by Bobbi Marolt
Nina handed a single white teddy to Felice. “Here’s your wardrobe. I hope the lights will keep you warm.” Then Nina handed Marty one pair of silk pajamas. “They’ve changed your wardrobe, sugar.”
“Black pajamas. I guess I’m the old broad now. At least I won’t have to worry about YouTube.” She tossed the sleepwear onto the daybed.
“Do I have a dressing room?” Felice asked.
Nina motioned to the right with her thumb. “One door down. It’s small, but I’ve spruced it up for you.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later, Marty.” Felice grabbed a bagel and closed the door behind her.
“Did you call Rachel?”
She looked into the mirror at Nina standing behind her. “Voice mail.”
“Bummer.” Nina played with Marty’s hair. “Do you want any special look to your hair for the show?”
“No. Nina, I’m about to ask you a question with the maturity of a fifth grader.”
“What is it?”
“Has Liz ever said anything to you about me?”
“Plenty.” She dropped Marty’s hair. “But I’ll be damned if you’ll get it out of me.”
“I figured as much. We’re kind of separated.”
“I know.” From behind, Nina wrapped her arms around Marty’s shoulders. “She’s nuts about you, sugar. That’s all I’m saying.”
She turned in her seat. “I hope I hear from Rachel soon.”
“It’ll happen. Come on.” Nina pulled her to her feet. “Let’s join the others.”
Nina had made a point to steer her away from entering through the stage. “Clive wants to knock your socks off when he brings the curtain up,” Nina said.
Felice met them and followed them through the hall. They entered the house from the main auditorium doors and joined the others in the first few rows of seating. Clive and Liz were looking at the script. Nina took a seat in the fifth row. Allison and the additional understudies sat together in row four.
“Let’s work,” Marty said and sat with Felice in row three.
Clive turned to face them. “We’d like to do the read-through a bit differently. Instead of a table reading, we want you to do it on stage. Sit and walk around at your leisure. Get comfortable in your bedrooms. You know, make them yours.”
“Really?” Marty asked and looked at Liz who nodded. Marty wanted to smother her with kisses, so she turned to Felice. “Is that okay with you?” Felice agreed. “We’re good to go.”
“Good.” Clive looked toward the stage. “Bert,” he yelled, “would you bring up the curtain, please?”
The spotlights went off and her eyes turned to the stage when she heard the curtain rise. The set itself was dark and the only item readily seen was a white pillow, placed down center, just before the curtain line.
Liz turned around to face them. “Felice, you’re set for stage left. Marty is stage right.”
“Stage right? Do I make any exits? I don’t do stage right exits.”
“No exits. You’re in a bedroom all night. There’s nowhere to go.” He turned to the rear of the theater. “Light the stage lights, please,” he said louder.
The split stage resembled Liz’s earlier diagram. Marty’s bedroom was on the audience left. The furniture positions mirrored Felice’s, but decor and props were different. Marty’s room was set with lavish but muted colors, and contemporary furniture. Even the artwork begged for a pick-me-up. Everything was elegant and comfortable but boring.
Felice’s bedroom was bright with colorful lights fashioned in a manner that placed Marty’s mind into the middle of Times Square at night. There was a circus feel to her half. That room exuded positive energy.
Clive made a note to his papers and then spoke. “Marty, we’ve established your character in her present time and we’ve jacked up her age to mid-fifties. She’s regretful, angry, and ready to take a powder. Your subconscious character is set thirty years earlier, her mid-twenties. She’s young, vibrant, and ready to take on the world with her optimism.”
“Cool,” Felice said. “I get it. All those years ago, I wanted the lights and excitement of Broadway. I was full of hell and anxious to make a mark.” She looked over at Marty. “Then I grew up and now I’m boring.” Her voice trailed and then she laughed. “Is that what I have to look forward to? Beige?”
Marty laughed. “Yeah, pretty much.” She paused when Liz snickered. She looked over at her and smiled. “I like the set. It works for the characters.”
“Come on, you two,” Liz said.
They followed her up the steps and onto the stage. Marty sat on her chair near the armoire and Felice sat on her bed. Soundmen wired the actors and Liz gave pencils and copies of the script to Marty and Felice. Marty examined the pencil tip.
“Sharpened to the likes hitherto unknown to mankind.”
Liz nodded. Their eyes lingered. “Hitherto. Break a leg, kitten.”
“Thanks.”
Thanks? For what? For just having made her day? For having sparked a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, Liz would soon warm up to her? Maybe thanks for setting her heart all giggly and gooey? She watched Liz descend the stairs. Yes, she was thankful for all of those reasons.
“Felice, show this woman what good acting is all about,” Liz said and took her seat in row two.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Clive said. “Just say the lines however you feel them.”
Marty opened the script, and after taking a moment to consider her approach, she read her first line. “A woman can’t get any sleep when she’s contemplating suicide.”
Felice groaned. “Again with that? If I don’t get some decent sleep soon—”
“What do you care? You have your whole life ahead of you.”
Sleepily, Felice cocked her head toward Marty and said, “I’ll wake up looking like you.”
Marty waited for their light audience to stop laughing. She looked over at Felice and shot her a sarcastic grin. “I have news for you, sweetheart.”
Another bit of laughter and the actors warmed quickly to each other. They took off like rockets. Both dug instantly into the comedic and dramatic scheme, and their deliveries were perfect. With ease, they moved about their sets, often speaking directly to each other. When they reached the end of the first act, both sat at their vanities.
“Damn empty chambers,” Marty said.
She set down her handgun and poured a glass of prop whiskey. Felice poured a glass of wine. Both took a drink and then stared into their mirrored images.
“When did you start drinking whiskey? Drink enough of that and you won’t need another bullet.” Felice dipped her fingers into her wine.
“I don’t need another bullet.”
Felice spritzed Marty with the wine. “I’ve got you,” she said, and act one ended.
Marty blinked, her eyes narrowed, and an eyebrow twitched. She heard “Uh-oh” from Clive, and then a spate of clapping from the others.
Petty theft, an action that she attributed to Felice’s acting inexperience. Marty saw a quick lesson in Theater Protocol 101: Working with Marty Jamison, in Felice’s immediate future. She got up from her chair and walked to Felice’s side. She removed her back, turned her back to the others, and spoke softly.
“The good news is you were terrific, Felice.” Felice beamed a wide smile back to her. “The bad news is, and I’ll say this only once politely, you stole my line.”
Felice’s beaming smile vanished and she spilled into a fountain of apology. “I’m sorry, Marty. It just came out. It fit. I couldn’t stop it. Your character killed the drive in mine, and I needed to tell her. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course it was your line.”
Once again, Marty enjoyed Felice’s frightened look. “Relax, this time. The line worked better your way. For your future reference, I don’t mind losing lines if it’s necessary, but don’t spring changes on me that way. We’ll discuss them with Liz and Clive.”
“Okay. Got it.” Felice stood. “The way you lo
oked at me, I thought I was about to die.”
“Not this time. Aside from that.” She threw her arms around Felice and squeezed. “I just had a hell of a lot of fun.”
“Is everything okay up here?” Clive asked when he approached the stage.
“We’re good,” Marty said and Felice nodded. “I think we’re ready for act two.”
“Yes,” Clive finally shouted. “We have a show.”
Their morning progressed through the final acts. There were three sections marked as song inserts, and Marty ached to know what Betty had in store.
When the imaginary curtain came down on act three, Marty couldn’t show her happiness enough. She hugged everyone, including Bert, and felt as though the curtain had settled after a successful opening night.
“All right,” Clive said at the end of the day. “I feel good about this. You work well together. I say we wrap this up for today and come back in the morning.”
*
“I have a great vibe about the show,” Marty said as Nina was about to leave. She checked her phone for a message from Rachel. “She won’t call me. She’s vacationing. Everyone’s getting sun but me.”
“Extended sun isn’t good for you anyway.” Nina leaned over and kissed Marty’s cheek. “Your show is a winner, and I’m proud of you for bringing in Felice. I have a chicken to roast. See you tomorrow, sugar.”
While Marty gathered her belongings, footsteps echoed in the hallway and grew louder. Their patter stopped at her door and she turned around. Even with their strained relations, Liz turned her into a bundle of bliss.
“Hi.”
Marty smiled. “Hi back at you. How was your day?”
Liz entered the room and approached her. “Oh, I had a read-through with some zany actors. I think today was the most fun I’ve ever had in a work environment.”
“Theater is addicting.” She dug in her bag for her sunglasses. “Your script is good. I’m on my way home. Will you have a drink with me?”
“I can’t. Trish sent some book covers and galley proofs for me to look over. Lots of reading for the next few nights.”
Okay, babe. I’ll make dinner while you work and then we’ll settle in for the night, talk about the show, share some kisses, and try to make a baby. “Consider the offer a rain check, then.” She put on her sunglasses. “Your tan looks terrific.”
“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “You two knocked our socks off, by the way.”
“Wasn’t she great?”
“It’s too bad Clive cut the pillow scene. That was my favorite.” Her eyes moved slowly over Marty. The warm glow that enveloped her sent her right back to the night they had sat in the muck of Times Square.
“And so goes the theater.” Marty took her glasses off and gave Liz a curious look. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t? I’m upset with you, but you aren’t any less attractive to me.”
That irked Marty. “You won’t see me, but I’m okay to flirt with and ogle? That makes me feel like a slab of meat.”
Liz stepped closer. She grasped Marty’s arm and Marty hoped she would never let go. She looked genuinely sorry, but Marty had more than playing hurt on her mind.
“I’m sorry,” Liz stammered. “What I meant…was…oh hell.”
Without a long look into her eyes, without waiting for any hint of reaction from Liz, Marty pulled her into her arms and kissed her with the passion of bursting suns. Excitement ran deep into the pit of her stomach. Liz’s thrill streamed through Marty’s ears in melodic whimpers. They held tightly and stopped their kiss only when they gasped for air. Their mouths remained close, moist, and warm.
“I flirt back, Liz. I’m just more direct.”
Liz pulled away. “I get the message.” Flustered, she turned to leave the room and then turned back. “I’m waiting for you.” Marty stood at the threshold and watched her walk down the hallway.
When she was out of sight, Marty took the script from the vanity and stretched onto the daybed. Briefly, she studied her lines until her thoughts seized Liz’s image. She smiled, dropped the play to the floor, and hugged a pillow. Seeing Liz again, Marty realized she hadn’t been careful, even though she’d promised the daisies.
“Instead of Liz unpacking last night, she deserved bone-busting embraces, lip bruising kisses, and whispers of sweet everythings,” she said and grabbed her play. “That sounded like something she’d write.”
Marty managed to break her thoughts away from Liz and studied for an hour. When the rumble in her stomach signaled hunger, she left the Stanwyck and walked down Broadway. A sudden, mouthwatering aroma of charred steak beckoned her into a steak and clam bar.
The waiter quickly greeted her. “We always have a table for you, Ms. Jamison,” he said and she followed him.
Not ten feet into the restaurant, she looked to her left and saw Paul Chandler sitting alone. He glanced up, saw her, and motioned for her to join him, but she smiled politely and followed the waiter to a table. Seated with her back to Paul, she soon felt a hand rest on her shoulder.
“Hello, Marty,” he said.
“Hello, Paul.”
“Would you like to join us? Liz just excused herself, but I’m sure she’d be surprised to see you at the table.”
Marty’s ears prickled at his mention of her. “Liz is with you?” Was Paul talking about the same person that had a ton of work but not a few minutes to have a drink? Without an ounce of doubt, yes, she would be surprised. “Thank you, Paul,” she said and pushed her chair from the table. “I’d love to join you.”
Paul seated her next to Liz’s chair and then poured a glass of wine for her. “How’ve you been? Liz tells me the show has taken a new turn.”
She reached for her glass. “Yes,” she said, “turns ooze from the woodwork.”
“Well, I hope you’re more comfortable in your role.”
She tipped her glass against her lips and, over the rim, she watched Liz approach the table. If she had blinked, she’d have missed the moment of hesitation in her step. Liz smiled. Marty lowered her glass and smiled mockingly larger.
“Hi,” Liz said. “I’d have thought you were home by this time.”
“Had you given me thought,” Marty muttered. “No, I’ve been working. When steak beckoned me, Paul was thoughtful enough to invite me to your table.” She looked at Paul. “Isn’t that right?” He nodded while he repositioned his tie. She looked back at Liz. “Have you completed your work already?”
“I haven’t been home yet,” she said without a hint of discomfort.
“Liz has been great through all of these things I keep throwing at her. Excuse me for a few minutes.”
Paul left his seat and Marty watched him walk away. She sat back in her chair and Liz took her hand. Marty slowly turned her head to see her. Deflated at seeing her with Paul, she said nothing. Liz displayed a look of innocence and smiled.
“I’m happy to see you sitting here.”
“You don’t want to see me outside of the theater, but you’re holding my hand and you’re happy I’m at your table.” She wondered how Liz’s smile appeared genuine. “You lied to me. Is this your concept of waiting for me?”
Liz shook her head. “I didn’t lie to you. Paul called and asked me to meet him here. He needed some papers signed and I circled back for this dinner.”
“One drink. That’s all I asked.”
“I had to come. My signature netted me twenty-five thousand dollars a few minutes ago.”
“Yes, that’s reason to come,” Marty said. “A drink with me would have been worth much less.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. I expected to go home and work, but signing those papers was important.” She closed her eyes, sighed, and opened her eyes again. “I’m digging an early grave.”
Marty pushed her chair back. “When you get your important things straightened out with Paul, maybe we can try this again.” She shook her head. “I feel like crying and screaming, but none o
f those will come out. I had the impression that you were warming up to me quickly.”
“I’ve never cooled down. Do you know how I felt when you kissed me today? I had to force myself to stop. I missed you all weekend. Stay, please. Afterward, we’ll go to your place and talk.”
Marty got up from her chair. Liz still held her hand. “It breaks my heart, but I’ll follow your lead. Outside of work, we shouldn’t see each other.” Marty pulled her hand away and walked from the table.
“Kitten, wait.”
She turned a quick about face. “I’m just Marty. Marty Jamison.”
“And you own this town, but you don’t own me.”
Marty turned away and left the restaurant.
Chapter Fifteen
Weeks had gone by since Marty’s initial read-through of the script. Bringing Felice on board had moved their schedule effectively forward. Betty Tomlinson’s songs were the only things that kept Marty in control of her emotions. Relating to Liz strictly on a business level agonized her. Evenings were lonely, long, and an immeasurable void remained inside. She filled her free time with Nina and sometimes others. Even Felice showed up at Marty’s apartment to pass an evening with theater talk or watch a classic film. Nina and Felice, they weren’t Liz.
Clive had scheduled a full preview performance with a limited audience. He invited one hundred members of various schools of acting, including the drama division of Juilliard, and one hundred civilians. Another breach of protocol, the press wasn’t invited.
“I want gut reaction, not a clinical study from martini sipping newspaper columnists who don’t know comedy from commodes,” Clive had told Liz and his cast. “They almost killed Avenue Q. Who won Best Musical in 2004?” They didn’t need to answer him.
Marty sat alone on the stoop of her apartment. The curtain would go up at three o’clock for the preview. She looked at her watch. It was two. She wrote a note and a possible line change onto her script and then took a Newport from a fresh pack and lit it. She inhaled deeply. Something felt wrong surrounding today’s performance. She was on edge and she couldn’t zero in on the cause of her anxiety. A taxi pulled up and Nina motioned her over. Marty mashed out her cigarette.