by Bobbi Marolt
Liz squeezed Marty’s leg and she snapped her head toward her. Eyes wide, Liz turned crimson with embarrassment. “I think that’s my ex-husband.”
“What?” Marty looked back at Clive. “Are you sure you have that name right?”
Clive checked his papers. “Uh, yes. Paul Chandler. His wife’s name is Liz.” He looked at Liz over the rim of his glasses. “You’re our producer?”
Marty swung her head back to Liz. “What do you know about this?”
“Nothing. Well, yes, maybe something.”
Marty pushed her chair away from the table. After a quick breath, she spoke rapidly. “Excuse us. I need to have a conversation with our writer. Can we have a few minutes?” They walked outside.
“I’m not feeling good things,” Marty said. “You’re co-producer of this show? Why do I suddenly mistrust you?” She paced in front of the entrance.
Liz was calm with her response. “I have nothing to do with this production. At least I don’t think I do. Paul and I talked years ago about backing a show, but it was just talk.”
Marty’s mind scrambled with adrenaline. “You were with him at the bank. You kissed him. I think you’re still seeing him. Are you trying to set me up? Is that your plan?”
“Hold on, now. Paul kissed my cheek. I did not kiss him. I told you why we were at the bank and this producer gig is a huge coincidence. I had no idea Paul made any type of theatrical investment.”
“And he never mentioned the show before your divorce?”
“We haven’t talked about investing for years.”
Nina came out of the theater. “The natives are restless. What’s going on? Are you okay, Marty?”
Marty was curt. “Ms. Chandler is our producer.” Liz shot a look of disbelief at her. “It seems we have a conflict of interest.”
“Ms. Chandler?”
“Oh,” Nina said. “Then you are the other half of Dr. Paul?”
“It’s probable.” She raised her voice. “There’s no conflict of interest.”
“I’m seeing the picture pretty well. You even had me in your apartment and talked fluently about the script. It was almost as though you’d read it a dozen times before that day. You were gung ho on the future of that play.”
“Was I? And before that, I invented a divorce, I knew you’d be at the café the day we met, I all but threw myself at you, and all for the sake of making a fast buck? I don’t think so. Do you think I know anything about producing a show?” Liz crossed her arms and waited.
“No, but I wish you would tell me what you do know.”
Nina turned Liz to face her. “Are you and the good doctor in cahoots?”
“No.” She turned back to Marty. “We’re not. I wouldn’t do that to you. Haven’t you been listening to me?”
Confusion and anger overwhelmed Marty. “I have listened, and you sucked me right into your scheme. Is this one of those surprises you like so much? What’s your stake in all of this? Kiss the girl and make her cry?” She snapped her hand toward Nina. “Cigarette, please.”
“Oh, my God,” Liz said. “Why are you suddenly irrational? Go home, Marty. Take a sick day, for Christ’s sake. While you’re there, read No Business. That’s my stake. That’s my heart.”
Nina lit a cigarette and handed it to Marty. Without a thank you, she took a deep drag and closed her eyes. Nicotine swam vigorously throughout her bloodstream and gave a rush she needed.
“I don’t have the book any longer.” She looked up at Liz. “You have it. Another bit of convenience for you.” She dragged on the cigarette and blew the smoke out quickly. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Felice Tate showed up as a part of this.”
“There’s no talking to you,” Liz said. “You’re unreasonable.”
“Liz,” Nina said and turned Liz’s face toward her. She spoke gently but with conviction. “You’re dealing with the livelihoods and the emotions of professional and private people. If you and your husband are trying to hurt Marty, you’ll not succeed. She’s like granite and has a powerhouse of people who will appear at her beck and call. They can easily turn this little pile of annoying garbage into the biggest damn mistake anyone has ever made. Do you get my drift?”
“Yes. I understand. I especially understand granite, and Paul is my ex-husband,” Liz stressed and looked at Marty. “My ex.”
Marty didn’t acknowledge the comment.
“Whatever,” Nina said. “Now tell me, are you involved with any of this?”
“No,” she said, “at least not at the moment, but I’ll find out what’s going on.”
“Okay,” Nina said. “I need to talk to our girl. Would you go back to the stage and tell Clive that we’ll be there in a few minutes?”
Liz grabbed the door handle, looked back at them without expression, and entered the theater.
“This is incredible,” Marty said. “I need to call my attorney and see if I can buy my way out of the contract. I’m not comfortable.”
“Don’t call him. It isn’t necessary and it’s unprofessional. Think of this show in the same way you thought of your first show. You were lost somewhere in the chorus, but you felt like the star. You’re that star now. Make it happen and don’t whine.”
“I’m not whining. I—”
“You’re whining. I believe Liz. If you saw her eyes the way I did just now, you’d believe her, too. Finish your cigarette and we’re going back inside.”
“I want to believe her. Do you think I’m wrong in feeling manipulated?” She took the last drag and mashed out the cigarette.
“No, but you’d be unreasonable not to give her the benefit of the doubt and then find out the truth. This isn’t the end of the world.” She pulled Marty into a hug. “I want what’s best for you, and all of that is waiting on stage right now.”
She stayed in Nina’s embrace, needing that moment of trust. “Okay.” She released Nina. “Let’s get to work.”
Before she reached the stage, Marty thought feverishly to formulate a plan of attack for the show. There seemed a matter of self-preservation for the actor named Marty Jamison. Her answer came quickly. She would attempt to hijack the production as her own and hope the others wouldn’t throw her out on her ear with a “Jamison’s gone mad” statement to the press, and then tag her with a lawsuit.
Liz remained a problem and stood out like a sore thumb. How could Marty trust her? Out of all the people she did trust, Nina was the only one who had her complete faith, and Nina placed her trust in Liz. What reason did Marty have to follow Nina’s lead?
Twenty novels suddenly came to mind. Each book highlighted Abby McNair. And Abby was Marty. The only sense in the scheme was that no scheme existed. The doctor and Mrs. Chandler couldn’t possibly have planned a half-baked plot and then waited twenty years to implement their plan. Logic forced her to give Liz the benefit of the doubt.
When she arrived onstage, all heads swung in her direction. She stopped next to Liz and rested her hand on her shoulder.
“I have something to say,” she said to the group and leaned down, close to Liz’s ear. “We’ll talk about this later.” She stood erect, clasped her hands together, and enjoyed their echo while it rang throughout the empty house.
She walked a slow circle around the table. When her gears shifted to working mode, adrenaline flowed briskly through her veins, and there wasn’t a darn thing that would stop her from getting this play right. She took a moment to study the face of each person at the table. Talent sat before her. A small group, but they were her ways and means. Bert winked at her. Marty walked another half circle around the table.
“What we have here is a show poorly written, next to nothing for a budget in normal theatrical terms, and a script of Felice Tate’s caliber. What’s worse? Not a single song.” She waited for the others to stop laughing, and smiled with them. “We’re so screwed that we need to rethink this entire script and make Marty Jamison a happy actor. The good news is, I respect all of you. Now, I have more news. It may not intentionally be true, b
ut this show is a test for my reputation and now for yours as well.”
She stopped her pace and was hesitant to say her next thoughts, but she took a deep breath of support.
“I’d like control of this production.” Marty waited a significant amount of time, in case there were immediate objections. In particular, she looked at Liz who gave no opposition. “I will not dismiss any input you give me, and I will not play the out of control, spoiled actor who doesn’t get what she wants. Clive, you have my full support on direction. Liz, you have me on writing. Bert, you’re always my man.” She took another breath. “Allison needs to pray we get this right, too. The bottom line is this: I get the final say on everything. This isn’t for me, personally. I’m doing this for the name on the marquee. I can survive a flop, but I don’t want Marty Jamison going down in flames. If we can’t bring this to her standard, I’ll step back and let Clive have the reins.” She looked at each of them. “How do you all feel about that?”
Clive answered first. “By circling us like a starving wolf, you’re acting like the diva you don’t want to project. There’s no way in hell I’ll give you control of direction, but I’m willing to listen to your input.”
Kicked right to the curb. It was worth a shot, anyway. “Okay.”
“I think it sounds deliciously decadent,” Allison said, “but I agree with Clive.”
Marty looked at Liz.
Liz nodded. “You have my trust. We’ll work together on the script.”
Marty appreciated and understood the gentle slap to her cheek. “Good. Semper fi.” She pointed to her copy of the script. “Liz, if you look at my notes, I’ve written some dialogue changes. I’d like you to consider those changes and I want us to begin there. Give us the low-down on your initial script study.” She sat at the table.
Liz cleared her throat. “The first thing I want all of you to know is I’m probably the Liz Chandler whose name is associated with production of this play. I didn’t know until a few minutes ago. I’ll get those details straightened out. As I’m the producer, I’d like Marty to receive that same respect.” She pulled a dollar from her pocket and placed it in front of Marty for retainer. “Consider yourself hired as co-producer, and that might be all you’ll see with our budget.”
Marty shoved the dollar into her pocket and was, for the most part, settled and feeling that they just might create something unique and wonderful.
While Liz made her presentation, Marty thought about Paul Chandler and the connection that Liz still had with him. An amicable divorce. She supposed it could happen. Marty understood ruts. She understood comfort zones, but she also understood the need to initiate a final break. She had broken up with a lover after eight years.
Either Liz thought she could survive a lifetime with him and wallow in comfort, or she didn’t want to hurt him. Semper fidelis. Always faithful, but it hadn’t applied to Dr. and Mrs. Chandler with their bevy of lovers. Through all of their marriage, though, Liz was most unfaithful to herself.
She decided Liz possessed an old soul that was capable of feeling and giving love, and she wanted to find love within Marty. More signs pointed in that direction and away from conspiracy. She was also a thoughtful soul, maybe playfully selfish. Who else would think of the possibilities behind giving a gift of Q-tips? She chuckled to herself. Liz was determined to prove herself. Sprawled in the grime of Times Square and continuing a conversation with Marty, she could be nothing less than determined. She laughed and all eyes turned to her.
“Sorry,” she said. “Go on.”
If Nina believed Liz, Marty would at least take the time to listen. She wanted Liz as the innocent that she’d met only a few weeks ago.
“So my final analysis is”—Liz waved the play in the air—“this is salvageable junk. With the right touches, we can turn this show into a dramatic comedy.”
Marty nodded. “Good. Thanks.”
“I agree,” Clive said. “Let’s get working on a read-through.”
Nina was smart. Her presence wasn’t needed and she quietly left the stage halfway through. So did Bert. Without interruption, Marty read the original script from beginning to end. She stammered, stuttered, and spit poorly written sentences for an hour and a half, all the while drinking her way through sixteen ounces of water. Everyone else yawned through those ninety minutes and, upon completing the read-through, her mouth was still gummy. She grabbed Liz’s bottle of water and took several swallows before closing the script. She folded her arms on the table and pulled a saccharine smile. “Discuss,” she said, and Clive spoke first.
“You need to lighten up. You missed your timing with lines that are tremendously funny. Whatever this conspiracy theory is you have going, it affects your concentration. My first suggestions are ditch the diva, bring Marty back, and then stop fighting the show.”
“Okay,” she said, this time embarrassed by Clive’s comment.
Clive flipped through his pages. “I’ve marked each line where I want you to study your delivery. I think we can keep those lines. Also, I’ve marked sections that can be improved upon.”
“What about deletions?” Marty asked.
Liz chimed in. “I have some. Small stuff. We need to concentrate on continuity, too. I heard no smooth segues into the next joke, moan, or what have you. That’s an easy fix but will also depend on your timing. It would have been nice if the author had given us a digital copy, but I’ll take care of that tonight.”
“Great,” Clive said. “About your timing. You have a great line here when she accidentally fires her only bullet.” Clive read from the script, “I don’t need another bullet.” He paused. “‘You’re killing me.’ You need to insert a beat between the sentences. Even in its present condition, study the script and hone your timing.”
“I think the end of the last line would be funnier if you changed it to ‘I’ve got you,’ ” Allison said. “Marty says the other all the time.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” Clive said. “Try it. Give it to me gently. Your character says it to her reflection, and I want you to say it like you’re in love with that reflection.”
Marty looked at Liz. “Okay,” she said and slid easily into Clive’s directive. “I don’t need another bullet.” She took the beat. “I’ve got you.”
“Perfect,” Clive said.
“Maybe not,” Liz said and looked square into Marty’s eyes. “Say the last sentence again.”
With all the sweetness that she could muster, she looked into Liz’s eyes and repeated the new line. “I’ve got you.”
“It’s your best line…if you do it correctly.” Liz’s timing was perfect. She took off her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Can we take a break?”
“I’m ready,” Clive said and pushed away from the table. “Let’s take half an hour.”
Liz stood and pushed her chair to the table. “We’ll make headway with this soon.” She turned to leave and Marty called to her.
“Wait. Let’s talk for a minute.”
Liz stopped. She looked over at Allison and then to Marty. “I think we should keep this on a professional level while we’re here. Don’t take it personally. We’ll talk afterward.”
Don’t take it personally. Marty hated that line. It was one of the last sentences she’d heard from Rachel, and the words had the ability to send her into a whirlwind of pissed off. She carefully curbed her reaction.
“Liz,” she said, and watched her take the steps down from the stage and walk toward the main entrance. “Fine.” She dropped the script onto the table and startled Allison.
“Are you all right? Your thoughts seem scattered. You’re tense, too.”
Marty took a deep breath and smiled at her. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Thanks for asking.” She motioned toward the wing with her head. “Go on, take a break.”
Marty looked around her and then stroked the back of the seat Liz had sat on. She repeated the line, “I don’t need another bullet. I’ve got you,” and took her exit, stage left.
She wandered through the hallway and out the main exit of the theater. Nina was there leafing through a copy of Fashion magazine. Marty stretched across the bench and rested her head on Nina’s lap. Hot sun drenched her and took away the chill she’d felt from Liz. Nina set the magazine to her side.
“The new Versace line is terrible. Nothing new there, I guess,” Nina said and placed the magazine over Marty’s face. “You’re already pink from this morning. If you blister, don’t come crawling to me for makeup.”
“I promise not to call.”
“Did you talk with Liz?”
“No. She’s angry with me.”
“You’ll work it out. How’s day one going? Getting it together?”
She nodded. “We’ve devised a plan of attack.”
“Here comes your girl.” Nina lifted Marty’s head from her lap. “I think this is where I’ll make my exit.”
Marty sat up. Liz approached and sat next to her. There was no indication of the stern businessperson who had walked away minutes ago. She even surprised Marty with a kiss to her cheek and then she took hold of her hand.
“There’s no sense in me acting like a twelve-year-old,” Liz said. “I have nothing to do with Paul and this script. I mean there’s no setup. Not from me.”
“I want to believe you. There’s just too much strain surrounding the play, and it’s overwhelming me. The reality is I’m stuck with this, no matter how many times I go to sleep and hope to wake up to a different show.”
“When we finish today, I’ll call Paul and find out what he knows.”
“Do you think he can make a dinner invitation tonight? I’d like to talk to him, too.”
“I’ll ask him.” Liz ran her hand over Marty’s shoulder. “Relax. We’ll figure out our direction with the show and you’re a good student. Oh, I had a call on my cell from our—from Paul’s and my financial advisor. He can probably give me the lowdown, but I can’t get him on the phone.”
“Maybe he’ll call back. Let’s get back inside and do some more brainstorming.”
When she stood, Liz pulled her back down to the seat. “Not so fast, kitten.”