by Vanda
“I have to get back to work.”
“One coke,” Marty said to our waitress, who was smiling at me. “I’ll need a refresher on this. A very dry martini, hold the olive.”
She took Marty’s glass as she gave me a wink and left our table.
“You certainly made an impression on her.”
“How did she know I was like her? I’m sitting with you. You could be my boyfriend; so how’d she know?”
“I don’t know. What difference does it make? Tell me about your career.”
A woman in a tuxedo sang on stage, her deep-black hair slicked back off her forehead. She sang into the mic like she was making love to it. It was Vic Damone’s hit, “You’re Breaking My Heart.” A small jazzband composed of female and male impersonators backed her up.
Marty waved a hand in front of my eyes. “Hello? Oh. Andy. Yeah. She’s a beauty. She sings here two or three times a month when she’s in town. She’s one of the stars of the place. Really brings in the ladies.”
“Andy,” I mumbled. “I knew I’d seen her before.”
Andy took a few steps toward the edge of the stage, smiling and winking at the ladies in the audience. I stamped down the quick surge of hormones that shot through my body. Juliana’s Christmas party. I had never met anyone like Andy before that party. A girl who really looked like a man. Shirl told me that Andy was a he-she.
“Have I lost you?” Marty asked.
“I used to know her. It was a long time ago. I was thinking if she was a real man, I could get her a real career.”
“She has a real career. She makes a fortune in tips here.”
“Really? From straights?”
“They love her. But what do you do?”
“Look, Marty, I—do something I love. For a while it looked like I was never going to find that something, but … I don’t want to lose it.”
“And I don’t want to lose my shot at being a matinee idol, either. Come on, Al, you know me. I’d never tell.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay … I manage Max Harlington’s The Haven, and I’m also a talent manager.”
“I can look and sound like Andy!” Marty hurried to say.
“Oh, you,” I laughed.
“After I get some Broadway experience, I’m planning on going to Hollywood to make my big splash,” Marty said. “You have any Hollywood connections?”
“I might.”
“Oh? Mysterious. You and I need to do some serious talking.”
Andy left the stage to thunderous applause. A line of chorus boys impersonating chorus girls danced onto the stage in pink and purple chiffon, balancing feathered headresses. One of the girl-boys stepped forward to sing “Doin’ What Comes Natur’lly,” from Annie Get Your Gun. The audience went into hysterics.
Marty pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and cupped his hand around it. “Want some of this?”
“Is that what I think it is?” I whispered. “Put it away. Don’t I have enough worries?”
He slid it back into his pocket. “You don’t need to go all temperance on me. Everyone here does it. But not in the open. You hang out with musicians, certainly you must’ve—”
“Never.”
“You’re kidding? Why?”
“When I was a kid, my church showed us a movie, Reefer Madness. Ever seen it?”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a church movie. It showed people going crazy because they were addicted to marijuana.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Not anymore, but my church scared the beejeebus out of me, so I can’t. Sorry.”
Our waiter put our drinks down and dropped a card in front of me. She winked before she left.
“Well, well,” Marty said. “She’s sure interested in you. What does it say?”
I picked the card up. “She wants to meet me when she gets off at 2 a.m.”
“Going?”
“No.”
“Why not? You have a special ‘friend’?”
“Sort of. I guess.”
“I can’t believe my luck.”
“Your luck?”
“Meeting you that day at the sit-down strike. Do you know Mabel Mercer?”
“Somewhat. To say hello. We’re not buddies.”
“I love her. When she sings I want to lay down at her feet. Introduce me.”
“No.”
“I thought we were friends.”
“Yes, and since we’re friends, I’m hoping you understand that I can’t introduce Mabel to every hopeful—”
“You call her Mabel?” He went limp and stretched the upper part of his body onto the table. “Now, I’m in love with you.” He popped back up. “I’m not every hopeful, but I’m not going to take that personally because I’m going to change your mind.”
A woman sitting at a table near the stage screamed. “She’s a man! She’s a man!” She jumped up, stomping her feet as if trying to avoid a rat. “That woman is a man! Get me out of there, Herbert! Get me out of here.”
“Yes, dear.” The two squeezed past tables and rushed by the bar.
“You didn’t tell me it was that kind of place,” the woman squawked.
“I thought you might enjoy something a little different.” Herbert hunched his head down into his shoulders, trying to become invisible.
They slipped out the door, and the audience and performers laughed before going on with the show.
“I’ve heard that happens at least once a month,” Marty said. “Look! Over there. That cute guy by the door. I wonder if he’s a friend of Dorothy.”
“Who’s Dorothy?”
“I’ll explain later. Yes! He’s headed toward the bar. He’s sitting … at the end. I think … I’m not sure.”
“Do you want to go and ask?”
“No. I’m with you. I’ll go over there later. Tell me more. You run The Haven and you manage talent. Who?”
“Right now, Juliana and a newcomer, Lili Donovan.”
“You manage Juliana?! Oh, gosh. I saw her at The Onyx. She is one powerful singer.”
“Yes she is. She’s opening at the Copa next month. Her big moment and mine. I hope.”
“I can’t ask you to meet her. Can I?”
“Why don’t you get a date. A girl. I’ll reserve you a couple of complimentary tickets.”
He grabbed my hand and kissed it.
The line of chorus girls had been replaced with a solo female impersonator who slinked onto the stage looking like Mae West. She sang “A Guy What Takes His Time” in a white fur wrapped around her neck, big boobs pressed against a shiny top. At times she looked like she was about to have a girlie orgasm right on stage.
The door opened and a horde of tourists with cameras and large satchels poured in. This place was known for dropping off four or five bus loads of tourists every night. The tuxedoed girls scurried about seating them.
“So where’s your other half?” I asked.
“My ‘other half’? What’s that sposed to mean?”
“Did I say something wrong? How’s Moshe?”
“Okay. He moved back with his parents. Promised them to stop sounding like Moses on Mt. Sinai condemning the Israelites to forty years in the wilderness.”
“Actually, it wasn’t Moses who did that; it was God.”
“I forgot you’re some kind of Torah scholar.”
“Don’t you miss him?”
“It’s what’s best for him. To be with his parents.”
“And you don’t mind not having your lover with you?”
“My lover? Good God, where did you get a ridiculous idea like that? Moshe’s not gay.”
“He’s not?”
“Jeeze, no. For a guy with all that religion in his head to be gay, well, that would just about kill him.”
“That’s what I thought was happening.”
“No. We had a thing in a fox hole, but lots of guys did that. We were scared and needed to count on each other. Lots of straights did it, too. Th
at’s not common knowledge, but, you know … It didn’t mean anything. Well, it did. But not what the shrinks would think. No, it’s the war and thoughts of the holocaust and trying to be a good Jew that’s got him down. He dwells on the hate. Bastard Nazis. You know, they didn’t only wipe out whole populations of our people. That’s horrible enough, but even people who didn’t have any relatives involved—they took away any sense of safety in the world. Trust.
“Before it all happened, there were lots of jerks who hated us just for being Jewish, but you learned to handle that. But this—how do you learn to handle something like this? There’s no book to read. The Torah or the Talmud won’t give any answers. So how do we continue to live in this world? How do we go to our jobs, to our schools, to the theater, out to dinner with friends, laugh, knowing that there is this horrible force in the world that can tear us apart bit by bit? How do we live knowing that?”
“That’s pretty much how I feel about being gay in the world,” I said.
“I know what you mean.”
“It terrifies me, Marty. I can’t be like Max and Shirl, and tell the world to go to hell. I’ve never fit in anywhere, but lately, as manager of The Haven and as the one running Juliana’s career, I belonged somewhere and I belonged to something. Juliana’s voice is special, so bringing her to the public means I’m doing something that matters. Another Juliana won’t come around for a long time. But now? I know that one wrong person finding out about me could end everything. So, Marty, how do you do it? Continue to live in the world, go to school, rehearsals, dream of the future while you know there’s this horrible force out there that wants to destroy you? How do you do it, Marty?”
“You just do it. You do it because you have to. There isn’t any other way. That’s the only answer I’ve come up with. Somehow, you have to keep doing it. You have to become better than you ever thought you could be. You have to insist on finding the joy in this life, and not be consumed by the hatred. Because if you’re consumed, if you do miss out on the joy that exists in this world, they win. They’ve suceeded in destroying you. Oh, God, look who walked in. Adonis in a Brooks Brothers suit.”
“What about the cute guy at the end of the bar?”
“Who?” He ran toward the door.
I turned in my seat, watching him go. When I swiveled back around, I found Andy, her seat back facing me, her legs thrown to either side of the chair as if he were straddling a horse. She lit a Camel. “I have another set to do,” he said. “Wait for me. I’ll walk you home.”
Her eyes shaded by dark brows, the hair equally dark, slicked back from her forehead. She was beautiful, no, handsome, no … I couldn’t open my mouth to answer. What did you say to this kind of—of person?
“You’re a little bit of a thing.” Andy smiled, puffing on her cigarette. “You shouldn’t be walking those dark streets alone. Juliana’d never forgive me if I didn’t take care of you.”
“I’m not a thing, and I walk ‘those dark streets alone’ all the time.”
“A modern woman.” He touched his index finger to the back of my hand. A surge of heat shot through the center of my body, and she smiled like she knew.
She slid from her chair, and with a steady, confident gait headed toward the stage. The audience cheered. He dropped his cigarette on the floor and stomped on it. A girl in an aisle seat scurried to pick it up. Andy mounted the stage and sat on a stool, adjusting his bow tie, nodding at the orchestra of men dressed as women and women dressed as men, and began to sing “Time After Time.” Her gaze passed from one eager-faced girl to the next. One time, I thought she winked at me. It was hard not to listen to her. I took a deep breath and left.
Chapter 36
ABOUT A WEEK before Juliana’s opening at the Copa, I snuck into a rehearsal that was in progress. Since Stan had barred Richard for being annoying, rehersals consisted of Stan, Johnny, Juliana, Becky, the costume mistress’ intern, Jake, the stage manager, and the two male dancers, Spatz and Wallace.
When I took my seat in the back, Juliana was singing “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.” All the extra hours she’d spent working on ballads with her coach certainly were paying off. She wore a blue chiffon dress with a flare skirt and stepped around the stage on stilettos with complete grace and poise. The subtle sway of her hips made her maddeningly sexy. I figured what she was doing to me was a pretty good gauge of what she’d do to the men in the audience at the Copa.
“Okay,” Stan said with one loud clap of his hands as Juliana finished. “All men out. Except me, of course. Take an early lunch. Juliana you’ll have lunch with me later in the afternoon. All right?”
“I will cherish every moment I am alone with you, Stan.” She winked.
“Yes, well …” Stan was completely embarrassed. He had no sense of humor, and Juliana loved taking advantage of that. “I want to rehearse the on-stage costume change now.”
“What?” I jumped out my seat.
“Did you have something to say?” Stan asked.
I took a deep breath, regaining my composure. “Can I speak to you a minute?”
“One minute; that’s all.” He turned to Johnny and Juliana. “Rehearse the finale, you two. What is it, Al?”
“We never talked about an on-stage costume change.”
“You told me to enhance your idea. That’s what I’m doing.”
“It’s supposed to be subtle. She’s not supposed to be naked up there.”
“There’ll be a screen and a girl in the back to help her. It’s a quick costume change. You saw the plans.”
“I didn’t know the changes were to happen on stage. I thought you meant an intermission.”
“The intermission is after her act. She’s not big enough to have two slots. ”
“Yet.”
“We’ll see, won’t we? The intermission is after Juliana because the audience is waiting for the great comedian, Joey Adams. He is the true star of the evening. Let’s have a little humility. I assure you, all the costume changes will be tastefully done. Can we proceed now?”
“I guess.”
“All right,” he announced. “While we’re working on the timing, I want the men out. Jake, put that screen up before you go.”
“Sure thing,” Jake called.
“This won’t take long. Therefore, gentlemen, return in one hour.”
“Who plays while she’s changing?” Johnny asked.
“At this moment, we’re only rehearsing the actions. This afternoon we’ll do it with music.”
“But still …” Johnny protested.
He wants to peep at her.
“I don’t mind,” Juliana said, “if the men stay.”
Sure, prance around in your birthday suit for the men.
“No,” Stan said. “The men have to go.”
“This is ridiculous,” Johnny said, heading toward the door, one hand pulling out a pack of Chesterfields from his pants’ pocket. “We’re show people.” He lit the cigarette. “We don’t care about this stuff.” He turned back to Juliana. “Hey, Juliana! You wouldn’t mind me seeing you in the all-together, would ya, dear?”
Juliana called back, “I would relish it, sweetie.” She cocked a hip at him.
Johnny wolf-whistled as he spun around and smashed his beat-up old newsboy cap down on his head. He whistled all the way out the door, and I knew he was seeing dirty pictures of her in his mind. How could she encourage a thing like that?
“Close the door behind you,” Stan called out. “And don’t be late, you.”
“Becky,” Stan called to the wardrobe mistress’ intern. “On stage.”
Becky was a young girl with blond waves hanging down to her shoulders like Lizbeth Scott. Only, she wasn’t like Lizbeth Scott, who was in lots of noir films. No, Becky had plopped a dang blue bow on top of her head. Lizbeth Scott would never do that. I bet Becky thought that bow made her look real cute. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen. She wore a polka dot dress with a scoop neckline and a button-down fro
nt. Yeah, I bet that Becky thought she looked so sweet. And that name! Becky. Straight out of Tom Sawyer.
“Becky, make sure you have the dress for the second half of the act behind the screen,” Stan directed. “You’ll have to make yourself tiny, so nobody sees you. You’re going to be back there until the curtain goes down. It won’t be comfortable.”
“I can make myself as little as you want, Mr. Devenbach. This is show business; we all have to sacrifice.”
Oh, brother. So sweet. Juliana was a sucker for ‘sweet.’
“Don’t worry about Becky,” Juliana said, tapping Becky’s shoulder. “She’s a real trouper. Aren’t you, honey?”
“With you helping me,” Becky said.
Batting her eyelashes at Juliana. Jeepers!
“When Juliana finishes the song ‘Girls Were Made to Take Care of Boys,’ she’ll go behind the screen,” Stan explained. “Go ahead, Juliana.”
Juliana sidled behind the screen.
“Here, she’s going to deliver some patter to the audience.”
“Patter, patter,” Juliana said.
“As soon as Juliana starts talking to the audience, you start undoing her zipper.”
I moved closer to the stage, my arms across my chest. She was just going to stand there and let that kid unzip her?
“Okay, go ahead,” Stan said.
Juliana waved her hands and made up nonsense words, pretending to talk to the audience while Becky tugged at the zipper; it wouldn’t budge. Juliana laughed. “Oh, Stan, this isn’t going so smoothly up here.”
“Well, what’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Devenbach,” Becky said, “but I can’t budge it.”
“Don’t rip it. That’s an expensive dress. There must be some way to get it down.”
“You want to come up here and help, Stan?” Juliana said.
“No. No,” Stan’s voice was filled with anxiety. “Uh, Al, why don’t you, uh …”
“Yes, Al, why don’t you, uh …” Juliana grinned at me.
The room suddenly got warmer as I marched up on stage.
“You see, Miss Huffman, it won’t—”
“Oh, please. Call me Al. I’m not that old, you know.”
“Two years older than I was when I first met you,” Juliana said, her eyes taunting my suspicions.