by Vanda
“So, this whole thing didn’t happen over sex?”
“I suppose we entertained those thoughts—for about a minute. What’s that got to do with business?”
“But even you said it was about that the time I asked you in Schrafft’s years ago.”
“It got you to shut up about it, didn’t it?”
“You made it up? Then what did happen?”
She gave me one of her “I don’t want to talk about it” looks. “Max is going to have a party at the Mt. Olympus,” I said. “By invitation only. He’s closing the place early. It’s for my graduation and thirtieth birthday. The most important people in the business will be there. You should be there too.”
“On Richard’s arm?”
“No. It’s my birthday.”
“I know, but I can’t go without an escort, and you can’t be my escort. We’ll have a little celebration later. Just you and me.”
“We never have any time together anymore.” I flopped down into a chair near the make-up table. “You’re always either rehearsing, or recording, on your way to Chicago or LA, or with Richard. I’m always working at the Club or setting up a gig for you or one of my other clients. We never see each other except in some public box with everyone watching us.”
“I just said we’d get together, just the two of us, to celebrate your birthday.”
“Yeah, and then I won’t see you again for six months!”
She slammed a fist on the make-up vanity. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Nothing! Doesn’t matter!”
I grabbed my briefcase just as she was yelling, “You’re the one who made me this successful!” I stomped out of the room. As I headed toward the bar, I ran into Richard.
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s fine, but I need a drink.”
“You know, we got an offer for another Broadway show,” he said, as we walked toward the bar. “I think we should take this one.”
“Talk to me later. After the show.”
“You’re going into the bar dressed like that?”
I looked down at my suit jacket, skirt, and chunky-heeled shoes. “This is how I always dress.”
“I know. But I sure wouldn’t make a pass at you.”
“Who the hell wants you to?” I marched away from him and hoisted myself onto a barstool. “Mike, let me have a sidecar.”
“I can’t serve you. You know that. Where’s you escort? This is a bar. You can’t sit here by yourself.”
“Look a beer, then. I need a little something to—”
“You know the law better than anyone. If a cop saw me ...”
I could feel the stares. I slid off the stool. Richard sat alone at a table across from the bar. Big sigh. I knew if I wanted a drink, I was going to have to ... I walked over to his table and sat down. “Order me a side car.”
Chapter 54
“WHO IS THIS Tommie we’re meeting?” Marty asked as we entered the Central Terminal of LaGuardia Airport.
“He’s one of Max’s old beaux, and he worked with me at the Stage Door Canteen. I first met him in ’41 at a Thanksgiving party Max threw in his apartment on MacDougal. When I knocked, Tommie came to the door wearing a hula skirt and feathers. He said, ‘Hi, I’m Tommie with an I-E. ‘Y’ is so boring, don’t you think?’”
Marty laughed, “I like him already.”
We sat on a wood bench next to the large windows, where we could see the planes taking off and landing. “I was surprised when he said he’d fly from LA to New York for my graduation.”
“He must think of a lot you.” He lit a cigarette.
“We helped each other during the war. When the army wouldn’t take him—he’s kind of effeminate, no, he’s a lot effeminate, not your type—he’d cover for me at the Canteen when I was becoming certifiable over Juliana. Right after the war, he got cast in the play Born Yesterday."
“He was in that? I loved that play. But I don’t remember any young—”
“The Assistant Manager.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember. The sissy.”
“Max told him everyone loves laughing at sissies. That shot Tommie straight to Hollywood. These days, there isn’t much call for sissies with what’s been going on in Washington, so Hollywood’s been trying to build him up as a leading man. They’ve even changed his name.”
“To what?”
“Jack Dash.”
“Jack Dash? Hmm. I seem to remember … I think I saw him in some magazine.”
“A couple of months ago, he had a few shots in Photoplay. ‘Jack Dash: Handsome Bachelor at Home.’ That kind of stuff. To test it out.”
“And wasn’t there something about him dating Debbie Reynolds?”
“The magic of Hollywood. I haven’t heard if any of it is working, but if they can turn Liberace into a teenage heartthrob, why not Tommie? Hey, thanks for coming with me today. I’ve been feeling awful that Juliana won’t come to my graduation. It’s nice to have a friend here with me. Makes me feel less alone. How are you doing?”
“I’m getting used to TV not being for me. Sorta. I’m not happy about it, but the FBI guy followed me less often when I was in Pal Joey. Now, with Pal Joey done, no other acting prospects, and graduation here, it’s scary. But I don’t want to be a drip talking about my problems.
“Well, I just may have something to cheer you up.”
“Yeah? What?”
“I recommended you for an industrial musical that Oldsmobile’s doing. It’s been written for them. With memorable song lyrics like, ‘There’s no business like Olds business.’ You wouldn’t be seen publicly, only by Oldsmobile employees, but there are a lot of them, and the money would be phenomenal for both of us.”
“Both of us?”
“When I take out my percentage for managing you.”
“You’re going to manage me? Al, I love you.” He grabbed my hand and kissed it all over.
“We can do the paperwork when we get back to my office. I think you should change your name.”
“But I like my name.”
“I do too, but it’s, well …”
“Too Jewish?”
“It’s how the world is.”
“It’s gonna kill my mother.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll make her understand. You and I should come up with something terribly cool.”
“I was thinking of Buck Martin.”
“Why not Marty Buck? That’d be close to my real name.”
“Well, one-syllable first names seem to be working in Hollywood these days. Rock, Tad, Dirk. More masculine.”
“Masculine like Jack Dash?”
“Well, with Tommie, it’s a stretch, but yeah, that’s the idea.”
“So, do you think if I changed my name, I’d have a chance in Hollywood?”
“I don’t know. Changing your name might give you a whole new career. Of course, you couldn’t use the credits you’ve accumulated so far. That would give it away. But you’re on the graylist, which isn’t even a real thing. It just exists in the minds of certain powerful people. With a new name—who knows, maybe … It might be easier for me to get you something in TV and flim.”
“No kidding?” he said, excitedly.
“I can’t promise, but maybe.”
“Buck Martin, huh? Buck Martin,” Marty repeated his new name, trying it on. “It sounds like a cowboy. I like it.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything. I’m all yours.”
“Was it always so easy for you to be, you know? Did you always know?”
“I figured it out for sure in the army. All those men.” He swooned. “But I had hints before that.”
“And it didn’t bother you?”
“I was mainly worried about my mother. Ever since my father left us, I always thought it was up to me to watch over her. It would’ve killed me if she’d rejected me. I told her when I came home on leave.”
“What’d she say?
”
“She asked me if she should get me a doctor. I said I didn’t think so, that I was happy the way I was. She said that was good enough for her. That was the end of it.”
“She must be an incredible woman.”
“You’ll meet her at graduation. Let’s celebrate our new ‘business’ arrangement. I’ll get us hotdogs.” He bounced out of his seat. Through the window, I saw him buying two hotdogs at the snackbar outside.
“I hope you like mustard.” He handed it to me as he sat down. “Juliana’s not even coming to your birthday bash?”
“Nah. I know she’s right, but ... If she came she’d have to come with Richard, and it would hurt like hell to see the two of them dancing together and … Damn, I can’t stand this life.”
“Really? I love it.” He leaned back in his chair, enjoying his hot dog. “It’s the one thing that keeps me going. I met a whole bunch of new people who are like us in Pal Joey, and they took me to the bath houses.”
“What’s a bath house?”
“Max didn’t tell you? I’m sure he’s been. It’s a place you go, well, not you, it’s for men. You get a locker and take off your clothes. They give you a bathrobe, but no one covers up very much. You show off your wares to attract attention.”
I looked around to be sure no one was close enough to hear. “You know we shouldn’t be talking like this in public, but—you mean you do that with a stranger?” I whispered. “I mean, I know Bart … but you?”
“Lots of good-looking strangers. Sometimes all at the same time. I’ve never had so much fun in my life. Gay life is the best. Last week, I took a girl to the opera, and while she was in the ladies, I did it with this gorgeous guy in the standing room only section.”
“What?”
“All those guys in tuxes standing in the back behind the railing are like us, and well, there are ways. By the time the girl returned, I was ready to go back with her to our balcony seat. There’s something exciting about doing it surrounded by that majestic music.”
“I’ll never understand you gay boys, but sometimes, I envy your freedom. Juliana and I were free once—in the forties, when we had less to lose. I even know what you mean about opera being, well, stimulating.”
“Maybe you should try out the women’s bars.”
“I’m afraid of being arrested.”
“Yeah, well, that’s something to think about, but I never do. I go to the Astor Hotel Bar alot. It’s not really gay, but a lot of gays go there. I’ve seen Max there some nights. It’s a great life, and I owe it all to you.”
“To me?”
“You got me that part in Pal Joey. Why don’t we go outside? Maybe we’ll see Tommie’s plane come in.”
“Do you ever hear from Moshe?” I asked as we were about to step outside. “He’s not allowed to contact me, and vice versa. But I heard through mutual friends that they still have him locked up.”
“It’s been almost three years.”
“His parents moved him to a private hospital, and the doctors are trying to cure him. I guess there’s no easy cure for getting over me.”
“Marty! The man’s suffering. It’s not a joke.”
“I know. Slug me, will ya? I wish they’d let him live his life.”
We pushed the door open and stepped outside. The sound of the planes was deafening, and we both had to hang onto our hats so the wind didn’t whisk them away.
Marty’s wide-legged corduroy pants flapped in the strong breezes. “I think that’s him,” I called out over a blast of airplane sound. A TWA plane taxied down the runway in the distance. “Come on. Let’s go meet him.”
We joined others meeting loved ones and stood near the chain-linked fence as workmen rolled the stairs to the plane. The door opened and the passengers filed down the stairs. My stomach bubbled with excitement. “There!” I pointed, as Tommie stepped into the doorway. “That’s him.”
“You mean that gorgeous blonde with the tan in the charcoal-gray, gabardine, custom-made suit?”
“Yes.” I laughed.
“I love a man who knows how to dress.”
“You do?” I looked at Marty in his worn-out clothes.
“That doesn’t mean I want to do it.”
One of the workmen opened the gate, and we all poured out. Tommie was making his descent. I yelled, “Tommie!”
He stopped midway, saw me, and held the handrail, striking a pose in his wide-brimmed hat. He laughed and flapped his arms the rest of the way down. “Al! Al!” He threw his arms around me. “Oh, I missed you so! I thought I would perish waiting on that long plane ride till I saw you.”
“Oh, gosh, Tommie, it’s been ages.”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “You look good.”
“So do you. All grown up.”
“Don’t I look famous?” He posed again then broke into laughter.
“Hello?” Marty said. “Remember me?”
“No,” Tommie said, “But I’d like to.” He extended a wilting hand.
“Tommie, this is my friend Marty Buchman.”
“Buck Martin,” Marty corrected, deepening his voice and extending his hand.
“Oh, my goodness, young man,” Tommie said. "You have a simply marvelous grip.”
“Marty, uh, Buck is graduating with me,” I told him. “He’s also an actor.”
“Really?” Tommie cocked a hip in Marty’s direction. “It has been an absolutely exhausting trip.” He flipped an unlit cigarette into the air, each finger gracefully poised. “Well?”
“Oh.” Marty dug into his pants pocket for his lighter and lit Tommie’s cigarette.
They seemed to hit it off right away, and as we walked out of the airport—the two of them smoking—I had to run to keep up. “Hey, guys. Don’t forget me.”
Chapter 55
MAX HAD A car pick us up at the Park Avenue apartment. Scott, sitting next to me, asked, “So is Juliana coming today?” Virginia sat in the seat facing us. She smiled vacantly, like she wasn’t quite in the same car with us. Ever since, well, … that happened, she often did that. Disappeared inside herself for the briefest moment, and then, in another, she’d be back as if she’d never left.
“No,” I answered, staring out the window.
“Did you ask her?”
“Can we not talk about it, Scott?”
“Sure, sorry.”
Max sighed and lit the cigarette in his holder.
“Where’s Tommie?” Virginia asked, taking out her own cigarette. Max leaned forward to light it.
“He’s having breakfast with my friend Marty and his family. Marty and Tommie really hit it off.”
“Hit it off?” Max said. “Tommie didn’t come home at all last night.”
“Didn’t you want your family to come to your graduation?” Scott asked. “This seems like the sort of thing a mother and father—”
“Scott, don’t push,” Max said.
“You are my family,” I told him.
Scott took my hand in his and squeezed. We drove the rest of the way in silence. Virginia disappeared again. I wondered if anyone noticed but me.
The driver pulled onto the campus, and I directed him to the parking lot.
With my cap and gown in my arms, I left them to join my classmates, who were milling about the grounds of the Lewiston Theater. Marty came running in his cap and gown and threw his arms around me. “Hey, kiddo, we did it. So, put on your gown. Look collegiate.”
As I put my arms into the gown, Marty said, “I want you to meet my mother.” A thin, pleasant-looking woman with pride bursting out of her paisley shirtwaist dress stood near me. “And this is my kid sister,” he said about the young woman holding a baby.
Mrs. Buchman smiled so sweetly that it was easy picturing her wearing an apron in a pastel-colored kitchen, like those magazine ads for Hotpoint. She extended her hand to me, “Alice, I’m glad to meet you at last. Aaron has told me so much about you. I’m pleased he has such a good friend.”
Seeing Marty
with his sister as she held her baby, her husband making googly sounds at his new child, and Mrs. Buchman—pretty in her light-blue straw hat—made me think of the radio program “Father Knows Best.” I took a picture of them to remember what a real family looked liked.
Marty’s family left as we lined up for the processional.
“Al,” Marty said. “I’ve got something for you.” He reached into the inside pocket of his blue suit. This was the first time I saw Marty wearing an honest-to-goodness suit. And the tie wasn’t hanging cockeyed. “Here.” He handed me an envelope. I opened it and quickly read the usual pre-printed graduation thoughts—‘now, you’re going to change the world etc.’ I looked up at Marty. “Moshe?”
“How’d you know?
“A feeling.”
“I think he wrote a little something inside.”
Under Moshe’s signature he’d written. “‘So sorry. More sorry than you could ever know.’ Is he still in the hospital?”
“No. A mutual friend told me his mother got him out four months ago. He’s living with distant cousins in Maine who think he’s merely neurotic. They don’t know about the other or they would never have taken him in. To his father, he’s dead, even said Kaddish for him. Oh. That’s the prayer for the dead.”
“Poor guy.”
“Yeah. His mother figures he won’t meet anyone like us in Maine. Jams1 are so blind.”
“I guess if they let him out he must be cured, huh?” I asked.
“If that’s what you want to think. He should be with us today,” he sighed. “You never got to know him—the way he was before the war. Oh, damn, it’s starting to feel like a funeral around here. This is a celebration. Come on, let’s celebrate.”
“Marty, I imagine you’re having a party or barbecue or something at your family’s place in Queens to celebrate tonight.”
“Yeah. Wanna come?”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you. Max is having a party at the Mt. Olympus. Closed to the public, but he’s inviting a lot of big shot people, a lot of people who are—well, they’re that way, like us. Lots of celebrities. Theater people and … film and TV, but mostly theater people. It’s all really hush hush. Can’t have the wrong people getting wind of it. That’s be a disaster. I think Tommie’s coming.”