by Bobbi Marolt
Words. She worked them the best she could, but they refused to stir interest even in her. They were lifeless. She felt like a babbling idiot, not that that was much of a stretch at times. She’d have preferred Allison and Liz going back and forth. The lines were funny, then. When Allison ran through them with her, they were in tears with laughter. Not now. Not with the singular sensation of Marty Jamison, who had signed on the dotted line and magically assassinated her career with one script. Marty didn’t need another bullet.
Exasperated, embarrassed, and damn angry, at the end of the first act she placed the prop gun onto the vanity and looked into the makeup mirror. She delivered the final line, not with the affection that Clive expected, but with sarcasm.
“I’ve got you.”
She waited patiently while the curtain fell unbearably slow. When it hit the floor, so did she, and she knocked the handgun from the vanity and across the stage. She didn’t bother to pull up the comfy pillow. Marty removed her mic. She stretched her legs in front of her and bent forward. When she reached her ankles, she held her palms to the floor. Her position relieved tension that may have otherwise released a flowing monologue of a single word. A loud string of “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” would have been the only highlight of act one, and she truly felt those words.
She stretched and breathed. She heard no sounds other than the air that escaped her throat. After four deep breaths, footsteps tapped the stage and she looked to her left. Bert stood next to her.
“Hey, Jamison.” He sat facing her and set the tumbler and bottle of whiskey in front of him.
“Hey, Bert.”
“How you doing, Marty?” he asked and poured three fingers’ worth of liquor from the bottle.
She pushed upright and looked at him. It was the first time she’d ever heard Bert call her by her first name. When she noticed his look of concern, her chest tightened and her eyes spilled tears without a single sob to justify them.
“Hey, now,” he said. “You aren’t the strong woman I know. Did you leave her under the blanket?”
She shook her head and Bert handed her the glass. The strong aroma of alcohol entered her nostrils. “I thought this was dyed water,” she said with an even tighter throat.
“My private stash,” he said. “Take a drink.”
Marty wiped her cheeks and took a large gulp from the glass. The whiskey burned all the way down her throat and took her breath away, but the fast swallow calmed her immediately. Alcohol fumes burned when she inhaled. She cleared them with a hard exhale. Getting drunk might not be a bad idea. She took another swallow and handed the empty glass back to Bert.
“That’s rough stuff.”
Bert tapped the bottle. “More?”
“One more.” She looked over at him. “What did you think about the act?”
Bert poured more whiskey. “It’s a tough show for you.”
“You hated it.” She slapped his leg. “I did, too. The whiskey, this is good. Thanks.” She emptied the glass again, and that drink went down more smoothly. “I’m acting like a baby over this show, but it’s not working no matter what I do.”
The effects of alcohol quickly hit her brain and she welcomed the numbness as it grew from the inside and traveled outward. Nina’s mega pillow beckoned. Although the floor was warped and mobile beneath her hands and knees, Marty crawled across the stage, climbed on top of the pillow, and kneaded like a content kitten.
“Meow,” she said and then curled into comfort. “This is good, too.”
“What’s your game plan?” Bert asked.
“I’m gonna lay here and let Jack Daniel’s have his way with me. The rest of the game is bullshit.” She heard more footsteps and opened one eye. Liz approached the pillow. Marty closed the eye. “Uh-oh. Here’s the boss. Don’t let her hurt me.”
“Give us a minute, Bert?” Liz said and sat on the cushion next to Marty’s feet.
“Sure,” he said. “I think she’s on our side, Jamison. I’ll talk to you later.”
Marty opened her eyes. Bert gathered his bottle, glass, and microphone and then left the stage. Allison made an entrance behind him.
“Is she okay?” Allison asked.
Marty raised an arm. “Present,” she said and dropped her arm back onto the pillow.
Liz pushed Marty’s hair from her cheek. “Our star’s just a little tipsy right now. Take the rest of the day off, Allison. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Marty curled closer to Liz and reached for her hand. With both eyes open, she gazed at Liz. Liz smiled, but her hair, so severely pulled back, looked like a migraine waiting to happen. Maybe the smile wasn’t real but stretched into life from a tight ponytail. She wore her reading glasses perched atop her head and looked scholarly.
Marty stifled a giggle. “You didn’t come here to ask me to do act two, did you? I won’t do it. This entire production is a shambles, and I’m seriously thinking of finding a new profession.” She reached for the handgun and haphazardly spun it on her finger. “I should have been a cowboy.”
“No. I’m here because you’re right. We need a costar.”
“Yup. Oh, did I tell you yet? I quit.”
Liz’s eyes widened with alarm. “You can’t quit.”
“I’m the great Jamison and I’ll do as I like.” She snorted a laugh. “Are you going to sue me?”
Liz looked away and then back. “I suppose if I have to, yes, I will.”
Marty snuggled into her pillow. “That’s scary. Lock me up and throw away the key. Bring me my bread and water and don’t let me drop the soap.” She thought about her words. “No. Cue the fallen soap. Heh.”
“This is serious. You’re contracted to perform and I—”
Marty closed her eyes and her words slurred. “Relax, Shandler. I hereby r’linquish my”—she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly—“finding a way to make the show work. You and Clive now have full creative control. And me? I’m taking the rest of the day off.” She buried her cheek further into the pillow. “Nina did good.”
Liz pulled Marty to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go into the dressing room. Nina and I will get you dressed and then I’m taking you home.”
Chapter Eleven
Three hours later, Marty awakened on Liz’s sofa. She opened her eyes to Lichtenstein’s bathing beauty. She sat up, stretched, and looked back at the crisp lines of the artwork.
“I like that picture.” She looked out the window. It was still daylight, but the sky was about to dump an evening shower on the city. She walked toward the kitchen and heard Liz’s quiet voice come from the bedroom.
“I’ll have to discuss this with Marty and Clive. I’m not much in the position for packing a bag for the Bahamas.”
Marty stopped and looked toward the bedroom. The Bahamas? Liz and Paul in the Bahamas?
Then Liz laughed softly. “Yes, of course I do, Paul. Everything is working out nicely. Don’t worry.”
There came the sickening feeling that swallowed Marty whole. Her mind raced with anxiety. She’s still seeing him. How did I let my guard down? Liz thinks I’m passed out and not hearing a word of their conversation. Had they actually pulled one over on me? What’s their plan? She shook off the thought.
What’s wrong with me? Am I plagued with making wrong decisions? First Rachel, then the play, and now Liz.
“No, they’re reasonable people. I’ll talk to them…I think that would be lovely…Okay. I’ll let you know tomorrow night. Good night, Paul.”
What would be lovely? A cozy getaway for two, at her emotional expense, didn’t sound lovely. Reasonable people? Yes, she considered herself a reasonable person, and Nina’s words came back to her. “I believe her.”
It was difficult not to charge into the bedroom and demand Liz tell her what was going on. Instead, she browsed a bookcase and waited for the call to end. Soft rain tapped the windows. Thunder rolled lightly. Maybe she’d call it quits with Liz.
When Liz entered the room, she appeared happy and nearly skipp
ed her way to the sofa. Marty didn’t feel the same exuberance. She felt used and unnecessary.
“Hello,” Liz said. “Was your nap refreshing?”
She tried sounding upbeat. “Sure. I see your afternoon went well.”
“It did. While you slept, I signed No Business, took a warm shower, and sent flowers to a friend.”
Marty forced a smile. “Sometimes a girl needs flowers.”
“She sure does.” Liz sat next to her. “Then I had an annoying call from Paul. I need to talk to you about my weekend.”
Her attention took particular hold and she was all ears to the story Liz might concoct. Marty draped her hand over Liz’s shoulder in an attempt to look casual and then sound casual. “What made your call annoying?”
“Paul and I have property in the Bahamas. We’ve been trying to sell the place and now we have a buyer. The problem is the bank in Nassau needs signatures in person. Paul wants to fly down Friday morning. We’ll sign the papers and I can return home Friday night at the latest. What do you think about that? I know the show’s in a bad place, but I have to get these things completed.”
At least she mentioned their destination and her story sounded legitimate. “I guess you should go. Call Clive and get his input.”
“I’ll call him later.” Liz toyed with Marty’s hair. Her tone changed from businesslike to tender. “We let you down. Clive and I never saw today’s train wreck coming. I’m sorry.”
“I was a spectacle, all right. The dialogue isn’t funny with one person. The character is ridiculous, and she’d be better off if she shot herself in the head.”
“Paul asked about our progress. I lied and I told him things were going smoothly.” Liz bit her lip. “He doesn’t need to know the gory details.” Then her eyes lit up. “Why don’t you come to the islands with us? We’ll stay the weekend and we can brainstorm ideas.”
Marty didn’t answer, but gave Liz a sour look. “While you’re gone, I’ll put a call out for auditions. I think we need a girl younger than me, someone who is fresh. Clive and I can hold auditions all weekend and we can start new on Monday.”
“Can you find someone that quickly?”
“In this business? Hell, yes. We’ll be swamped with enough women to fill the theater.” She thought for a moment. “I’ll also try to find more financial backing, although it’ll be tough since the show isn’t a big damn glamorous musical. No word from your elusive advisor?”
“None.” Liz bit playfully into Marty’s shoulder. “Know what? I didn’t get to see your pillow scene in the second act. I’m disappointed.”
“I doubt you missed anything.”
“What’s wrong, kitten? You sound angry with me. Is it the show?”
Marty couldn’t hold back any longer. “Ream me a new ass, but I heard portions of your conversation with your—with Paul.”
“And?”
“I feel pushed aside. My ex did that to me, and I don’t want that experience again.”
“Oh,” Liz said. “Well, I have to go. Did you never sort out the emotions you felt with your ex?”
“She cheated, I threw her out, end of story.”
“That answers my question.”
“I—”
“No.” Liz put her fingers to Marty’s lips. “Just listen to the rain with me. It’s a nice sound.”
“I’m about to call it quits and you want me to schmooze Mother Nature?”
“Quits? You aren’t a quitter. Please, just do this for me. We’ll talk in a minute.”
Soft waves of water splashed against the windows. Another bout of faint thunder rolled and disappeared. Marty wouldn’t mind taking off for sunny islands, but it didn’t seem appropriate with Paul in tow. Her mind flashed back to the day she met Liz. Steel drums echoed island music and Liz’s hair blew wildly. Marty’s life hadn’t been the same since that afternoon in Times Square, and she was thankful for every minute. Almost every minute. At that particular minute, she was pissed off but kept her trap shut to humor Liz.
“Rain happens,” Liz said. “The sweet part is it nourishes and strengthens our planet and fills it with flowers. We have to accept the rain, even if bucketfuls fall on our heads.”
“Well, kumbaya,” Marty said. Frustrated, she looked up at Liz. “Talk to me in real words. What’s on your mind?”
Liz snickered. “What? Not feeling the mood?”
“Don’t laugh at me. No, I’m not feeling the mood, and there’s more to your words. You writers like painting a pretty picture. Just skip to the lecture.”
Liz nodded. “Not a lecture, but you may not like what I have to say. You’ve had life coming down on you from all directions, and that’s created havoc for you.”
“I’m handling things.”
“Considering all that’s happening around you, you’ve managed reasonably well. I’ve disrupted your existence and the show has kicked you around, but I refuse to let your drama interfere with my emotions. I’m falling in love with you and I like the feeling. For me, that’s the flowers after the rain.”
“This rain of yours, is it my inability to deal with what’s happening around me?”
“It plays the lead role. We have something wonderful building, but your jealousy will quickly cause one minute of lights out on Broadway for us.”
“I’m not jealous of Paul. I can’t describe what I’m feeling, but it isn’t jealousy. Something isn’t sitting right with me.”
“How does abandonment sit with you?”
Abandonment had never crossed her mind, but the word was precise. She’d felt abandoned by Rachel.
“I can’t blame a glacier for my emotional striations. Those scars happened quickly and read more like an erratic EKG.”
“Let’s talk about the root of your feelings.” Liz leaned against the end of the sofa, a position that left Marty with a lesser feeling of pressure.
“No. My time with her is one I want to forget.”
“But you haven’t and your memory of her isn’t good for us.”
“I’ll try not to let it interfere.”
Liz used her foot to playfully nudge Marty. “Too late.”
“How can you be so lighthearted? This is a serious discussion.”
“Yes, it is, but you aren’t discussing, you’re avoiding. I’m trying to help you. I don’t want you to call it quits. We’re worth more.”
Rachel and her little snack of the day looked so smug when Marty had ordered them out of her apartment. She could ignore her feelings, couldn’t she? No, she couldn’t. With a thought of Rachel, Marty reacted with such internal anger that she wanted to chew glass. Was Liz worth feeling the anger and agony of that afternoon?
“Marty?” Still, Liz waited, giving every opportunity to open a dialogue. “I want you to leave. I need to think about what I should do about us.” When she pushed up from the sofa, Marty grabbed her hand.
“No. I’ll talk.” Marty bit her lip, thinking of where to begin. “I’m a confident woman. I haven’t been a saint, but I’ve made things happen without hurting other people.”
Liz sat with her. “You have a good name in this city.”
“Yeah, well, how silly was Marty for thinking everyone should act the same way?”
Liz sat up and shook her head. “Stop there. When you talk about yourself in the third person, you don’t own the problem. You give it to someone else.”
“It isn’t easy for me to admit failure.”
“What failure?”
“My relationship with my ex.”
“What was her name?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. A name makes her real, too.”
Marty’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t mentioned Rachel’s name out loud to another person in more than a year. She’d made the memory a private hell. All she wanted was to tend to unfinished business and she had a name for that business. Before she had thrown Rachel out, she should have delivered a dozen or so slaps to her face. Those missing slaps were the only regret she ha
d in her life.
Marty twisted her hair with her fingers. She stared at the floor and then looked up at the Lichtenstein phone caller. The bubbled caption stood out. “OHHH…ALRIGHT.” Marty looked over at Liz.
“Rachel. Her name was Rachel,” Marty said quickly to get it over. Her words then came more easily. “I thought I’d done something wrong for her to want other women, but I was there for her emotionally, physically, and I was supportive of her career. She was a talent agent. I didn’t know a constant bevy of women had her mouth wandering all over most of Manhattan and half of New Jersey. I found that out later. How hard is it for people to remain faithful?”
“For some it’s unheard of. How bad was it for you?”
“After two years of living together, she asked if I would consider an open relationship. That left me with the worst feeling of unworthiness, that there was something I wasn’t giving her. I told her sleeping around was sleazy. If she wanted other women, there was no point in us remaining together. She promised she wouldn’t and I trusted her.” She suddenly felt embarrassed. “Oh. I’m sorry I said sleazy. I know you and Paul saw other people.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not the issue.”
“But that’s where you become the issue. You didn’t leave Paul and you had other lovers. I’m afraid if we’re together, you’ll want other lovers the same way Rachel wanted them.”
“Paul and I weren’t sleeping together. We were roommates. We had the paper that said until death do us part, but that paper was sexually worthless for us as a couple. We didn’t hide anything from each other, and my extracurricular activities during that relationship have nothing to do with how I’ll feel and act with you.”
“Do you understand my hesitation? The possibility of infidelity scares the hell out of me.”
“Of course I understand,” Liz said. “Why did Rachel sleep with other women?”
“I—” She stopped. “I never asked her and we haven’t talked since. I’d assumed it was because she was a player.”