by Bobbi Marolt
“Hi. I thought your meeting might be over. I wanted to remind you that you left the scarf here.”
“I think you should hold it for Groundhog Day.”
“I won’t have scared you off by then?”
“Maybe I’ll scare you first. I’m the one who is attracted like lightning.”
“Maybe that works both ways. So how daring are you, Marty?”
“Quite. Why?”
“Come back to my place for a bit.”
“I can’t. I drank too much wine. I’ll probably take a wrong turn and end up face down in the Hudson.”
“That won’t be fun. Maybe take a cab? I’ll buy.”
“You’re teasing me now.”
Marty was tempted to return, which would have been especially easy with all the wine she’d consumed. She wasn’t fall over drunk, but a good buzz had taken hold of her. Her legs were rubbery and she hadn’t even stood yet. Not only the lack of control to her legs, but also a lack of emotional control and physical need kept her from returning. She was thankful for retaining enough brain function to understand Liz’s charm would be irresistible, and she wasn’t ready to seal the deal.
She thought back to the day in Times Square when Liz’s hair had blown across her face. Marty had wanted to push the loose strands behind her ear to satisfy the desire to touch her. She laughed to herself. She hadn’t had the nerve to push a few hairs away, yet Liz had enough confidence to kiss her. Ah, yeah. That kiss was warm and welcoming. She perked up when she remembered Liz had nibbled her lip. Her body warmed with the sudden memory, but maybe the wine caused her rapid temperature change. Liz wasn’t acting. She’d given Marty free rein with her kiss. An invitation. She could have had her that night, if she’d wanted to pursue her. Marty’s physical glow heightened and she decided it wasn’t from the wine.
“Marty? Are you there?”
“Yes. It’s not a good idea for me to come over tonight. I’m at Nina’s and I’ll stay here.” She looked at the floor. “There’s no river in her living room, so I think I’ll be safe. Thank you for the invitation, though.”
“Okay. Sleep well. Good night.”
“Good night.” She closed her phone and tossed it on the table.
“No guts, no glory,” Nina said. “I’ll give you credit. You’re stronger than I thought.”
She looked at Nina. “What am I getting myself into?”
Nina shrugged. “I don’t know, but I want to hear all about it. Come on. It’s late and I want to go to sleep.” Marty followed Nina to the guest room. At the door, Nina hugged her.
“Don’t awaken me before nine, please.”
“Lazy ass.” Nina closed her bedroom door.
*
Marty turned off the table lamp and lay back. She stared at the ceiling, and then at the window, and then at the digital clock with blue numbers. Blue. Liz had called her eyes “pretty blue” and “sparkling blue,” and Marty had wanted her to say it again, softer, closer.
“What’s wrong with me? We met only two weeks ago,” she said to the blue numbers twelve, eighteen, and their connective colon. “What’s wrong with her? Hell, neither one of us makes sense.”
She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand. When she opened it, she scrolled the calls received list until she came across Liz’s name. More blue numbers. She looked at the clock and it read twelve twenty.
“If she’s sleeping, she’ll think I’m three sheets to the wind.” She pressed the call button and waited. “I must be, to make this call. Shit. I shouldn’t—” Her finger had just touched the end call button when Liz answered.
“I’m impressed,” Liz said.
Good God. Her voice sounded sexy, close, warm, and cuddly. Sensual. She breathed sensuality. Marty felt so near to her that if she rolled to her side, Liz might be there.
“What impresses you?”
“Many things, but tonight you left me with the feeling that I’d be lucky to ever see you again.”
“Good,” Marty said.
“Good?”
“People need to want for something. Desire motivates us.”
“That sounds like something I’d write. Do you want me to want you, Marty?”
“I want you to tell me what you’re all about. I’m offering you a blank sheet of paper.”
“Tabula rasa.”
“Pardon me?”
“A blank slate,” Liz said.
“Latin lesson over? Now tell me what’s happening.”
“Do you want to hear the ‘two ships in the night tale,’ or would you prefer the ‘I don’t know what the hell it’s about, but it’s been a joy so far’ tale?”
“Your last scenario sounds more legitimate. If you don’t tell me your intentions, I can’t see you anymore. Even as a friend.”
“That’s extreme.”
“Yes, but necessary. I’m interested in knowing you beyond friendship. That’s my want. If you have no intention of offering me even a morsel of follow-through, I need to know right now.” There was no response, but she still heard soft breaths. She closed her eyes and imagined cuddling with Liz while they talked their night away. “Two weeks. All totaled, I’ve spent only a few hours with you, but I’ve never been so interested in knowing someone. That’s not like me. You’ve obviously touched something tender inside me, and I can’t let it go until you tell me otherwise.”
“I think the woman means business. I’ve never been told to take a hike.”
“I’m sorry.” She rolled to her side and hugged the extra pillow close to her. “Wine makes me bold.”
“Oh, Marty, don’t take away from the truth of your words. I’ve made a few gestures that you’ve picked up on, and I don’t blame you for the attitude.”
She released her pillow. “Attitude?”
“Listen. I’m wide-awake now. If you want to talk to me, I’ll be at the bleachers at Times Square.” She hung up.
“Attitude? No no no.” Marty closed her phone, pushed out of bed, and dressed. “Attitude is Felice. Attitude is the Yankees. Attitude is not what I gave Liz.” She marched to Nina’s door and knocked twice. “Nina?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m leaving. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“You okay?”
“Yup.”
“Lock the door.”
Marty stormed through the hallway and entered the elevator. Impatiently, she tapped her toe while the elevator slid to the lobby. Attitude. She tapped her toe faster. She’d show Liz attitude.
Chapter Four
Marty paid the driver and stepped into the hot, humid, and windless night air. Perspiration clung to her flesh. She could almost feel her hair frizzing.
Times Square was lively at that hour. Light jazz sounded from a three-piece ensemble of woodwind instruments, although she’d have preferred more steel drums. A troupe of mimes moved in rhythm to flashes of neon and worked the crowd. She scanned the bleachers, but a tap on her shoulder turned her attention behind her. She swung around. Liz stood waiting and no wind blew her hair into disarray. She held a large bottle of water. Without a word, and without losing eye contact, Marty took the bottle, sucked a long drink, and handed it back.
Liz sipped from the container and brushed her tongue across the wet rim. “I taste nicotine. You’ve been smoking.”
“It comes with the territory. Cigarettes are a hard habit to break.”
“I know. I’ve managed to quit.” She looked at Marty’s lips and stepped closer. “But I still like the peppery bite, especially on someone’s lips. Why did you come?”
“Intrigue. You’re similar to the mimes behind me. You make verbal gestures, but you don’t say what you mean.” She motioned to the dazzling display of neon that enveloped them. “I find something gratifying within the colorful flicker and throb of these lights. I love the sight and feel of them surrounding me. You have that allure.”
Liz’s lips curled slightly at the edges. “That’s romantic. I’m touched.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m
also here because you pissed me off.”
“Did I? At least your anger brought you here. You did give me some attitude, though.”
“That was the wine talking and you were pissy, too. I’m not angry now, and I’m glad I’m sober enough to take you up on your challenge. Now it’s time for a midnight confession.”
Liz smiled fully. “I think I might like this.”
She shook her head. “Maybe not. On the ride over, I’d decided I would seduce you, get you into a bed tonight, and then say au revoir.”
“Really? You’d dump me like that? Now I think I’m angry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not going to happen.” She took Liz’s hand and held tightly. “Come on, I have something to show you.”
“Demanding, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I’m more of a pussycat.”
As they walked past the flashing neon of Times Square, Marty pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She pushed speed dial number nine and waited several rings.
“Hello, Marty. You’re up late.”
“Yeah, a bit. I’m right around the corner. Can you let me in for a while? I have a friend with me, too.”
“Sure. I’ll meet you out front.”
She closed her phone and turned onto 44th street.
“Where will my abduction leads us?” Liz asked.
“Into a dark, cavernous room. I want you to meet someone.”
*
The Stanwyck Theater was half a block off Times Square. The building dated back to vaudeville when acts by comedians, acrobats, strippers, and numerous other variety acts stuffed the theater’s wings. It had a smaller seating capacity than most venues, seating only a thousand.
Housed in early nineteenth century neoclassicarchitecture, the Stanwyck was the only theater that bragged of four polished pillars at her entrance. She was a ghastly rogue, seemingly plucked from City Hall and randomly dropped into the theater district of Midtown Manhattan. The Stanwyck stood proud, never apologized for her appearance, and she pulsed through Marty’s veins. When they arrived at the building, she placed a kiss onto a cool, marble pillar.
“Do you often kiss inanimate objects?”
“This one, yes. The Stanwyck is my home, and I want to show her to you.” She knocked on the front entrance and a security guard opened the door.
“Good to see you, Marty. You two come right in.” He held the door and allowed them to pass through first. “We’ve got a crew working on electricals tonight. If you go on stage, you might have some spotlights on you.”
Marty led Liz into the house and seated them at the rear of the mezzanine. The theater auditorium was dark except for a solitary light that glowed dimly at center stage. The stage was empty.
“Who am I to meet?”
When Marty’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she looked around the fading mural walls and then at the hand-painted ceiling. Behind crystal chandeliers, the masks of comedy and tragedy needed some makeup. On the seat in front of her, she ran her hand over the red velvet cushion as though she caressed a fine work of art.
“I want you to officially meet Marty Jamison. The Stanwyck has been my favorite playground for as long as I can remember. My grandparents met on this same stage when this was a house of burlesque. He was a comedian and she was a stripper.”
Liz laughed. “A stripper? All the way or like Gypsy Rose Lee?”
“Grandma let most of it hang out. She must have passed her gene to me.”
“You don’t strip, though.”
“I’ve come terribly close. Sometimes I scare myself.” She looked down to the stage. “My parents were actors and they worked this theater for years after vaudeville folded.”
“You developed a relationship with theater at a young age. This is your blood.”
She nodded. “My mother and father were consummate performers. They taught me how to act and dance. Singing came naturally, but I don’t think I’m one of the better vocalists.”
“I have to differ with you. I have all your soundtracks.”
“Thanks. My childhood toys were props and costumes. One day I was a barmaid wearing feathered boas, and the next day I was a dusty cowboy hitting on the barmaid.”
“You knew you liked girls when you were that young?”
“I sure did, and one of the things my parents taught me was love happens, and they told me not to question it.”
“Sound advice,” Liz said.
Marty rested her arms on the seat in front of her and inhaled deeply. “Can you smell the cinnamon? The same aroma was present when I was a child. Twice a year, the maintenance crew treats the wood with special oil that’s spiked with cinnamon. It’s a scent unique to the Stanwyck. I love the smell of this building.”
“It’s warm and inviting. The scent reminds me of Christmas,” Liz said almost in reverence. “It’s scary in here. I half expect a ghost to appear.”
“Funny you should say that. That light at center stage is the ghost light. It’s always on for safety, but there’s a legend that the light remains on for spirits that haunt a theater. One spirit is the Lady in White.”
“Who’s the Lady in White? Like the Carol Burnett clean-up lady?”
Marty laughed. “No. Good guess, though. The spirit is a legendary ghost that inhabits all theaters. You hear all types of stories. For the Stanwyck, she sits onstage and hums. Some say they’ve seen her walking up the aisle. The legend goes that her husband hung himself during a performance.”
“Have you ever seen her?”
“I think I did when I was a child, but I may have imagined her. She was a mist that took shape and I named her Martina, after me. Martina sat at the footlights and hummed a wistful song I didn’t recognize. I hid behind the left drape so I wouldn’t frighten her away, but I was more scared than she would have been. When she finished the tune, she stood, walked off the stage, and passed right by me. It’s because of her lead that I always exit from the left. I thought she was telling me something.”
“Your eyes are sparkling, even in this low light,” Liz said. “They show a lot of love and respect for this room.”
“A lot,” Marty said. “Did you know of Joyce Manning?”
“She was the matriarch of Broadway some years ago. You resemble Manning.”
“That’s her. I had a bit part in Cats, and one night Joyce was in the audience. She came backstage to congratulate me. She said, ‘Jamison, you’re good and I want you to go places.’ Joyce tucked me under her wing that night. My parents taught me to act, but Joyce taught me how to grab an audience and bring them to their knees. We became close friends.”
“She was…what? In her sixties when she died?”
“Sixty-three, going on forty and with a big heart that suddenly gave out on her.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I miss her every day.”
Liz touched Marty’s arm. “I’m sure she’s smiling down on you.”
She didn’t want her evening with Liz burdened with emotion and retrospect. Suddenly, she stood. “Where do you usually sit for a show?”
“About seven rows from front orchestra.”
“That’s a good area. Have you ever seen the house from the stage?”
“No. Show me.”
Marty grabbed Liz’s hand and ran to the apron. At direct center, she placed her hand at the crescent edge of the stage. With her other hand she motioned around the hand-carved oak bow that separated the stage from the apron.
“This arch is called the proscenium arch. More simply, the proscenium.”
“I know the word comes from the Greek word proscaenium and means an entrance.”
“You’re definitely a word person. I didn’t know the word origin until now. This”—she patted where her hand rested—“this is the apron, and right behind these footlights is the exact spot where Martina sat.” They walked to the side of the apron and she escorted Liz up the steps to stage right. Marty grabbed the framing curtain’s edge. “This thick sheath of material”—she wrapped the heavy red velvet ma
terial around her body—“God I love the feel of it.” She took a whiff of the fabric. “It’s the same Grande Drape that was here when my parents worked this theater.” She crossed to stage left and manually lowered a different curtain. “This is called the act curtain. I want you to see what an actor sees, once the curtain goes up.” She guided Liz to the central area directly behind the curtain. “This area is down center stage.” She yelled into the house, “Anyone near the electricals?”
“Here,” an unseen presence said.
“Will you hit my friend with an overhead and a center spotlight, please?” Hot light covered Liz from above, and another hit the front of the curtain. “Here we go,” Marty said while she raised the curtain. Liz immediately shielded her eyes when the spotlight hit her.
“Wow. That’s intense.” When her pupils corrected for the spotlight, she lowered her hand and looked into the house. “I see only the first few rows.” She walked to the edge of the apron, followed by the spotlight. “A little more here, but the rest of the room could be vacant, for all I would know.”
“Doesn’t that suck? It’s like playing to a small group, and I always hated performing to darkness. After I became well known, I received the privilege of having the lights adjusted for me.” She yelled once more to the lighting man. “Turn the house lights to my level, please.” The lights brightened until Marty saw to the final row of the mezzanine seating and the balcony seats.
“Much better,” Liz said. “The lights aren’t harsh enough to annoy the audience, but I can see the people.”
“And, if the audience looks tired, I’ll jack up the performance.” Marty had the lights turned off and sat on the floor. Liz sat next to her and looked toward the house.
“Have you ever thought what you might be, if the theater never existed?”
“Never once. Why jinx a great gig?” Marty stretched her legs in front of her and crossed them at the ankles. Liz’s eyes and head followed their length from the toes and up to Marty’s eyes. “I wanted you to know this about me. There’s more to me than the side that thinks you’re wildly attractive.”
Liz lowered her eyes to Marty’s shoulders and breasts, maybe taking a second look to be certain not a centimeter had gone astray during their few hours of separation. Her eyes moved slowly along Marty’s neck.