The Fame Game

by Rona Jaffe

  She knew it was Gerry he was seeing, but all along she had hoped that the thing with Gerry would die, and then finally she even hoped that he would keep on with both of them. From hoping for something she had begun to accept the tiniest crumbs. She had tried to be so happy with him, but he had seen how nervous she was. It was hard to hide it. The jokes they had shared had disappeared, the fun was gone. It was just smile and fake it. That was no fun for either of them. Why did she have to change and stop being fun? She had tried so hard to stay the same. But if you knew you weren’t loved any more, you couldn’t find fun in things, even when you tried to fake it. And oh Lord, the day of the pin, she had finally thought it was all going to turn out all right!

  Everyone had noticed the pin. She wore it all the time, and when she wore her costumes she pinned it to her bra. The girls had known of course it was from Dick, but Honey had asked anyway: “Who gave you that?”

  “Oh, it belonged to my Grandmama,” Silky had replied airily. Honey knew darn well Silky’s grandmama hadn’t even had a toilet, much less a gold and diamond nightingale. But Silky had learned to give them back what they gave her, and their relationship was now one of cold politeness, which was at least better than them ignoring or insulting her. Dick had even taught her how to handle the girls.

  Oh, Dick had taught her so much! She even thought clean now. She used big words, and almost always got them right. She had bought a big dictionary. She read better books. And he had taken her to the theater a few times, and told her about acting and directing.

  Gerry had admired the pin, never asked her where it appeared from, and during the hard time when Dick was gone and Silky was feeling so sick, somehow she had felt closer to Gerry even though it was Gerry who had taken him away. She felt in her heart that Dick wouldn’t last with Gerry either. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew. But Gerry seemed so content, so secure. Silky wondered if Gerry had thoughts of marrying Dick. Girls liked to kid themselves, and girls like Gerry did marry guys like Dick Devere. But he had never given Gerry any jewelry, or if he had, she hid it at home and never showed it off at the office. Silky knew that Gerry would never throw it in her face about Dick.

  Mr. Libra did, though. He was the meanest man on earth. He had spotted the nightingale the very first day she had worn it to the office, and had managed to get Silky alone for a moment so he could say: “Oh? Dick Devoid gave you his famous kiss-off pin, eh?” She would have torn it off right there, she was so mad. Libra was cruel, but so was Dick, because if you wanted to get rid of a girl the cruelest thing you could do was to give her something of sentimental value that she’d always have to keep around so she couldn’t forget the rat even if she wanted to. She needed the pin. It was something from Dick, something he had chosen specially for her because she sang, because he cared for her. And there it was, so there he was, always with her, him and the pain.

  Then finally things happened that helped keep her busy. One was that Silky and the Satins were finally making their debut in a New York club, and there were intensified rehearsals, the act to be added to in places, cut in others, polished everywhere. Silky prayed that Dick would come to the opening, and then prayed that he would stay away. She supposed Mr. Libra would make all the clients show up, to make the opening a really gala affair, but nobody could make Dick do what he didn’t want to do.

  When they came out on the stage that opening night she saw that Mr. Libra had taken a long table at ringside. Mr. and Mrs. Libra were there; Mad Daddy and Elaine were there; Peter and Penny Potter with several of their friends were at the next table; Franco, the designer, and his favorite model, Fred, were there; Mr. Nelson ran out from backstage after fixing the girls’ wigs and made a commotion trying to pull his chair back in the crowded space, there in the dark … the new client Bonnie Parker, the model, was there with Zak Maynard, the movie star, who kept nuzzling Bonnie’s neck all during their songs and never looked at the stage; there were two old men with their wives (Mr. Libra had said two Broadway producers were coming, so that must have been them); and there were two empty seats. Silky knew who the two empty seats were for, and the suspense made her tremble almost more than the fear of the New York opening. The orchestra began to play and she shut her eyes, belting out their opening song. When she looked at the audience again she saw that Gerry had arrived with Dick, the two of them sitting right smack in front of her nose. Her heart turned over. Gerry gave her a big, encouraging smile. Dick smiled and winked. He smiled! His smile was so full of affection and pride in her that Silky almost soared off the floor. Oh Lord, he had come to see her after all. He didn’t hate her.

  And she was good, she knew she was good. The audience didn’t want to let them off the stage. When the lights went up after the last curtain call, the people were still clapping and screaming “More!” Mr. Libra brought the producers backstage to the dressing room, and everyone had drinks and sandwiches. Gerry rushed over to Silky and hugged her. Gerry was alone. Dick hadn’t even bothered to come backstage. He was waiting for Gerry outside. The goddam sonofabitch coward!

  The party passed in a haze. Silky had two drinks and felt so dizzy she nearly fainted. She had to go lie down on the cot in the other room. Mr. Libra looked furious, for he had let them have liquor because they had been good and he was there watching them and now she had to go look drunk and make a fool of herself. It wasn’t the two drinks on an empty stomach that had made her feel sick; it was her anger at Dick for being such a coward. Why couldn’t he have just come back to tell her she was good?

  Gerry went into the other room with her and brought her a cold, wet washcloth for her head, and then a cup of coffee and a chicken sandwich.

  “You have to try to eat something,” Gerry said.

  “All right. I’ll try.” Silky put the sandwich under the mattress when Gerry was in the bathroom dampening the washcloth again.

  “What beautiful flowers,” Gerry said. “Who sent them?”

  “Oh, this boy I know—Hatcher Wilson.”

  “That was nice of him. Oh look, there’s the arrangement from Mr. Libra. It’s perfect.”

  “I knew you picked it out,” Silky said.

  Gerry smiled at her. “I made them put in a lot of baby’s breath because that’s your favorite.”

  “That was nice.”

  “Oh, Silky, please try not to be too unhappy. You have such talent. I know that doesn’t sound like much of a consolation, but think of all the people who want to be famous and won’t ever get there. Everybody adores you. You’re going to be a big, big star. Those two men out there, they’re going to do a musical. They loved you. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but they’re very seriously considering you for the lead. Mr. Libra is going to send you to acting class. Silky, if you do the lead in a Broadway musical next year, do you realize what that means?”

  “I can’t believe it,” Silky said.

  “You’ll believe it when it happens,” Gerry said. “Please don’t let on that I told you. When Mr. Libra tells you, act surprised. That’ll be your first acting lesson, free from me.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for a musical,” Silky said. “Especially the lead.”

  “You have to start in the lead. That’s Libra’s way—hit ’em right between the eyes—pow! You’ll be ready. Don’t worry.”

  “Why didn’t Dick come backstage?” Silky said. “He doesn’t have to be scared of me. I wouldn’t try to get him back or anything.”

  Gerry looked down. “Dick isn’t perfect,” she said quietly. “In some ways, sometimes, he’s a fool.”

  “You like him a lot, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question. Somehow, if Gerry really loved him, it would make it easier to bear.

  “I guess you have to like him a lot,” Gerry said. “He’s hard not to like, even when he does things that don’t seem right.”

  “I guess you know I loved him,” Silky said. “Now that it’s over, I guess I can tell you. When it’s over, somehow that’s the time you want to tell
somebody that it really was real, just to keep on believing it I guess.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Gerry said.

  “Did he … does he ever say anything about me? Never mind, don’t answer that.”

  “He wouldn’t discuss anything like that with me,” Gerry said. “But he thought you were just brilliant tonight, and he always says you have a great and unique talent. He really respects you.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Silky said.

  “Believe me,” Gerry said, “he does respect you, and he likes you. Men just … disappear. That’s what some men do. But you have to believe that Dick respects you, because you’re going to be working with him next fall. He’s going to direct the musical you’re going to star in.”

  “Oh my God,” Silky whispered. She knew she shouldn’t be happy, but she was. She was going to be with him every day. She was going to work with him. At least she’d see him. She knew she should be afraid, and she was afraid, because the worst thing that could happen would be to have Dick in her professional life at a time when she was going to feel so unsure. But Dick had always made her feel sure. “What’s going to happen?” she asked.

  “He’s going to be a big boy and you’re going to be a big girl, and you’re going to work together to make yourselves and each other big stars,” Gerry said. “That’s what’s going to happen.”

  “That’s what’s going to happen,” Silky repeated obediently. But she didn’t believe it … she couldn’t even imagine it. Life was sure crazy.

  And the other big thing that kept Silky busy and helped keep her mind off her troubles, at least about ten per cent of the time, was that as soon as they finished their two-week engagement at the New York club (with rave notices in all the papers) Mr. Libra enrolled her in this acting class, and she found herself in a room full of the weirdest lunatics she’d ever met in her life.

  The Simon Budapest School of Theater Work was one of the best known in the country. To get in you had to be genuinely talented—or famous. Silky was an oddity: a famous pop singer who was headed for the stage, so she got in with no trouble. She did not even have to audition. Mr. Libra gave her a slip of paper with the name and address of the school on it, and the list of days and hours of classes. She had to attend a minimum of twice a week. Classes were held in a mangy loft with folding chairs set in rows in front of a small stage. Props were frowned upon; pantomime was preferred. Simon Budapest was a tall, middle-aged man with thick black eyebrows that made him look like Satan. He would have been a fine actor except that he stuttered. None of his students ever laughed when he stuttered because they were all in love with him. He almost seemed to hypnotize them, especially the girls. After a scene, which was always done by two partners, usually a girl and a guy, Simon Budapest would rise from his chair, circle the actors, look at them, and then touch one of them. When he touched the girl she always burst into tears. Then he would go back to his chair in the front row and make the girl tell him why she was crying. It usually ended up sounding like that group-therapy show Silky had seen on television. The girls talked about their emotional problems and the men talked about their sex lives. Silky was dreading doing her first scene.

  She always sat in the last seat of the last row, trying to be invisible. This was impossible, as there were only two other black faces in the room, and both were men. What a creepy place! What was she supposed to learn there, anyway? She listened to everything Simon Budapest managed to stammer out, but she couldn’t understand half of it. Evidently you were supposed to really feel things and not “intellectualize.” She’d been feeling things all her life. It was the way she sang. She understood that part of it, anyway.

  Some of the kids took notes. All of them dressed as if they were off to a hippie protest parade as soon as class was over. They looked poor and dirty. Evidently that was the way you looked serious when you went to school. The only one who ever dressed well was one girl who was some kind of movie star, and she always arrived draped in furs, with a ton of make-up. She always did scenes where she had to take her clothes off, or where she started out in just bra and pants. Once she spent the whole twenty minutes—the time that was allotted to each scene—shaving her legs. Simon Budapest made her repeat the scene, and she shaved her legs for twenty minutes again. Silky waited for the blood.

  The worst thing that ever happened was the day one of the girls flipped out. She was a mousy-looking girl who liked to do scenes where she had to do nineteen minutes of pantomime before she got to her one line. When she spoke you could hardly hear her. She looked about eighteen, but someone whispered to someone next to Silky that she was forty. Anyway, she did this scene, and when it was over Simon Budapest picked up her arm and it just stayed there, stiff, like she was a movable doll. He sat down and asked her what she had been trying to do in the scene. The girl just looked at him.

  Everybody waited. He asked her again. Nothing. The girl opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out. She finally put her arm down. There was an audible sigh of relief in the room.

  “Well, darling?” Budapest said. “Come on, darling. What were you working for?”

  Silence. The boy who had done the scene with her sat on the floor, looking annoyed because the girl was getting all the attention.

  “Speak, darling,” Budapest said.

  Usually just calling a girl “darling” was enough to set her off into hysterical tears, but he’d called this zombie “darling” three times and she just looked at him. People started shifting in their seats. Ten minutes went by. The people who always rushed out into the hall for a cigarette after a scene were mesmerized there, waiting to see what would happen next. Silky looked at her watch. Ten more minutes went by. Simon Budapest had uncovered a mental case.

  The time for the class was up. It was time to go home. No one left. Simon Budapest started looking nervous, and his stutter became worse than ever. He was like some party hypnotist who had put somebody into a trance and now couldn’t get her out. He had to keep the class there until he got that zombie to say something, or even move, and it looked like they were going to be there all night—either that or someone would have to call Bellevue. Some of the kids were looking bugged because they had shows to get to. But it was too interesting to leave, and besides, Simon Budapest looked so nervous that it seemed disloyal to go until the class was dismissed. They’d been sitting there half an hour now. Wow!

  Then Silky began to look more carefully at the girl and she realized what had happened. She’d seen people like that before, and it was so obvious she wondered why no one else noticed. The zombie was all doped up. She’d obviously been so nervous before the scene that whatever she was on she’d taken too much of it. One thing Silky was prepared to stay for was a nut case, but junkies bored her. She’d seen them all her life on the stoops and street corners of her neighborhood. Evidently these protected, carefully grubby would-be livers-of-life had never seen a head before.

  Silky raised her hand. She’d never spoken in class before, and when Simon Budapest noticed her hand up his mouth fell open.

  “Yes?” he said, looking rather annoyed. He was probably thinking her royal highness had picked a fine time to decide to join the group.

  “Ask her what she took in the ladies’ room before the scene,” Silky said. She was surprised at how ringing and sure her own voice sounded in this room where she had never before had the temerity to even whisper.

  “Darling,” Simon Budapest said to the zombie, “did you take anything?”

  The girl’s throat worked feebly. She opened her mouth.

  “Did you take anything? A pill?”

  “An … an aspirin,” the girl whispered.

  “An aspirin? That’s all?”

  “A … sleeping pill.”

  What a lie! Some of the class laughed. Simon Budapest gave an angry gesture for quiet. But he looked relieved. He wasn’t the amateur hypnotist any more, he hadn’t driven her crazy by his personal appeal. He was acquitted. “Somebody take her home,” h
e said.

  Two boys jumped up and said they’d be glad to. They led the zombie away. Everyone rushed for the door, free. They couldn’t wait to get away so they could gossip about the whole thing. Silky rose wearily and followed them.

  “Darling!” Simon Budapest was standing behind her.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. What’s your name?”

  “Silky Morgan.”

  “Why do you always sit in the back row?”

  “I’m not really an actress,” she said.

  “Everyone here is an actress. Why haven’t you ever worked in class?”

  “I’m scared to,” she said.

  “Scared? Scared? You’re supposed to be scared. That’s good. A conceited actor is no actor. From now on I want you to sit in the front row.”

  Silky gulped.

  “And I want you to get a partner and do a scene. Make an appointment with the girl at the door for the time.” He turned away without even saying good-bye and walked away.

  Silky walked to the elevator. People were looking at her with envy because the great Simon Budapest had singled her out. She felt embarrassed. A tall white boy with long black hair and a tattoo on his forearm came up to her.

  “What’s your name?” he said.

  “Silky Morgan.”

  “I’m Don. Do you want to do a scene?”

  “Okay.”

  “I have an appointment for next week. I always keep appointments so I can work a lot. You have to make them so far in advance. I have a couple of scenes we can do. Do you want to come have some coffee with me now and talk about it?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “I have all your records,” he said. “You’re great.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I have just the scene for you,” Don said. “It’s from The One Hundred Dollar Misunderstanding. Have you read it?”