by Bobbi Marolt
“We’ll talk about it when I’m there.”
Marty finished her drink and then walked leisurely to the Stanwyck. She’d been numbed and angered by the day’s rapid progression and outcome. Still, she laughed to herself. Felice Tate. Her costar. She could deal with Felice, but found the rest difficult to swallow.
When she entered her dressing room, Nina, Felice, and Liz sat on the day bed. Clive appeared comfortable in the bulky chair, and Allison sat at the vanity. Allison stood and offered the seat, but Marty waved her down.
“Do you need me, Jamison?” Bert asked.
“No, Bert. Liz or Clive will be in touch with you. Good night,” she said. Bert waved as he left the room. She remained at the threshold. She couldn’t hear as much as a breath from the others. “Thanks for meeting with me. It’s been a hell of a day for events, and this is what I have to say about today’s happenings.” She looked over at Liz. “In all of your creative spontaneity, you failed to consult with me and my feelings, especially with turning the show into pot shots at me.”
“They won’t be pot shots.”
“Yes, they will be. You should have let Felice read and then all four of us would have sat down and discussed your new ideas. I won’t fault you for that because you’re new at the production helm.” She turned her head to Clive. “Clive, you knew better.”
Clive sat up. “I’m—”
“Let me finish. I’ll do the show. I agree with Allison that your new idea is brilliant, but I’m taking some time off. All of us agreed to begin rehearsal early, and gee, hasn’t that been fun? However, my contract clearly states that rehearsal officially begins in another ten days. She looked back at Liz. “Our writer and producer will be in the Bahamas for the next few days and we have no script, so my presence isn’t necessary. Clive can attend to things that won’t need my input.”
“Don’t forget,” Liz said with a bite to her voice, “you’re on retainer as producer.”
Marty slapped her with a broad smile. “I produced a bunch of bucks in less than an hour. How’ve you done?”
Liz turned red. “I can have a new scr—”
Marty looked away from her and continued. “Nina, would you get me a paper and a pen, please.” Nina hustled and then handed her a notebook and pencil. Marty wrote a phone number and name down. She tore the paper off and handed it to Liz. “Betty Tomlinson composes terrific music. Tell Betty the songs are for me and she’ll jump on her piano.” She wrote on another page and handed it to Felice. “That’s where I live. I’d like you to come over tomorrow at noon, if Clive releases you for the day.” She looked at Allison. “Thank you for defending me today.”
“You’re welcome,” Allison said.
“Okay, gang, there you have it. I’ll be back in this theater in ten days. If Liz comes up with a script before that, give me a call. I’ll see what I’m doing at the time.” Marty smiled. “One more thing, but this is only a suggestion. I’d like the show titled I’ve Got You and I want a big ol’ exclamation point at the end of the title. Make sure it’s on the marquee, too.” She waved. “Have a good weekend, everybody.”
As she walked down the hall, she heard Clive talking.
“This’ll cost a fortune. I’ll make some calls for money. Just get that script into her hands soon.”
When she stepped back into the summer sun, she turned off her cell phone and felt relief. At her next stop, she would fall happily into her bed and a much needed sleep coma.
Chapter Thirteen
After five hours of wonderful sleep, Marty stood under a long, warm shower. She sang every show tune she could think of until she dried off, slipped a T-shirt over her head, and pulled on a pair of shorts. She twisted her hair into an upsweep and clipped it to the back of her head.
At the front door, she shoved her keys into her pocket, put on a pair of sandals, and grabbed her cell phone. She left her apartment and walked until she reached Liz’s place. She hit speed-dial number one on her phone.
“Hello, sleepyhead. How was your nap?”
“Refreshing. I’m outside. Can I come up?”
“Yes,” Liz said and they met at the apartment door. “You look wonderful.”
“I feel wonderful, but we need to talk about what happened today.”
Liz closed the door. “Right to the point, huh? No hello? No kiss?”
Marty sat on the sofa and leaned back. “Come here, babe.” Liz was next to her within seconds. “You feel good.”
“How about that kiss?”
Marty gave her a warm, tender kiss. “I care for you in a whole bunch of ways. Do you believe that?” She ran her fingers through Liz’s hair.
“I do. You’re about to read the riot act to me, aren’t you?”
“Not too badly. In fact, you might enjoy it.” She dotted Liz’s cheek with soft kisses and slow passes of her tongue.
“I’m sorry, Marty. I got carried away with the possibilities of you and Felice.”
“The same way I’m getting carried away?” she asked and kissed her way to Liz’s throat. She bit gently and then again. Liz moaned softly.
“No. I like this more.”
“You’ve turned this show personal for Felice and for me.” She opened two buttons on Liz’s blouse and found unrestrained breasts. She ran her fingertips across curved flesh, intentionally missing her nipples. Liz squirmed when Marty opened the remaining buttons and removed the blouse. She clasped Liz’s breasts. “You didn’t stop to think how we might feel.”
“You’re right. I didn’t think.” Her breaths shortened.
Marty took one breast, as much as she could, into her mouth and released it. “Knowing me on a private level interfered with your professional approach.”
“I suppose it did. Take my other breast.”
She ignored the request. “No, no supposition there. I need to keep separate my private and personal lives, regardless of what the show may bring my way.”
“I’ll be more careful.”
Marty pulled Liz’s lounge pants over her hips. She knelt on the floor and ran her fingers through the dark trim of pubic hair. Liz leaned against the back of the sofa. Eyes closed, her chest raised and lowered with each shallow breath. Marty parted Liz’s legs. She could have stayed another full night looking at Liz’s body, to explore each outward curve and enter warm, fascinating places. Marty propped Liz’s feet on the sofa. Liz gasped when Marty touched sensitive flesh.
“I need to punish you.” She kept her eyes on the center of Liz’s thighs.
“Don’t tease me.”
“Like you’ve never teased me.” She rested her finger against Liz’s now wet flesh. Liz moaned and pushed forward. “Is this what you want?” She pressed slightly inside.
“Yes.”
Marty smiled and moved her finger slowly upward to Liz’s clitoris. At the slightest pressure, Liz jerked. “And this?”
“Oh, yes. A lot of that.”
She took her hand away and leaned forward. She lifted the front of her T-shirt and pressed her breast against Liz.
Liz groaned loudly and moved her hips side to side. “What are you doing to me?”
Marty moved back and lowered her shirt. She took Liz’s hand and placed it against the flesh she had just teased. “I’m punishing you.”
Liz’s eyes snapped open. “You want me to—”
“I want to watch you. If you don’t let me, I’ll bring big purple over here.”
“No. Don’t. No big purple.” She began a slow and steady massage.
Marty smiled. She kissed Liz’s inner thighs while she watched the tempo of her hand and thighs quicken. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Lesson one.” She kissed the hand that stroked. “When my name is on the marquee, you’ll confer with the actors.”
Liz’s breath caught. “Please touch me. I need to feel you.”
“Lesson learned?” She asked, caressing Liz’s hand with her cheek.
“Yes. Confer with the actors.”
<
br /> “Lesson two.” She licked the back of Liz’s hand. “Never close an audition without consulting with the director.”
“Lesson learned. Please touch me.”
“You’ll be a good little producer?”
“The best,” she said with minimal breath.
Marty slid her finger inside Liz. With a loud, quick, and sharp grunt and then another, Liz came until nothing remained but the sounds of her raspy breaths. Her feet dropped to the floor and she rolled her head to the side. Her eyes remained closed.
“I killed her.” Marty smiled. While Liz fell asleep, Marty took another long look at her body. “Come on, babe. Off to bed with you.” Liz was a ragdoll moving into Marty’s arms and into the bedroom. “I’ll set your alarm. What time?”
“Five,” she murmured and pulled the sheet over her.
Marty pushed some buttons on the alarm clock. Liz nestled into the pillow and Marty kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams,” she said and Liz grabbed her hand.
“Sleep here. Liz wants kitten here.”
Marty smiled. She had calls to place, but they could wait until morning. Still in street clothes, Marty stretched onto the bed, and Liz backed into her arms.
“Good night, Liz.”
*
Just after noon on Friday, Felice rang the visitor buzzer to Marty’s apartment. They met on the landing outside.
“Hello, Tater tot. I’m glad you came.”
Felice shook her head. “I don’t know what made me think you might call me Felice.” She glared at Marty. “Can I get a little more respect from you?”
“Sure. Will you curb your penchant for slamming me in public?”
“What? Not call you old and yesterday’s news?” She laughed. “You’ve been a wonderful target.”
“You’re just an obnoxious little pissant.” She looked away when she heard a slight gasp from Felice. She straightened her smile and turned back.
Felice grabbed Marty’s arm. “I’m what?”
“I invited you over because I want to spank the brat in you.” She pulled her toward the steps but let her go when Felice showed the slightest sign of panic.
Felice stared at her. Then she laughed nervously. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” Marty didn’t answer, but reached for her arm again. “Aren’t you?” Felice backed away.
She couldn’t get enough of seeing Felice’s frightened look again. It teetered between “Oh, shit” and “Is this woman nuts?” She let her wonder for another few seconds, and then she nodded.
“I’m playing with you. Do you have time to walk down to the piers?”
Felice let her breath out. “Sure.”
Through the row of brownstone apartments, they strolled casually toward the Hudson River. Felice was talkative and interested in what had developed yesterday.
“I’m not sure why Liz and Clive apologized to me, but I felt I should accept,” Felice said. “Can you steer me around there?”
Marty smiled. She owned a terrific opportunity to tell her any silly thing that she might believe, but didn’t take the time to think of anything witty. She looked over at her costar. Felice was twenty-five and looked much younger without makeup and clothes fit for a Woody Allen tribute. She looked too vulnerable to toy with.
“You’ve just landed a costarring role with me. That’s usually reserved for someone who’s done some work on Broadway.” Felice smiled. “I get a lot of creative control with my contracts, and I would discuss with you any changes that might take place. Liz and Clive had a moment of temporary insanity and let their egos sound off. In short, they should have approached us together.”
“We’re the boss?”
“Absolutely not. It’s all about respect. It’s not about turning diva, like I did yesterday. That happened because of many other circumstances surrounding our show. They understand why I walked out.”
“They told me it’s been rough going since production began.”
“Exactly, and yesterday they got caught up in the fact that the one person I’d laughed about costarring with me actually gave them an approach to make the show work. Did they explain anything about our miserable play?”
“Yes, and thankfully. I didn’t dare ask. I’m nobody.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You are someone, even Off Broadway.” Marty looked over at her. “Are you still afraid of me?”
“Not as much.” Felice smiled. “At least I don’t feel like I’ll throw up. That’s got to mean something.”
“Good. I want you to be comfortable.”
“I still think I’m a better actor than you.”
“I have no doubt you feel that way.”
They crossed the West Side Highway to access the piers. Several small boats sailed the river, and a Circle Line cruise ship chugged through another round of the island. Across the river was New Jersey, with her own set of piers. The afternoon was comfortably warm and they took a seat along the railing.
“To steer you around some more, the original show was insane, and I won’t bother with explanation. We needed a second actor to play my subconscious. Eventually, we held auditions and then you barged in.”
“I don’t know what gave me the nerve.”
“Imagine my surprise. I haven’t had the time to talk with Clive and Liz, but the gist of what they want is giving your character lines similar to things you might say about me.”
“I’m playing me?”
“Not exactly, but they expect the audience to read us as Marty and Felice. The idea is cheap and a little sleazy, but it’ll work.”
“And you don’t mind?”
“I was beyond pissed off at first, but not now. Frankly, there’s been so much bullshit with this show that I welcome the idea if only to get things going. I had initial negative feelings, but I think we could have some fun. Can you sing?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Can I ask you something personal?”
“It depends on how personal.”
“Who are the men that escort you around town?”
“Two of them are my uncles and the other is a friend of theirs. They manage me.”
“Are you happy with them? Do they have you on contract?”
She hesitated. “I get work, but only part time. No contracts. I trust my family.”
“Are you uncomfortable talking about them?”
“Yes, because it’s Marty Jamison who asks. You don’t need to hear about my failed acting career. It’s embarrassing for me.”
“You haven’t failed and don’t be embarrassed. Off Broadway runs some great shows and I recall an Obie nomination for you. That’s their equivalent to a Tony. It’s a big deal. You need the right people working for you. What are your plans as far as acting?”
“I’d like to continue. I’m a good actor. My day job is boring and I balance boredom on stage. That’s the fun part of my evening and weekends.”
“What’s your day job?”
“I manage a medical office.”
“Would you rather act more?”
“Yes. I’ve never full out pursued acting because it felt too big. You know what I mean?”
Marty nodded. “Yes, and I also hear a confidence problem. I’ve seen your stage work and you’re a natural for the job. I get the feeling your uncles know that, but keep your talent at bay. That way they still cash in on you. If I called a couple agents and managers, would you consider dumping the three stooges and sign with someone reputable?”
Felice looked shocked. “You’d do that for me? Finding good representation is tough. Of course I’m interested.”
“I was counting on that answer.” She pulled a paper from her pocket and handed it to Felice. “I called some people this morning. The first two are agencies and the other two are local managers. They’re good people and always hungry for new talent. I’ve put in some good words for you, so give them a call.”
Felice took the paper. “You mean real work? Maybe revivals?”
“I can’t guarantee
Broadway, but somehow you’ve managed to wiggle your way in the door for now.” She nudged Felice. “How does that make you feel? You were screwing with me and landed the role.”
“I’m scared, but excited.”
“When I stepped onto my first Broadway show, I thought I’d bust a gut. I was your age and scared to death. Another actor took me under her wing and I want to pass that favor to you.”
“I’m surprised you don’t hate me, after all the things I’ve said about you.”
“You’ve made me laugh a lot, Felice. Just be sure to talk with some of the people on that list.”
They sat quietly. Marty felt good inside and wondered if a friendship might develop for them. They seemed comparable to herself and Joyce in that respect. Of course, she’d miss Felice’s entertaining jabs.
Marty’s phone rang. She found it at the bottom of her handbag and checked caller ID. “Our writer extraordinaire,” she said. “I have to take her call.”
“Hello.”
“Hi, kitten. Paul and I have a glitch here and I wanted you to know first.”
Magic. Marty’s abandonment issues instantly rose to the surface without hearing the news. Liz’s intonation was enough to alert the demon. She shifted in her seat and kept her eyes on the river. She said nothing.
“Marty?”
She answered with indifference. “I’m here.”
“The bank screwed up and I’m stuck here until Monday. I’ll call Clive and tell him not to expect me until Tuesday, but I’m working on a script and should have it completed by then.”
“How nice for you. The sun, the beach, Paul.”
“I can’t help—”
“Isn’t it wonderfully convenient for you? Things just drop into your lap like rain.”
“You know what I said about rain.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood for analogies. Maybe I’ll see you at the theater on Tuesday. Hopefully, a hurricane doesn’t demolish Nassau’s airport.”
“That was uncalled for, Marty. I suggest—”
“Tuesday, Liz.” She closed her phone and Felice stopped her from chucking it into the river.
Felice shook her head. “You’ll regret that,” she said and took the phone from Marty's hand.