by Bobbi Marolt
Felice’s eyes widened. “Don’t.”
She grinned, pulled Felice up, and danced casually. “I’ll give you a break, but you missed another opportunity for the gossip page.”
“I’m not into women.”
“Good. Liz would have my hide, anyway. Let me ask you a question. Why do you have that group of middle-aged men at your side all the time? I know they back you, but they aren’t good for you. They don’t care about you.”
“They get work for me. I do okay.”
“I’ve seen your shows and you can do better. You’re talented and that talent isn’t staged properly.”
Felice laughed. “It’s hard to believe you care.”
“It’s even tougher for me to believe. You’re a pest, otherwise.”
“Now that’s the Marty Jamison I would expect to hear.”
“I’ve never been quoted as having said anything bad about you.”
Felice raised her eyebrows. “Tater tot?”
Marty snickered. “Okay, yeah, there’s that, but it’s more of a nickname. Personally, I’d like to spank the hell out of you and then find you some decent support instead of those men sucking down your champagne.”
Felice shook her head. “Right. New support and next week I’m cast as the new replacement for Roxy Hart in Chicago.”
“Probably not, but you’d have a good shot at nailing a spot as a cellblock dancer.”
“That’s just what I want. Start at the bottom. No thank you.”
“That role is not the bottom, Felice. Not on Broadway.”
“Despite what you say, I do have my following.” Felice was resentful. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you? That’s what this ‘Marty cares’ speech is all about.”
“Not for a minute.”
Felice didn’t need to know otherwise. That would have been too much free ammunition for her. Still, Marty felt a need to offer advice to the pixie from Pittsburgh. The music ended and she kept hold of Felice.
“Listen to me, Felice. Don’t waste your talent filling the pockets of those men. You’ll regret it. You’re at an age where the right part will launch you into a fantastic career. Maybe more than you’d ever imagined. Find the opportunity. Do not let this time pass without taking control.”
Felice was indifferent. “Thank you for the advice, and I’ll keep it in mind. You dance a nice rumba, by the way.”
“You do, too.” She released her and watched her walk from the floor. Felice suddenly stopped. She walked back to Marty and looked square into her eyes. “Is there something you want to say?”
Felice moved close and reached for her hat. When she touched the brim, she put her arm around Marty’s waist and pulled her close. She used the hat to shield their faces from the crowd. Applause broke out for their gesture.
“They think we’re kissing and I’ll get better press.”
She smiled. “Good job. I’ll just be pummeled by Liz.”
“Oops, sorry,” Felice said and took the hat away.
“Not so fast. If you play, you pay.” She leaned over and kissed Felice full on her mouth. She grinned and released her as cameras still flashed. Felice stormed off the dance floor to even greater applause. Marty returned to her table and Liz, who wore a look of amusement on her face. “She’ll see those pictures on the front of The New York Post tomorrow.”
“You’re evil,” Liz said. “Otherwise, you didn’t look exactly pleased out there.”
“Felice isn’t one to listen to sound advice. I truly don’t like watching those men use her.” She shrugged. “That’s her choice.” She kissed Liz’s hand. “Let’s skip dinner and go back to your place.”
Liz threw her napkin on the table and Marty grabbed the bottle of champagne from the ice. She held it toward Felice and winked. “Thanks. Good night.”
*
Marty popped the corked champagne bottle and Liz yelled from the bedroom, “Just pour one glass. We’ll share. Bring it back here.”
When she arrived in the bedroom, Liz wore a floor length orange negligee. She handed a yellow one to Marty.
“It’s late. Stay with me tonight.”
“That was my intention.” She sat against the headboard and patted the space next to her. “Sit with me.”
Liz curled at her side. “I’ll put you up in the guestroom.”
She nearly choked on her champagne. “Like hell. I’m sleeping with you. It’ll be our Marriott redux and a terrific test for our celibacy. Anyway, you don’t have a guestroom.”
Without hesitation, Liz took the glass and finished the contents. She placed the glass on the nightstand. “Good. I’ve wanted to cuddle with you all night. Let me watch you undress.”
“Bad girl.” Marty pushed from the bed. When she reached for the nightgown, Liz snatched it away.
“I don’t think you need to wear this.”
“You’re wearing one.” She climbed onto the bed. On hands and knees, she crawled over to Liz and then straddled her. She pinned Liz’s hands to the wall.
“I told Felice if she plays, she pays.” She moved her breasts closer and then backed away when Liz nearly trapped the dress with her teeth. “Cha-ching,” she said and took the nightgown.
“Tease.”
With her back to Liz, Marty slipped out of her dress and let the nightgown fall over her head and shoulders. She pulled the blanket back and slipped between the sheets. Liz turned off the light, snuggled, and stroked Marty with featherlike touches. Tender fingers moved from Marty’s shoulder and then grazed her back. A warm palm slid over her hip and the same fingertips scrolled to the back of her knee.
Marty swung her leg over Liz’s hip and pulled her closer. She moved her fingers freely through folds of Liz’s hair. It was cool to the touch. Strands flowed evenly and fell quietly into soft waves. Liz’s breaths were steady, their sound left pure within the quiet space of her lips to Marty’s ear. Marty touched her lips to Liz’s forehead and a breath turned into a sigh.
“What are you thinking?” Liz asked.
“I feel protective of you. I want to take care of you.” She eased her arm around Liz. “You fit nicely in my arms and in my life. I don’t want to imagine you not being there.”
Liz breathed a sound of contentedness. “Each time you say something new, I feel as though I’ve opened a magnificent Christmas present.”
“Do you like Christmas?”
“It’s my favorite holiday.” She looked into Marty’s eyes. “Love flows. There’s no stopping it.”
“No stopping it,” she repeated and her heart smiled. “I want to make love to you.”
Liz ran her fingers over Marty’s cheek. “I want you, too.”
“But we won’t,” she said and then kissed Liz softly.
“We made a pact.”
She ran her hand over the curves of Liz’s back. “I’ll stay content holding you and listening to your sleep sounds.”
“We’re like granite. We can bear the load.” Liz closed her eyes. “Good night, kitten.”
“We’re Gibraltar.” Marty mentally tiptoed up the timeline and thought, Closer to loving you, every minute I’m with you. “Good night.”
Chapter Ten
One week into endless readings of the script, Marty’s throat felt like she’d swallowed razor blades. Allison fed her warm tea with honey, and Nina stuffed her with cough drops. Liz and Clive accommodated her by working on additional dialogue problems. Their reworking the script gave her time to relax and care for her persistent throat condition. She talked in a whisper if she wasn’t reading.
One consolation was that a much better show came to fruition. Liz and Clive were diligent in their pursuit of perfect dialogue. After three days, they knew the lines better than she did and perhaps with more enthusiasm. During one reading, Marty and Clive sat in the house and listened while Liz read the live character and Allison read the subconscious character. The new dialogue was funny, but still flat in some areas. Liz and Clive went back to working the words and sent Marty
to her dressing room.
In her room, Marty opened another cough drop and popped it into her mouth. If nothing else, her sinuses were clear. She stripped off her top and then stretched belly first onto the daybed. Nina slathered warm gel onto Marty’s back and began a soothing massage.
“Tell me all about it, sugar,” Nina said. “What are those mean ol’ people doing to my girl?”
“No more than is expected from them. We’re making great strides, but we’re nowhere near a final script. Maybe we’ll have it right in a few days.”
“And how are you feeling about everything?”
“I still don’t think I can carry the entire show. I’m overwhelmed and nearly a physical wreck. I’m out of my comfort space. Every morning, when I think of coming back here, I want to puke. That’s not me, Nina. That’s not Marty Jamison.”
“What are your alternatives? Can you hire another actor to costar? How about Linda Wyman? She’s done fine understudy work for you.”
“Linda’s working another show. I’ve talked to Allison about sharing the bill, but she’s just found out she’s four months pregnant and we’ll need to replace her. When she and Liz read the script, their performance came through as extraordinary tête-à-tête. Our play works with two people.” She crunched her cough drop and a hit of eucalyptus plowed through her nose. She sniffed. “Another problem is money. Liz can’t get hold of the right people for additional financial backing.”
Nina stopped her massage. “Are you crying?”
“No. It’s these damn cough drops.” Then she weakened. A gush of tears fell from her eyes and she sobbed against her pillow. “I can’t do it, Nina. I feel horsewhipped.”
“Come here, sugar. Things aren’t that bad,” Nina said. Marty turned and gratefully accepted Nina’s shoulder. “In all our years together, you’ve been tough. Only once have you cried in front of me. Do you remember that time?”
“The night Broadway’s lights dimmed for Joyce. Hers was the longest minute of darkness that I’d ever felt.” Her eyes stung with the memory.
“Joyce taught you a lot about the business. She tucked you under her wing without a darn bit of fear that you might overshadow her.”
“She taught me everything.”
Nina grabbed a tissue from the table and handed it to her. “Joyce saw a lot of herself in you. Spunk, no bullshit, ready to do the show and do it right. She made darn sure the show went on.”
“Ever the trouper. I still miss her.”
“Sure you do.” Nina nodded toward Joyce’s photograph. “She loved you like a daughter and she believed in you.”
“She was my lifeline.” She dried her eyes and looked back at Nina.
“She’s always looking down on you, sugar. If Joyce were here, she’d tie you down on stage and keep you there until you owned that part. Let her know you haven’t forgotten her. Go out there and do whatever it takes to get that show right.”
“You always know the right things to say to me.”
“That’s why I’m here. Make Joyce proud and win me a Tony. I need a new doorstop for my bathroom.”
Marty laughed and stole a final cry in Nina’s arms. When she settled, she blew her nose, popped another cough drop, and put on her blouse. “Okay. I’ll give the damn play everything I’ve got.”
“That’s my girl,” Nina said.
*
For the remainder of the week, Marty worked meticulously to set her pace and commit lines to memory, even with constant changes thrown to her from Liz and Clive. When Liz made a sudden departure to Connecticut for the weekend, Marty studied alone and on the stage.
The set was originally sparse, with nothing more than a dressing table, a chair, a bed, and one armoire. Bert and the set designer had seen to Liz’s request of glamour. Soft pillows, flowers, pastel fabrics, and a special pillow requested by the set director adorned the bedroom. Nina contributed an overstuffed, five-foot floor cushion with red silk on one side. The other side was yellow. Depending on which costume Marty wore, the pillow would show the opposite color. The cushion was there for the reenactment of a scene from the character’s previous show.
If Marty had a favorite scene among the messy play, that was her favorite. She loved the sensuality of Nina’s pillow against her body and she’d make darn sure her audience would experience the same feeling if they sat as far back as the rear of the balcony or Brooklyn. Marty loved that pillow.
“It’s purrfect,” she told Nina.
Bert brought out a prop bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He placed a crystal tumbler next to it on the dressing table of cosmetics and perfumes. Clive wanted the character to drink something more elegant, but Marty insisted on feeding her cheap whiskey. Jack Daniel’s fit the character’s mood. A prop pistol was stashed inside the armoire and atop the bed lay an old script. She arranged the items to how she would pick them up.
By the middle of the second week, she was ready to go with a full rehearsal without the script. If Liz and Clive made additional changes, she memorized them immediately.
Soundmen wired her so her throat would no longer tear to shreds. That in itself was a major step toward her feeling more comfortable in the role, and she’d stop whining about her throat. She could finally do away with those damn cough drops, too.
Overhead lighting was sufficient for their current needs and they’d wait until next week to use the full technical crew. Marty felt one hundred percent into the show and she bubbled again.
“I can’t wait to get into this teddy.” She stepped into the red garment. “I love these spaghetti straps.”
“The low cut shows some cleavage. I think that’s hot,” Nina said and pulled at the material around Marty’s waist and breasts. “I think you’ve dropped a couple of pounds. Anna may have to take this in soon.”
“Really? I’ll let her know how it feels.” Marty adjusted the crotch of her nightwear. “This is wide.”
“Anna didn’t want you to wake up one morning and see your pubic hair all over YouTube. I don’t think Liz would appreciate it either.”
“Good thinking.” She let out a breath of satisfaction. “I’m excited about running through a dress rehearsal. I think we’ve finally gotten it together.”
“Great. Now sit down and let me put your face on you.” Nina moved the band of microphone that a soundman had attached near Marty’s hair. “Oh shit,” she said. “Do you think we announced your pubic hair to everyone?”
“I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming.” She shook her head. “Can’t do anything about it, if we did.”
A knock came to the door. “It’s Liz.”
“Come in,” Marty said.
The door squeaked open and Liz closed it behind her. “Are you almost ready?”
“In a few minutes.” She took hold of Liz’s hand. “I missed you this afternoon.”
“I’m here now. Sorry about my escape, but I had to do another bank job with Paul. He says hello.” Liz brought her arm from behind her back and handed her a single white rose. “Break a leg.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep smell of the robust flower.
Nina repositioned the microphone and patted Marty’s shoulders. “Done. I’m going out to watch the show.” She left the dressing room.
Marty stood. “I’m nervous. This feels like an opening night.” She stroked Liz’s cheek with the flower petals.
“I think you’ll do well.” She smiled. “I can’t wait to watch you do the pillow scene. That should be yummy.”
Marty wrapped her arms around Liz and held her loosely. “I’ll do the scene especially for you.” She leaned closer and placed baby kisses around her ear.
“I love when you do that. It vibrates all the way to my toes.”
“Steamy.”
“Hot,” Liz said. “I want instant gratification when you nibble.” She bit into Marty’s earlobe and pulled back quickly. Horror shone through her eyes and Marty braced for the worst. “Is that your microphone?” Her voice cracked into pubescent. �
��Are we live?”
“I’m not sure, but we’ll find out soon enough.”
“Jesus Christ.” She turned completely around and stomped out of the room. “I can’t believe I have to go out there and face everyone.”
Marty kept up with Liz’s brisk pace. With the direction they’d taken, their turn forced them to enter the house via the stage. When they entered the wing, Liz pulled back the curtain and stepped onto the apron. Marty held back the drape and heard whistles and applause. Liz stopped, took a bow, flipped them the bird, and then flounced down the steps to take a seat.
“Now there’s a trouper.”
“You ready, Jamison?” Bert asked.
“Yes.”
To open act one, the character rolled around in bed, unable to sleep. Marty walked onto stage, scooted under the blankets, and sank into an uncomfortable mattress. With her back to the audience, it disappointed her that she wouldn’t see the curtain rise. That was always her favorite moment.
“Here we go,” Bert said and Marty closed her eyes. At the flowing sound of the pulleys, her body reacted as though she stood inches from the curtain. Her flesh prickled with the meanest sting and felt wonderful.
On Allison’s cue from the wing, Marty fell into character. She rolled fitfully, tossed blankets, fluffed a pillow, and then rolled toward the house. She sighed heavily. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up.
She grumbled, “A woman can’t get any sleep when she’s contemplating suicide.”
Clive yelled from the audience and pointed to his ear. “Cut. We have a sound problem.”
“Damn it,” Marty said. She sat cross-legged on the bed and looked toward the house. “It worked fine a minute ago.” Liz shrunk into her seat.
A soundman came to the stage. “Let me see your mic.”
She reached for the microphone, but it wasn’t attached. She looked up at him. “Maybe it’s in the hallway or my dressing room. Sorry.”
He trotted off stage. “Test. Test,” soon rang through the auditorium. He returned and reattached the instrument.
“Let’s try it again,” Clive said.
And she did. She put all of herself into the first act. If she’d had any indication that the missing microphone would foretell the direction the act would take, she’d have crawled under the blankets and stayed there.