of her. I wanted to enfold her in my arms and take her pain into my own body, but I knew she’d never allow it.

  She turned and, seeing me, instantly stopped singing.

  “Gosh, no. Don’t stop,” I cried out.

  She smiled without saying what I knew she was thinking. That was what I’d said Saturday night in bed.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Shirl thinks that’s the kind of music you should be making your living with.”

  “Shirl doesn’t know what it takes.”

  “She told me a few years back that she knows people who could help you.”

  “Nobody starts a career like that at my age. I’ll be lucky to get the nightclub career going. What am I going to do, Al? I need to sing and I need an audience to hear me.”

  “You have an audience. People come to your shows.”

  “A huge audience in important clubs, not the dinky clubs I’ve been playing. My mother would be so disappointed in me. It’s bad enough I didn’t go into opera like she wanted, or continue my studies at the Conservetoire de Paris, and bad enough I ran away to the States at sixteen to sing in dives. Left her alone. Didn’t protect her from … What would she think if she knew how far I didn’t get? And—what if I’ve made such a huge mistake that I can never … Al, I promised … a long time ago when I learned of her death, I promised …”

  She always talked about her mother’s death as if it were by some natural cause, instead of …