Beaches

by Iris R. Dart

  “I coulda become a nun,” she said, as if she was doing a stand-up comedy routine. “But there is one thing, just one little thing that a girl like me cannot live without that is a no-no for nuns.”

  “And what is that, Cee?” Mrs. Devlin asked, as if she were the straight man for the comic.

  “Sequins,” Cee Cee answered, and everyone laughed.

  When Bertie walked her into the waiting room, Neetie smiled a little smile through her tears and said, “We watched you together on Ed Sullivan, and I remembered when you were in those shows in Beach Haven, and I was tellin’ Rosie how you sang so good, even then, and how you used to come over just like any other friend of Bertie’s, only Bertie always was saying how you were the best of all. I told that to my sister, and now look….”

  Cee Cee put her arms around Neetie and Neetie cried some more, and then Bertie said, “There’s some food here, Aunt Neet. Cee Cee brought food.”

  “No, thank you,” Neetie said almost shyly, as if she was afraid to offend Cee Cee. “I gotta go back and sit with my sister. Somebody should be there.”

  “I’ll go, dear,” one of the nuns said. “You stay a while and have a little visit.”

  Neetie sat with relief on the plastic sofa.

  “Hey, have the chicken,” Mrs. Devlin said to Neetie as she poked around among the remaining foil-covered plates.

  Cee Cee seemed to be surveying the scene now as if to determine that everything was all right, then she took a deep breath and looked at Bertie. “Hey, listen, I gotta run,” she said. “Got another show to do tonight. So I’ll be toddling off,” and she stood.

  There was so much Bertie wanted to say, but everyone was sitting there. Maybe she should walk Cee Cee to the elevator and on the way ask her what this visit meant. Were they friends again? Or was this just a burst of charity? (That’s the way Cee Cee used to describe it in her letters when she sang at fund raisers.) Was there anything Bertie could do or say to make up for not being there for her for so long? Bertie wondered if maybe she should ask Cee Cee if she wanted to see Rosie. Then she remembered Cee Cee’s letters about how after Leona died, Nathan, her father, got sick, and how being near him when he was in the hospital gave her “the creeps.” Bertie remembered now what she said in that letter. “The sick and the dying are not my territory, kiddo.” She would never want to go into cubicle seven and see the corpselike Rosie. The I.C.U. was no place for Cee Cee.

  “I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Bertie said.

  “Nah,” Cee Cee insisted, gave Bertie a little tap on the arm, and then a smile, and without even a good-by to anyone, she was gone out the door of the waiting room.

  “The chicken is very juicy,” Neetie said, with a mouthful of chicken, and Mrs. Devlin agreed. Mrs. Koven and her daughter were having the prime rib. The daughter was trying to cut it with a plastic knife the hotel had sent.

  “My sister Rose loves chicken,” Neetie said.

  “I’m going in, Aunt Neet,” Bertie said.

  Neetie waved a chicken leg in approval.

  As soon as Bertie pushed open the big black doors of the I.C.U. and saw the nuns standing, their heads bowed, their hands held as if in prayer, outside of cubicle seven, the tears rushed to her eyes. Gone. Rosie was gone. That was for certain. Had to be. And they were praying for the safe journey of her soul to heaven. Bertie moved closer, pushed the nuns apart, and forced herself to look into the room.

  Standing a few feet from the bed, her face filled with emotion, was Cee Cee. She was singing to Rosie, the monitors clicking away in an eerie accompaniment, as the nuns and Bertie listened:

  The moments pass into hours

  The hours pass into years

  And as she smiles through her tears

  She murmurs low….

  The song Rosie had sung to Bertie as a lullaby all through her childhood. She must have told that to Cee Cee once. Maybe more than once. The young nun who was standing near Bertie put her arm around Bertie’s waist, and Bertie was grateful for the strength in the woman’s arm.

  The moon and I

  Know that he’ll be faithful

  I’m sure he’ll come to me by and by…

  The I.C.U. nurses were gathering now; Bertie felt other people breathing near her, behind her, all around her in the doorway, but she couldn’t take her eyes from Cee Cee.

  But if he don’t come back

  Then I’ll never sigh or cry….

  Cee Cee’s voice cracked with tears, but she grabbed a breath and went on.

  I just must die

  Poor butterfly.

  The last notes were in full voice. That beautiful voice that sent a chill through Bertie and everyone in the doorway. They all stood quietly. Too moved to utter a sound. Cee Cee continued to look at Rosie, but finally she sighed, moved toward the door, walked over to Bertie and hugged her. A warm, holding-very-tight hug. Then they walked together toward the black doors of the I.C.U.

  “I thought you didn’t do the sick and the dying,” Bertie said.

  “It was okay,” Cee Cee said. “I didn’t look at her.”

  Bertie shook her head, looked at Cee Cee, and they both smiled.

  “Anyway, I got a late show and then I’m hittin’ the road right afterwards. I’m already packed. So I should be gettin’ a letter from you at my New York address any day now. Right?”

  Bertie smiled. “Right,” she said, and the two friends hugged again, and Cee Cee was off, down the hall, sequins flashing, moving in that unmistakable gait that said, here I am, so if you’re lookin’ anyplace else, you’re wastin’ your time. Waving good-bye to this one and that, and when she reached the elevator, she turned back to look at Bertie, who she was certain had been watching her the entire time, and blew her that special Cee Cee kiss.

  Rosie died that night. Bertie called Michael, who showed up right away. It was clear that he wasn’t happy about having to miss the time away from work. He dealt with the hospital and shipping the body to Pittsburgh and funeral directors, and Bertie didn’t have to do a thing but wash her hair and sit in the bathtub for hours crying, and to sleep, at last, at home in Pittsburgh, in her own bed.

  Within a few days, life seemed nearly back to normal. In another week, Bertie would go back to work at the Home. Tonight she and Michael sat silently at the dinner table.

  “Cee Cee and John have split up,” Bertie said. She knew she shouldn’t have said that. She knew she should leave it alone. What was she doing? Why did she have to open that up? Maybe just to get him to react to her. Michael cut into his veal, speared a piece with his fork, put it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Then he picked up his glass of white wine, took a sip, looked long into the glass, and then put it down on the table.

  “Guess he finally found out about her,” he said.

  “What does that mean?” Bertie asked. She should have never started this. It was provocative. And she didn’t want to know what Michael meant by that.

  “What that means is that she’s garbage, Bert, believe me. You don’t even know how bad she is. You don’t want to get me going on what I think of her, because it’s just going to stir up a lot of stuff. Okay?”

  “Michael, she’s not garbage. She’s just different. And not the kind of person you understand.”

  Now she should ask him what happened. To stir up what stuff? About what really happened that night? She wanted to. But what if…

  Michael was smiling a smile that she’d seen on his face before. It was the smile of a wise father to an innocent child who he hoped would someday see the light. And along with the smile went a pat on her hand, and a little burst of air from his nose that signified his amusement.

  “You’re such a good person that you sometimes just don’t even see what’s real. If you’re truly smart you’ll keep doing the same thing you’ve been doing all along with her letters—send them back. Don’t write to her. Don’t call her and don’t see her. She’s the lowest, Bert, and she’ll drag you down. Change your address. Honestly, your
fatal attraction to her is the one thing about you I’ve never been able to see. Or respect, for that matter.”

  “Michael.”

  “Besides, I’ve got a great way for you to change your address for at least six months out of every year,” he said, as he continued to pat her hand.

  “Michael, let’s finish this.”

  “I think we have,” he told her. “Let’s just say you think one thing about it and I think another. I’m not going to change my opinion, but I hope you’ll change yours. Okay? Now let me tell you about the deal I’m making in Sarasota, Florida. We can get a winter place down there for practically nothing. And maybe even live there half the year.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER Michael left for work, Bertie did the breakfast dishes, prepared herself a second cup of coffee, and reached for the telephone. But then a wave of sadness stopped her. She had been about to call Rosie. In Miami Beach. Some early mornings in the past when she felt like having company for morning coffee she had done that. And they would chat and have “girl talk” about this or that, and when things weren’t going so well they would tell one another, “Hang in there, old chum.” Never again. She would go to the market this morning, make a shopping list to fill the empty refrigerator. And then this evening maybe she’d make a big dinner for Michael. Something special. She took her paper and pen and her coffee tray into the dining room.

  She sighed and sat alone for a long time at the dining-room table. The only sound in the silent house was the clink of her spoon in the coffee cup as she stirred it and watched the whirlpool she made in the cup.

  Groceries in the house. Dinner for Michael. That’s what she had to get to. She put down her spoon, picked up her pen, and began to make the list. Rice, lettuce, tomatoes, chicken breasts…. Her mind wandered from the list, and after a while she stopped, tore that page from the tablet, and wrote on the next page instead.

  Dear Cee Cee, she wrote, and then she smiled to herself and continued writing. It was her first letter to Cee Cee in a long time.

  Dear Cee Cee,

  Just the act of sitting down to write to you always makes my day brighter. I guess because I feel less lonely—knowing you’re there. I honestly miss my mother terribly. Even though she could sometimes be too demanding and even though she had values that I’m certain fouled me up in many ways, she was a dear lady and a close friend. Someone I could really count on.

  I wish so much that I could have given her the grandchild she wanted so badly. I am still trying. I mean, we are—but to no avail, I’m afraid, and our lack of success is difficult for us both. Michael is pretty nice about it, sympathetic when I get my period, etc., but I think he’d just as soon keep our life the way it is.

  The winter home we bought in Florida is gorgeous, but it seems to be a kind of consolation prize for me, so that while I’m busy decorating it, maybe I’ll forget about pregnancy. Instead, of course, I think about it more, as I fill a big empty house with furniture. And I miss my work at the Home, too. I send one letter to all my friends there, and get back fourteen letters from the children. Instead of cheering me up it makes me wish I was in snowy slushy Pittsburgh and I fall apart.

  Help! I re-read this and realized I sound like I’m complaining!!! I don’t mean to. Guess when I sit down to write to you I make a beeline for my most important feelings and put those down first. I am aching to know how this play you are rehearsing is going. After you told me you’d be playing Sarah Bernhardt, I got a book out of the library on her life. I think that’s the perfect part for you. When does it open? I’ll ask Michael if we can come. Or maybe if he doesn’t mind, I can come alone. I know you’ll be a big hit.

  Write or call.

  Love, Bertie

  Dear Cee,

  Break a leg tonight. I wish I was there. You’ll be a better Sarah Bernhardt than Sarah herself.

  All my love, Bertie

  THE NEW YORK POST—SARAH!

  Bloom Blooms on Broadway. One spectacular talent playing another is a sure-fire formula for success. And Cee Cee Bloom as the fiery Sarah Bernhardt is an utter joy. With spontaneity, a big bold voice, and a presence that makes everyone else onstage disappear into Arthur Rachman’s impressively lavish sets, La Bloom makes it clear to anyone who doesn’t already know why La Bernhardt was so loved by so many.

  THE HERALD TRIBUNE—SARAH!

  When you have the extraordinary good fortune to see “Sarah!,” and I urge you to run there, and not walk, you will not only get to see the glorious Cee Cee Bloom play the spectacular Sarah Bernhardt, you will also get to see Bloom playing Bernhardt playing Hamlet. And Bloom playing Bernhardt playing Marguerite Gautier. Each performance within a performance is so unique, so special, they could have easily charged me for three tickets. The show is dazzling and magnificent. And so is Cee Cee Bloom.

  HOLLYWOOD REPORTER

  Visiting Tinseltown for biopic “Sarah!” actress-songstress Cee Cee Bloom skedded to recreate role she played on Broadway. Cameras will roll in January at Columbia.

  Dear Bert,

  Well, here I am in hooray for Hollywood and if you want to know what I think of the place I’d have to tell you the truth and say it eats it. Everyone is sooo full of shit their eyes are brown. (I used to say that in grade school, did you? Of course not, Cee Cee you a—h—. See how polite I’m getting?)

  I’m supposed to be grateful that they’re letting me play Sarah, the part I won a Tony for, instead of them giving it to Julie Andrews or somebody like that. The movie is going to be real different from the play. They’re cutting a lot of the songs, and they’re adding some other songs which I don’t like very much. But maybe it’ll turn out okay.

  I haven’t met one decent man here yet. But I want to. Just so I don’t have to go home every night to this house I rented that you wouldn’t believe in the Hollywood Hills. And be alone.

  The second night after I got here I was invited to this party, and I didn’t want to go. I felt real out of it, because I figured I wouldn’t know anybody, right? Then I thought of that pep talk you gave me about how I’ll be a big hit here because I’m so funny—the funniest person I know, you said. So I look at myself in the mirror and I say, Hey, Cee, you’re funny. People at the party are going to like you ’cause you’re funny. So I get to the party and I’m pretty early and there’s very few people there yet. And I’m saying over and over to myself, Cee, you’ll be the funniest person at the party, and the doorbell rings and the next three guests who come in are Neil Simon, Billy Wilder, and Mel Brooks. I didn’t say one word all night.

  Anyhow, Sarah as a movie is what my life’s about now. I’m trying to be on a diet because if the camera adds ten pounds to me like they say it does, I’ll be playing Kate Smith instead. Maybe you could sneak away and visit me here sometime, Bert. We would really have laughs if you did. I’ll try and call you next week.

  Love C.

  Big Barn Theatre

  Steubenville, Ohio

  Dear Cee Cee,

  Thought of you today as this year’s cast rehearsed Damn Yankees. No Lola will ever equal yours. I got married in June to a gal who teaches fourth grade here. She’s a sweetheart. You would like her, Cee. She sure as hell is tired of hearing about you, though.

  Best,

  J.P.

  CARMEL, CALIFORNIA

  1983

  It was beginning to get dark outside. Cee Cee switched on the table lamp next to the sofa and sat. She’d already read a copy of People magazine that she found on the coffee table, and leafed through a copy of Vogue.

  She was cold and getting hungry. She didn’t even know what bedroom Bertie meant for her to sleep in. Maybe if she went upstairs and looked around she could figure it out. Then she could at least go get her suitcase out of the car and unpack.

  The wooden steps creaked as she walked slowly upstairs, wondering where the light switch was mounted. She couldn’t see anything beyond the top of the steps. When she reached the upstairs hallway, she saw that one of the doors was open a few inch
es, and that the room was illuminated by the moving light of a television, so she walked toward the door. The television sound was off.

  “Bert,” she said as she looked into the bedroom. The light from the television was a pinkish purple. Sometimes it was bright and then it would get dark. When the bright pink light was cast, Cee Cee could make out someone who was asleep on the bed, with the covers pulled far up, covering part of her face. But that wasn’t Bertie in the bed. It was a much older person. Cee Cee could see that. Maybe it was Aunt Neetie. That nice old aunt of Bertie’s from Florida must be here visiting. But why wasn’t Bertie here? Probably she didn’t figure Cee Cee would come running up this fast. Just because she said it was an emergency or urgency or some Bertie word like that. Always with those exclamation points.

  Cee Cee decided to go back downstairs. If she started schlepping her suitcase up here and unpacking in one of the bedrooms, she might disturb poor Aunt Neetie. As she got to the landing, she heard the front door burst open. Bertie. Boy, was she gonna be excited to see her.

  “Bert?” Cee Cee said, running down the rest of the stairs.

  But the woman who looked at her with huge dark eyes wasn’t Bertie. “You’re Cee Cee Bloom,” the woman said with a smile and a look of recognition.

  Cee Cee nodded. Even as she stood on the bottom step, the woman was taller than she was, and very pretty. Cee Cee’s mind raced trying to guess who she could be. Her name didn’t help.

  “I’m Janice Carnes,” the woman said, putting a hand out for Cee Cee to shake. “I’m very glad to meet you. Roberta talks about you all the time.”