[Juliana 02.0] Olympus Nights on the Square

by Vanda

  Shirl shook her head no.

  “Damn!”

  Shirl held out the phone. She put a big grin on her face and whispered, “Smile.”

  I mirrored her grin as I took the phone. “How nice to hear from you. Now? I’ll take a cab. Not needed. I can pay for myself.” I took a deep breath. “It’s going to be okay. Yes, I’ll be there in no time.”

  “Not good,” I said, to Shirl as I hung up the phone. “I have to get over there right away.”

  “It could be nothing,” Shirl said. “Panic. A loss of faith in her talent.”

  “Your coat,” Mercy said, hurrying into the room. “Give Juliana my love.” I slipped my arms into my overcoat. “Button this top button. Don’t let anyone see that tie. Shirl takes such chances, and after what happened it gives me the shivers.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I kissed her on the cheek and dashed out the door. I was running up Juliana’s stairs in less than a half-hour.

  * * *

  “It’s terrible,” Juliana squawked at me as soon as I walked through her door. “Awful, horrible.” She paced back and forth.

  “What’s terrible, awful, horrible?”

  “The play. Did you read it?”

  “Uh … no.”

  “Then why did you tell me to do it?” she yelled at me.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Richard. And Ben, your agent.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I wasn’t consulted. Richard’s your manager.”

  “Richard doesn’t know anything about theater. Why weren’t you consulted?” she yelled like it was my fault Richard hadn’t contacted me. “You’re supposed to make sure you’re consulted about everything.”

  “You’ve got dirt on your forehead.”

  “It’s not dirt. It’s ash. From a priest.”

  “Oh, the mumbo jumbo.”

  “It’s not mumbo jumbo. Ash Wednesday is a holy time. I’m giving up cigarettes for the next forty days.”

  “Well that’s a huge sacrifice, considering you only smoke about one cigarette a year. The play can’t be that bad. You’re nervous. This is something new. How are things going with your acting coach?”

  “All right, I suppose. Maybe you’re right. I’m upset for nothing. I read it when Richard first suggested it and liked it.”

  “See? Nerves.”

  “Would you read it and tell me what you think?”

  She had to be wrong; it couldn’t be terrible. Shirl wouldn’t back a bad play. “I’ll take it home tonight and—”

  “No. Now.”

  “Now?”

  “Sit here and read it.” She handed me the script. “Richard’ll be home in an hour. You can tell him what you think. Oh, but you can’t be dressed like that when he gets here. Give me your tie and jacket. I’ll get you a blouse and a skirt to wear.” She ran into her bedroom.

  “What does your acting coach think of the play?” I tore off my jacket, shirt and tie.

  “He won’t tell me,” Juliana called from the bedroom. “Do you think that’s a bad sign?” She came back with a blouse and skirt draped over her arm. “He says a good actress never judges her character. A good actress doesn’t think about what is good or bad; she makes whatever it is into something wonderful—even if it’s shit. He said ‘shit,’ not me. Does that sound right to you?”

  “I don’t know anything about acting or plays.”

  “Yes, you do. Take your pants off.”

  “I wish you’d say that when Richard wasn’t on his way home. It’s been months, you know.” I uncinched my belt and let my pants fall down around my ankles.

  “You studied acting and even had a part on Broadway.” She snatched up my pants and threw a skirt at me.

  “And now I manage a nightclub and some cabaret performers. Does that tell you anything about my expertise in theater? These don’t fit. I’m smaller than you.”

  “That’s right, rub it in. You look fine.”

  “I look like Little Orphan Annie. I’d kill to have tits like yours.”

  “You do have tits like mine. Mine.”

  I rushed to kiss her, but she backed away. “Richard. Soon.”

  “Oh, him.”

  “Sit, take the script. I’ll put the kettle on and make you a nice glass of hot Turkish tea. You read.”

  I sat on the couch, balancing the script on my lap.

  When it was done, Juliana placed the glass of hot tea on the coffee table. She sat in the overstuffed chair opposite me as I pored over what seemed to be an unwieldy script with too many pages. Unless this kid was Eugene O’Neill, I was worried.

  Juliana tried to divert herself by looking through Vogue, but her page flipping and sighing made me feel like we were in a soap opera doctor’s waiting room about to be told she had an incurable disease. Cue in melodramatic music. “Juliana, please. I can’t concentrate.”

  “Sorry. Do you want more tea?”

  “If I say yes, will you spend the next ten minutes in the kitchen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll take more tea. And, could you whip me up a batch of brownies so I can get this done?”

  She gave me a smirk and took my glass into the kitchen.

  It was a relief to have her out of the room. I was finishing the first act, and I was not impressed. How could Shirl have wanted to invest in this? The plot was dull, the characters unbelievable. The thing was terrible, like Juliana said. I hoped it’d pick up in the second act.

  As I opened to the page that announced Act Two, the phone rang. Juliana tiptoed toward the bedroom. “Sorry. Keep reading. I’ll be quiet.”

  I read, hoping to find something inspiring, uplifting, or simply interesting. I looked up to see Juliana standing outside her bedroom, not saying anything.

  “Why are you standing there?”

  “That was God.”

  Oh, no. She’d completely gone over the edge this time. “Who?”

  “Well, maybe not God, but like him. It was Cardinal Spellman’s secretary. The Cardinal wants me to sing Ave Maria at St. Patrick’s for Easter.”

  “That’s good. Isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not good.” She paced in the center of the room. “Sing for The Blessed Virgin? What if I botch it up?”

  “You won’t.”

  She looked dazed and miserable.

  “Oh, honey, you won’t.” I got up and reached out to touch her hand. She shook me off. “Richard will be home any minute. What am I going to do? I can’t say no to the Church, but how will I ever get ready in two weeks with play rehearsals going on, too? He saw my act in Chicago and heard I was a good Catholic. I’m not a good Catholic. I’m a sinner. I can’t do it.”

  “You can. If you want to. But you don’t have to.”

  “Yes, I do. You don’t say no to the Pope.”

  “He’s not the Pope.”

  “He’s close. What am I going to do?” She flopped onto the couch.

  “If you feel you have to do it then you can. Are you telling me you don’t already know Ave Maria right now, this minute?”

  “Of course, I know it. But knowing it and knowing it are two different things.”

  Richard came through the door. “Oh, Richard,” she said, hurrying toward his outstretched arms. “Cardinal Spellman wants me to sing Ave Maria at St. Patrick’s for Easter.”

  “That’s wonderful.” With his arms around her he walked her to the couch. “Such an honor. That’ll show my mother.”

  They sat down on the couch together. I got up. My arms were filled with the play; his arms were filled with her. “I’m worried I won’t be able to do it,” she said. “What if I forget the words? It’s for the precious Virgin.”

  I moved to the overstuffed chair across from them, knives shooting through my stomach. She put her head on his shoulder, and he patted it.

  “I better go,” I said, choking back my rage. “I’ll talk to you later, Juliana. You should tell Richard what you think of the
play he chose for you.”

  1 15 cents in 1953 has the same spending power as $1.35 in 2017

  Chapter 62

  “EAT YOUR BREAKFAST,” Max said as we sat in the breakfast nook. I stared past the living room through the French windows and the patio, watching the clouds in the distance. “Scott spent a lot of time on that breakfast, and you’re letting it get cold.”

  “It’s okay,” Scott said. “I didn’t spend that much time.” He whispered to Max, “I think she’s feeling blue.”

  I shoved a forkful of cold scrambled egg into my mouth. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Al, you have to face facts,” Max said. “Richard is her husband.” He took a sip of his coffee. “This coffee is wonderful, hon,” he said to Scott.

  “I added a little almond flavoring.”

  “Very nice. Look, Al, I don’t mean to defend her. Juliana’s lifestyle is indefensible. But what did you expect her to do when Richard hugged her? Push him on the floor?”

  “Don’t be so hard on Al,” Scott said. “She’s in love. Let me have your plate, Max. I’ll get you more egg.”

  “No, I’m stuffed,” Max said. “I wish you’d find someone else, Al. Shirl must know ...”

  “I don’t want someone else! Dammit, Max.”

  “Okay. But don’t forget, Richard and Juliana have something in common that you can never share.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Their religion.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “That’s not minor. You make fun of her religion.”

  “Not much.” I put a few crumbs of scrambled egg in my mouth, so Scott wouldn’t feel bad. “Do you think she sleeps with him?”

  “Yes,” Max said without hesitation.

  “Do you think she likes it?”

  Scott jumped up, tightening the tie around his robe.

  “Who knows?”

  “I better clear the table,” Scott said. “Are you finished with this, Al?”

  “Yeah, it’s very good. I’m not up to it today.”

  “I understand.” He balanced an armload of dishes and hurried to the adjoining kitchen.

  “You shouldn’t talk like that in front of him,” Max whispered. “He’s uncomfortable with talk about people’s sex lives.”

  “You two seem to be doing well since he moved in last month.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been this exquisitely happy. He’s so much better. I want that for you too, Al, and it won’t happen with Juliana.”

  Scott stood in the doorway. “Al, the phone for you.”

  “Is it?”

  “Uh, huh.”

  I picked up the phone in the kitchen, only to hear Juliana tell me she was furious with me. “You’re furious at me? I didn’t think you even noticed I left. I didn’t want to interrupt your private moment. Oh? Do I sound mad? I can’t imagine why. Yes, dammit, I know he’s your husband. I’m so sick of that sentence. Yes, I can come over today and talk to you and Richard about the play. In the afternoon. I have some things to do this morning.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, I dragged myself to Juliana’s house. I had barely gotten two hours sleep. I’d tossed and turned thinking about Juliana in Richard’s arms doing the things that I … I didn’t want to think about that. I plodded my way up her stairs and wondered what in the world I was going to tell her about that clunker of a play. As I got to the top, Richard burst through the archway, carrying a suitcase. “Al. Sorry I can’t stay. Got word my mother’s taken ill. Catching a plane to Omaha.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Go take care of your mother. Take as long as you need.”

  “You’re so kind,” he kissed me on the cheek.

  Not that kind, I thought.

  He gave Juliana a quick kiss on the lips and buzzed down the stairs.

  “Well, come in,” Juliana directed. “You look terrible.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I meant you look exhausted. That skirt and blouse combination is pretty. Even in style.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that, but I can barely see straight, so I’m going to have to let it go. I don’t think I’m awake enough to talk sensibly about the play, and since Richard isn’t here, maybe there’s no reason to talk about it. But I know I’m awake enough for you and me to …” I moved toward her. Then backed up. “You’re wearing trousers.”

  “Don’t they look good?” She twirled around, showing me from all angles. “I put the kettle on. The tea will be ready soon.” She headed toward the kitchen.

  I followed her. “But you’re wearing pants.”

  “They show off my derrière nicely, don’t you think?” She bent over and shook her rear at me.

  “Don’t do that in public. It’d be bad for your career.”

  “Al.” She straightened up. “We’re in my kitchen, not Times Square.” She poured the tea into the little Turkish glasses and put them on the silver tray with the sugar bowl and some butter cookies.

  “I know, but pants could ruin your career.”

  She sighed. “Let’s go and talk about the play.” She carried the tray into the living room.

  “Sure, but couldn’t you put on a dress first?”

  “I’m sorry if these slacks don’t do anything for you, but they’re comfortable. I don’t even have to wear a girdle. What a relief.”

  “Well, okay,” I said, sitting on the couch, “As long as your public doesn’t see you.”

  She sighed.

  “It’s quite a surprise that Richard had to go off like that,” I said. “Leaving us—alone.” I put my hand on her knee. “We haven’t been alone in months.” I inched my hand up her thigh.

  “Sweetheart, I can’t.”

  “What?”

  “Yesterday I woke up with a yeast infection. I went to the doctor, so I have medicine, but … right now, I don’t want to stir things up down there. You understand.”

  “Sure.” I took my hand back. I don’t think I sounded terribly convincing.

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t do something for you.”

  “No. We’ll watch TV.” I hopped over to the TV. I had to move away from her. I was past the pants bothering me; her perfume was driving me mad. I grabbed the TV Guide. “What’s on tonight?”

  “Come drink your tea. We have a play to …”

  I turned the TV on. I couldn’t sit next to her without something to distract me. The Guiding Light, a fifteen-minute soap opera, came on.

  “What happened to Richard’s mother?” I asked, walking back to the couch.

  “The way I hear it, she had some type of fit.”

  “Fit?” I sat on the couch as far away from her as I could get.

  “She has a nervous condition. She’s had it most of Richard’s life. But this is the first time they put her in the hospital for it. She’s a nervous person, and sometimes she comes close to fainting. Richard’s worried about her heart.”

  “You don’t seem to like her very much.”

  “She’s not my favorite person. She thinks her son married a dance hall girl, which to her mind is close to a prostitute.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “Not very.”

  “This is nice, isn’t it? The two of us sitting here, the TV on, like we’re a family. You know, ‘So how are the kids, Ma?’ ‘Fine, Paw.’ Have you ever thought of us—I know we can’t, but what if we were married? Of course, we couldn’t ever be, but Shirl and Mercy are married. It’s not real, but they had a ceremony and a party afterwards, and they’ve got rings.”

  “I know. I was there.”

  “You went to their wedding? Was it nice?”

  “Very moving.”

  “Have you ever thought that maybe someday you and me …?”

  “Even if Richard weren’t in the picture, my religion …”

  “Yeah.” I sighed.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Frankly, no. I’m acting like I’m calm and lady-like when I’m really
going out of my mind with you sitting right next to me and Richard not here, but you can’t do anything, so instead, I’m watching this dumb TV show that I’m not really watching, imagining the two of us naked, and you touching me in all those places while at the same time I’m so exhausted I could die. I know that’s selfish of me because with all the rehearsing and plane hopping you’ve been doing over the past few years, you’ve got to be ready to collapse, and now you’ve got this play and the singing at St. Patrick’s, so why am I telling you my problems when all I really want is for us to get into each other’s clothes—and—I’m sorry I’m so selfish.”

  “My goodness.” She laughed. “Come here. I don’t mind. Let me do something for you.”

  “Nah, I’d feel like I was at the doctor’s.”

  “What kind of doctors do you go to?” She laughed. “And how can I get an appointment?”

  “You know what I mean.” I laughed, although I didn’t want to.

  She deepened her voice, “Well, Miss Huffman, let Dr. Jule take a good look at you. Let’s get those clothes off.” She pulled at the zipper on my skirt.

  “No, Jule. Really. When we do it again, if we ever do, I want to do it with you. I’m tired and cranky.”

  “Why don’t you take a nap on my bed? Richard’ll be away for a week or so, and I’ll be better in a few days, and then you and I can ‘get into each other’s’ clothes together. When you wake up we’ll talk about the play.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not at all. I have plenty to do.”

  “I need an hour and I’ll have energy again.” I hurried toward her bedroom. “Oh. Can I use your phone?”

  “Be my guest.”

  I dialed the phone in Juliana’s bedroom. “Bertha? What are you doing picking up my phone? Hatcheck girls don’t pick up telephones. And they don’t do filing. Put Bart on. Bart, why are you having Bertha answering phones and working in my office? No. You will not hire her as a secretary so you can do less than nothing. If we need a secretary I’ll hire one. Get Bertha back to hatcheck and far away from my office. I am not being a hysterical woman, and I am not jealous of her. She’s a goddamn hatcheck girl. I never expected such sentiments from a queer duck like yourself. Look, I’m not going to be back for a few hours. Do the set-ups. I’ll put an ad in The Times, ‘Help Wanted—Female,’ on Monday.”