by Vanda
“No. You could play it tonight.”
“It’s not proper music for a Christian man to play, but since you’re in a jam and you’re a friend, I could help the boy learn the music in time.”
“I’m not going to argue religion with you now. Go get him, and bring him to the studio.”
Scott dashed out as I rushed back into Max’s office to answer the phone. “No, Richard,” I said into Max’s phone. “Not yet. Tell her in an hour when you send for the car. Scott’s bringing over a piano player to learn the music. They should be there in a half-hour. You mustn’t get hysterical around her. This kid can do it, and she needs to know you believe that. I’m heading to the hairdresser, then I’ll be right over. I can trust you with this, can’t I? Remember. Calm. Be very calm when you talk to her.”
Virginia had moved from The Haven to the Mt. Olympus and seemed to be following me around. Even she couldn’t locate Max. I bumped into her as I dashed out of Max’s office, heading toward the kitchen. “Oh, sorry,” I said, a little annoyed.
“You look so busy,” Virginia returned. “And I’m doing nothing. Can’t I help you with something?”
“Could you sit out here somewhere?” I pulled out a chair from under one of the tables. “Here. I don’t want to trip on you.”
Sitting, Virginia whined, “I feel useless.”
When I turned around, I saw Bertha leaning against the wall, staring at me. “Bertha, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at The Haven?”
She hopped to attention as soon I spoke. “Not for a few hours. I thought you might need me here.”
“Yes.” I hurried toward her with my key, “Could you …?” Then, a new thought. A quick about-face. “Virginia, do you really want to help me?”
“Yes. Please.”
“I can help you,” Bertha begged. “Let me. Please.”
“Virginia, here is the key to my apartment, and take the key to my office. Could you pick up my gown?”
“Let me do it,” Bertha wailed. “I’m sure Miss Sales is busy.” She grabbed for the keys, and they fell from my hand onto the rug. “Oh. I’m sorry, Al. I didn’t mean …”
I bent and picked up the keys. “No harm done.” I handed them to Virginia. “It’s the navy-blue one with the sequins; it’s hanging on the back of the closet door. Under the bed are my shoes and purse. Bring them to Carnegie Rehearsal Studios, Room Number 502.”
Virginia cupped the keys in her hands as if I’d handed her a precious amulet. “Thank you. Thank you so much for this.” She sashayed out the door, her rear end bobbing back and forth like she was wagging her tail. I think that was for me. And, well, Virginia did have a nice rear.
“I would’ve done it for you,” Bertha said, on the verge of tears. “I wanted to help you.”
“Another time.”
* * *
“How’s it going?” I asked Richard as I burst into the studio.
“I’m going to sue that director,” he said. “I know just the lawyers who can—”
“The only way we could get Stan was if we added the escape clause he took. Look at the bottom of his contract.”
“Did you get a new director? Julie won’t feel safe if there’s no musical director. Who’s directing?”
“Me.”
“You? But …”
I walked over to Scott, who stood behind the young man seated at the piano. “Can he handle it?”
“This music’s easy. Right, Peter?”
“Sure.”
“Peter, do you have a tux?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said, starting to play. “Where would I get one of those? Hey, can I invite my mother to this?”
“Your mother? Of course. I’ll put a complimentary ticket for her at the entrance under your name.”
“Gee, that’s swell.” He smiled a big smile and cut into the music.
“Richard, see to it Peter gets a rented tux at Harold’s, and put a comp ticket for his mother at the front.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Did you send the car around for Juliana?”
“Yes, she should be here any minute.”
“How did she sound when you told her?”
“Well …”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
* * *
Juliana paced, breathing too fast, alternating between pressing her two fists into the wall and wrapping her arms around her chest. “You know how old that kid is?” Juliana asked.
“No,” I said, “have some tea. It’ll be good for your nerves.”
“Seventeen. A child.”
“Oh, God, I hope we’re not breaking any laws.”
“What?” Juliana squawked.
“We’re not! Sit down. Here. Tea. Good for your throat.”
“If you think my voice is going to work tonight you must believe in Santa Claus, too. I swear, I’m going to get Johnny for this.”
I put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a chair. “Sit. You’ll be magnificent tonight. That kid is good, and you know it.”
“If he’s so good, why is Scott hovering over him?”
“Doing a little precautionary tutoring. Nothing to worry about.”
“If he can tutor the kid, why doesn’t he play it himself? I’d rather have a grown-up playing for me.”
“It’s a religion thing, nothing for you to worry about.”
I guided the cup of tea to Juliana’s lips. “Hmm, that’s good,” she said. “What is it?”
“Peppermint with a little honey. The best thing for your throat. You’ll have a little more after you’ve done the yoga breathing you learned. Come on. Deep breath.” I breathed in and out, and she breathed with me. “That’s right.” Her breath took on a rhythmic peacefulness, and a calmness came over me too.
Then Richard burst through the door. “Julie.”
I dashed to the door and pushed him back out. “Shh! Not now!”
“But she got all these flowers,” Richard whispered, pushing back on the door.
“Later,” I whispered, managing to get the door closed and locked.
“What did he want?” Juliana asked, standing to tie her robe tighter around her waist. She wore the Japanese kimono, white with wisps of pink and yellow tulips, languid on green stalks. I loved her in that.
“To wish you well. Come, sit down.”
“I can’t breathe like that; it makes me nervous. How did I ever let you talk me into this? Haven’t you been reading what the papers are saying?”
“What papers?” I reorganized her make-up on the vanity.
“The New York Times, The Post, the Herald, The Journal, do you need me to go on? I know you and Richard have been trying to keep me from reading a damn newspaper, and it’s been damn annoying finding my Times lining the cage of the canary Richard bought for the express purpose of having it do its business on my newspaper. This morning, he completely terrorized the paperboy by appearing at the door in a rubber Dracula mask. But the paperboy and I go way back. He saw to it I got my paper. I know what they’re saying, Al.”
“Nobody would ever suspect you. This is New York, not Washington, or boarding school.”
There was a knock. Juliana stared at the door. “Send whomever away. I can’t talk to anyone. I may never talk to anyone again.”
I went to the door. It was Shirl. I whispered, “She doesn’t want to see anyone right now, but Shirl, she’s talking crazy, and—”
“Al, I can hear you,” Juliana said. “Let Shirl in.”
“Shirl, you’re wearing a skirt!” I exclaimed as she stepped inside.
“I do own one, you know. Only one. It’s for Juliana’s big opening at the Copa. I wouldn’t miss this.”
Shirl wore a long, heavy, flannel navy-blue skirt with a mannish white blouse open at the collar and a dark suit jacket. She carried a large black satchel. “Sweetheart, how are you?” She hurried over to Juliana.
“Shoot me. Please.”
“Stop talking silly,
and sit down. Everything’s going to be fine.” Shirl put her thick hands on Juliana’s shoulders and guided her across the room, sitting her down on the divan across from the make-up table. “Now, rest. Mercy’s downstairs waiting for me. We didn’t want too many people in here. We’re going up to the bar to get a drink before the show. Juliana, you’re going to be stupendous. I know it, and you know it. It’s going to happen! We’ve waited a long time for this. We reserved a table down front, so if you start feeling like you’re going to falter, remember, Mercy and I are right there cheering you on, and we love you.” She kissed her cheek, then hurried back to the door, signaling me to follow.
I stepped into the hallway with her and closed the door. A stagehand ran by yelling, “Where are the roses? Somebody get me the damn roses.”
“Ice box in the back,” I yelled.
“Look, hon,” Shirl said, “she looks stiffer than she usually does before a show.”
“I don’t understand what happened,” I said. “She used to be so calm before her shows, and then that one article and she’s a wreck.”
“It’s not the article. She always gets like this. You never saw it before because you weren’t close to it. She can sing for her friends, the hangers-on who ‘oo and ah’ about how wonderful she is, but she rarely tests herself like you’re making her do. She can be great, truly great. I’ve seen it. But that mother of hers …”
“Her mother? What does she have to do with it?”
“Julie is always trying to please her and coming up short. Pleasing a dead mother is difficult, and those articles, on top of everything, don’t help. Her mother and her religion don’t approve of who she is. You help her to have faith in herself, and she’ll give you a great performance. But you’ve got to get her to relax, or she could blow the chance of lifetime. And that could be the end of her.”
She reached into her satchel and pulled out a cardboard box. “I ordered this for Mercy from the Sears and Roebuck Catalogue. Mercy can get tense some days. It came in the mail today. I’ll send for another one for Mercy tomorrow. Right now, Juliana needs it more. Consider it an opening-night gift.”
I took the box into my two hands. The cover said “Sears Massager.” There was a drawing of a woman with some kind of machine on her hand, massaging her head. “What is it?”
“The instructions are inside. Tell Juliana to put it on her shoulders. No, better—you put it on her shoulders, and her back. She holds her breath when she gets like this, and she won’t be able to sing properly if she does that. Hurry. You don’t have much time.”
Shirl scurried away. I slipped back into Juliana’s dressing room with the box. She sat frozen on the divan.
“Were you and Shirl out there talking about how I’m going to fall on my face tonight?”
“Of course not. Shirl gave you something to help.”
I opened the box and took out this metal thing with an electric cord. “What is it?” Juliana asked.
“It’s a massager. It’s supposed to relax you.”
“Well, if it can do that, it’ll be like a miracle elixir.”
I plugged it into the outlet. “Lay face down on the divan.”
“Are you going to saw me in half with that thing?”
“Lay down. I’m going to relax the muscles in your shoulders and back.” I turned the pages of the instruction manual, skimming as she lay down. “Untie your robe, so I can get to your back. Now, it says I put my hand through these straps.”
Juliana undid her robe-tie as I held the massager above her, reading. I sat on the divan beside her and pulled her robe down to a little below her waist with my free hand. All she wore was a pair of lacy-white underpants. Such a lovely back. I ran my hand down her back to her waist, and then I moved past the waistband of her underpants. “Uh, Al, now is not the time.”
I took my hand away. “Sure, I know. I was getting you ready.”
“Ready for what?” She laughed.
I threw the instructions open on the floor so I could refer to them. I flipped the switch on the massager, and it hummed as it shook my hand. “This feels strange.”
“As long as it works,” Juliana said.
I put my vibrating fingers on Juliana’s shoulders. She sighed, “Oh, yes.” So, I figured it must be working.
I moved my hand from her shoulders to her back and down her back. “Uh, Al,” she said.
“Huh?” I slid my hand with the massager attached down to her waist.
“Al!” she squealed and flipped over onto her back. “You won’t believe what …” She pushed her underpants down to her thighs. “Al, please, more. Put it between my legs.”
“What?”
“Please. Hurry. Get those vibrating fingers on my clit.”
“But you said now wasn’t the time.”
“Funny, how time flies. Hurry.” I pulled her underpants all the way off her and put my shaking hand between her legs. Her back arched, and her breathing came in wild spurts. Her fingers dug into the sides of the divan. I looked over at the door. Did I lock that? Her breathing sped up. I couldn’t check right then, but what if …? She was gonna climax. What if someone heard? As her breathing went faster I looked around for something to stuff in her mouth. Her robe was stuck under her body, couldn’t pull that into her mouth. The throw rug on the floor was disgusting. She was about to go off into ecstasy. What? What could I …? I put my mouth on top of hers. She threw her arms around me and crushed me into her as I took her scream into me. Then she went limp, and her arms slid off me.
I turned the new toy off.
She breathed evenly now, her forearms over her eyes. Then she laughed. I laughed with her. “Does Shirl know what that thing does?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Do we have to give it back?”
“No, she said it was your opening-night gift.”
That made her laugh more. “Some gift. I owe you a very nice surprise,” she said as her laughter slowed. “It’s better than the out-of-space thing.”
“Impossible.”
She lay there on the divan with her arms over her eyes. I pulled her robe out from under her and threw the ends over the front of her lower body.
“You better get ready, Jule.”
“What if I can’t sing those love songs?” she asked matter-of-factly, eyes closed. “What if I fail?”
“You won’t,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“I won’t let you.”
She smiled and sought out my hand. We held hands and stayed like that, quiet, not speaking, for long, lovely minutes.
* * *
Richard was already seated at a back table he’d reserved for us when I left Juliana in her dressing room. The place was famous for creating a South American aura with its Latin and tropical décor. Paper mache palm trees with silk coconuts decorated the room, which was packed with people finishing their dinners.
The Copa had the same capacity as the Mt. Olympus, 400 people. The Haven inched a little past that number, and also had a few smaller rooms for more intimate shows.
It was almost 8 p.m. It wouldn’t be long now. When I arrived at the table, Richard stood and pulled out my chair.
“Rehearsal went well, didn’t it?” he said as he pushed my chair in. “Despite everything.”
“Yes. I think so.”
“I want this so much for her,” Richard said, choking his cloth napkin.
“I do too.”
“I know you do. You’ve been aces. You know, Al, I love her so much it hurts. Does that sound strange?”
“No.”
“Do you want to order dinner now?”
“I can’t eat.”
“Me, either.” He lit a cigarette. “How about a drink?”
“That I can do.”
He ordered a sidecar for me and a martini for himself.
As the house lights lowered and the stage lights came up, I thought my heart would stop. We had to sit through the dancing and singing numbers of T
he World Famous Copa Girls and then an up-and-coming male singer who made a big splash in L.A.
Then it happened. The lights came up and there she was, center stage. A black and white lace dress, spreading wide around her legs, her breasts formed into two luscious half-globes peeking out from a low-cut bodice.
Richard gripped my hand under the table with his fingers crossed. Before she even opened her mouth, I knew—by the way she stood; the way her eyes were taking in the audience with a slight come-hither look, this was it. She was going all the way. And from the moment she opened her mouth, and her heart, to sing “Coax Me A Little Bit,” the audience was hers. Her hips moved to the sexy Latin beat while she flirted with the men in the front row. She owned that audience as much as she owned that stage, and Pete, the piano player, and the orchestra, and Richard, and me.
I watched as the men in the audience leaned toward the stage as if they wanted to reach out and touch her. A waiter delivering a tray of drinks while staring at her stumbled, and the drinks went flying. The audience laughed. They knew. Juliana said, “Easy Mario.” Without missing a beat.
Next, she sang a romantic ballad Johnny wrote for her. My body tensed. Oh, God, please. Midway through I began to relax. “Thanks,” I said to whoever listened to desperate prayers. I leaned over to Richard and whispered, “I’m going to get those flowers and cards into her dressing room.”
Richard whispered back, “No, you sit. I’ll go.”
She sang, she danced, she joked; she flirted with Peter and made fun of his age. I got up to stand near the side tables to watch the audience. The change into her second costume behind the screen went smoothly. She teased the audience with quick glances of her naked calves. One guy loosened his tie and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. His lady-friend punched him in the arm, then they both laughed. It was working. When Juliana came around the screen wearing the silky black dress that clung to her body, one leg peering out of the slit, the audience jumped out of their seats with cheers. And when she began “Put the Blame on Mame,” the whole room pulsated.
She went on to sing Johnny’s upbeat tempos and a few well-known tunes, but her best numbers were Johnny’s slow, slinky, romantic ballads. She was the first performer to sing so many original songs. If the critics didn’t tear us apart for breaking with tradition, we’d be making history.