by Bobbi Marolt
“Quite a predicament you’re into there. Wet towel, then a gin and tonic,” the guest said and caught the cloth when Stacey flung it from behind the bar. “Let me help.”
Helen’s eyes caught the pitch-black hair of the newly crowned Queen of Broadway, Marty Jamison. Helen had known she would be there, but she hadn’t expected to look so damned silly when they first met.
Marty was talented, for sure, but she was also hot, and had a smattering of freckles right above her breasts. It had always been Helen’s fantasy to connect the dots, one way or another. With that thought, Helen felt two light strokes on her legs and a quick wipe around the inside perimeter of her skirt. Oh, heart be still. The skirt relaxed.
“There you go.” Marty raised herself to Helen’s height and flung the towel onto the bar. She smiled broadly and her blue eyes danced appraisingly over Helen.
Stacey handed Marty her drink. “I think you have to marry her now.”
“You’re Helen Townsend,” she said cheerfully. “I’m an avid reader of your column. I’m Marty Jamison.” They shook hands.
“I admire your work, too,” Helen said, having recovered her composure. “And thanks for rescuing me.”
“My pleasure.” Marty nudged Helen playfully. “You have the most fascinating mouth.” Her eyes lowered to Helen’s lips. “A cute little pout if you aren’t smiling. Very kissable.”
Helen blushed.
To the background music of Judy Garland at Carnegie Hall, the guests arrived in small groups. Helen mingled and, much to her surprise, felt comfortable in the presence of many of the entertainment elite and their image-makers.
“Good God. That bitch is here,” film director Jay Patton ranted to his lover. They dashed to the back of the room and wedged themselves between two ficus trees. Helen looked toward the bar as Blair Whitman ordered Scotch and rocks.
Helen knew the story. Blair was a temperamental hard-ass. Directors hated her, costars wanted to lock her into her trailer, and special effects crews thought seriously about blowing her to bits. Bam! Splat! Cut! Print it! And the cast could call it a wrap.
Blair had power and abused it to the hilt, but box office dollars had piled to mountainous proportions for her last three films and made nearly everyone connected to her work wealthy. She had Hollywood by their sensitive parts and she knew it. People sucked up to Blair Whitman.
“Well.” Blair sidled up to Helen. “Meet the press.” She took a long drink from her glass and her eyes narrowed. “Are we the next anecdote for your column, Ms. Townsend?”
“I failed Gossip one-oh-one,” Helen said and scanned the room to see if Cory had arrived. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“People like you make me nervous.” Blair walked a slow half circle around Helen as though sniffing her prey and readying to devour her.
“I’m not holding you hostage. You’re free to leave,” she said calmly, knowing that Blair was capable of going off the deep end when feeling threatened.
Marty walked over. “Cut it out, Blair.”
The others watched in silence. Helen’s eyes followed the arc that Blair walked. “Why are you afraid of me?” she asked.
Blair stopped abruptly, her brown hair jerked about her shoulders. “I don’t want a Michael Jackson done to me,” she said with a chill to her voice.
The heavy smell of Scotch caused Helen to take a step back, and she raised her hand slightly to keep Stacey from coming closer.
“Then act like an adult,” Helen said as the front door swung open and Cory walked in. Among snickers and cheers, Helen left Blair standing red-faced, apparently stunned with the remark. “Hey, baby.” She kissed Cory and glanced at the woman that had arrived with her.
“Hello,” the much too attractive Japanese woman said to Helen.
“Who’s your friend?” Helen asked.
“Kim Lee. She’s a cellist from the Philharmonic. Kim”—she slipped her arm around Helen’s waist—“this is Helen.”
“Hello.” Kim smiled. “It isn’t any wonder why Cory cut off Reinhardt’s balls tonight.” Without explanation of her comment, Kim joined Marty at the bar.
“Care to dance with me, Ms. Townsend?” Cory asked.
“I would.” Helen led her to a less crowded area of the room and pulled her close. She moved her hands gently against the back of Cory’s corduroy jacket. “So tell me about the castration.”
“Reinhardt, the conductor, called me a pompous nobody. He kept stopping us, saying I was sloppy and not paying attention to his direction. After the sixth time, the entire orchestra was angry enough that I told him I had a date waiting and he could find himself a lesser-known nobody for Friday’s concert, if he liked.”
Helen was astounded. “You didn’t say that.” Cory nodded. “What did he say?”
“I would never play for an audience again.” Cory emphasized the end of the sentence with a quick nod to her head.
“Does he have that much power?”
“No. He’s the pompous nobody. I left the building and I’ll have an apology from him on my answering machine before morning.”
Helen ran her hands through Cory’s hair. “You did that for me?”
“Especially for you.” She touched her fingertips to Helen’s lips.
Helen felt a tapping on her shoulder. “I gotta steal your woman, Chambermaid.” Stacey wedged herself between them.
Cory relinquished her hold on Helen and joined Kim in front of Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe. Stacey began a pep talk, but Helen wasn’t listening. She watched them, their heads together. Cory pulled something out of her pocket and flashed it. Kim’s eyes widened when she looked closer at the object and then she hugged Cory. Cory seemed to enjoy their embrace and hugged Kim with as much enthusiasm.
Helen didn’t like it or the feeling of jealousy that it provoked. Jealousy, a wasted emotion, as useful as rice in a drought.
“Are you ready?” Stacey asked. “Hey! Yoo-hoo!”
Helen snapped to attention. “What? I’m sorry, Stacey. What were you saying?”
“I said it’s time you made your pitch to my pals.”
Helen watched Cory place the object back into her pocket and Kim hugged her again. “I’m ready,” she said.
“Let me get their attention. Good luck, Blondie.” Stacey turned down the music, hopped up onto the bar, and was the voice of command. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, although I’m not sure who is what in this crowd.” Laughter sprang from different directions, and pillows flew at her from all corners of the room. She motioned for Helen to join her. “You’ve met Helen and now she wants your undivided attention.”
“I’m not standing on the bar,” Helen said.
“You gotta in this crowd.” Stacey grabbed her hands when several people hoisted Helen onto the bar. “Some of these heads are so big you can’t see over them. Eye contact. Gotta have it.”
“I’ll sit on it, then.”
Helen dangled her legs over the side of the bar and Stacey hopped down behind her. Helen surveyed the room for a moment and was impressed with the amount of talent before her. She could admit to herself that she was a bit starstruck, though she was able to hide most of her blind adoration.
There it was in front of her, the cream of the entertainment industry, flopped onto sofas and chairs, comfortable on the floor among the pillows. All eyes were on Helen. Actors, actresses, directors, producers, musicians, dancers. The list of big names in front of her was as impressive as the list of international cities that hung on Cory’s walls. Even more impressive than the Queen.
“I feel insignificant in front of you,” she said. “All of this talent. I want autographs later.”
“What’s up, Helen?” Mark Corrigan asked.
Helen hadn’t prepared a speech. She wanted to feel her way in, would find her opening, and Mark became her target. His talk show had been rated number one for the past two years and Helen taped the show occasionally.
“Mark, I caught your show on lesbian and gay writers. What t
ype of reaction did the show provoke?”
“Surprise. Most people didn’t realize that big publishing houses don’t like to touch these writers because of gay characters. In spite of the author’s orientation, the audience was supportive.”
“‘Supportive in spite of their orientation,’” Helen said and gave her own spectators time to ponder the words. “I’m not a part of your world, but there is one thing that binds us and that’s our sexuality.” She paused. “You’re the elite of this country. No matter what the papers report about you, no matter what you do or don’t do, this country buys your product. The respect you command is second to none and I want you to lend out that respect.”
“What are you saying, Helen?” Marty asked from the back of the crowd.
“This group has the resources to possibly make a significant difference in the attitudes of the straight world. You can lend a new dignity to the way the public perceives our population.”
Blair laughed sarcastically. “And how do you propose we do that? Come out?” She walked closer. “Do you think we’re crazy?” She slapped her empty glass onto the bar next to Helen. “Scotch,” she demanded and eyeballed Helen without seeing Stacey pour ginger ale into the glass.
“Come out, yes. Crazy, no. Well, maybe crazy,” she said with a smile. “I think talent borders on madness. We need more names out there. Every so often, there’s a kiss-my-ass flurry of pride. Ellen, Melissa—”
“Mark Corrigan!” Nick yelled.
Mark grinned and dug his hands into the pockets of his Levi’s. “I don’t want my head bashed in.”
Helen countered. “You’re like wolves; you travel in packs. There’s a great deal of protection there.”
“Lost work,” said costume designer Jenny Colgate.
“Jenny, you won an Oscar last year for Devil’s Rain. Producers will continue to buy that talent.”
“I agree with Jenny,” Nick answered.
“Nick, look at your gorgeous face,” Helen teased him. “You’ve been the number one box office draw for the last five years. Look at these people.” She waved her arm over the room. “They produce and direct you. I doubt they’ll stop because you come out. You have the power. The Moral Majority may sound off for a while, but it all comes flying back to the almighty dollar.”
“You’re right,” one of the producers said, “but the family matter is a different thing. Not all of us are out to them.”
“That’s a priority I can understand. If you aren’t out to them, I wouldn’t expect you to consider my request.”
Blair took a swig of her fresh drink, choked on the unexpected blast of sugar, and glared at Stacey. She looked back at Helen. “Can you understand this? We can’t change the world. They aren’t ready for us.”
Helen looked at her and winked playfully, much to Blair’s disdain. “Perhaps more people are than we’re aware of.”
“There’ve been marches,” Cory chimed in.
“Been there,” Jay said.
“Done that. Got the T-shirt.” Jenny flopped onto the sofa beside him.
Helen answered the group. “This won’t be a picket sign, march-around-the-Capitol thing. I’m talking about a class act, using your combined talents.”
“What exactly do you propose?” Marty asked.
Helen leaned back onto her palms and took a deep breath. “This will sound like nearly every Andy Hardy film ever made, but I think you should combine your talents in a night of knock-’em-dead entertainment. The difference from Andy Hardy is at the end, when you come out as a group.” Murmurs filled the room. “From the master of ceremonies to every act, the show will be empowered by gays and lesbians.”
“You’re nuts,” Blair said. “And how do you figure in with this grand display of yours? Hide behind your column and write about it afterward? How incredibly brave of you, Ms. Townsend. We risk our necks so you and Chamberlain can hold hands in public.”
Blair’s sarcasm brought a quick reaction from Cory. With a snap of her arm she shoved her bottle of spring water into Kim’s hand and quickly approached Blair who stood with a smile.
“Watch your words, Blair,” Cory said, her face inches away from Blair’s. “I won’t permit anyone to speak to Helen like that.”
Helen smiled to herself as she listened to the exchange. Protection? Possessiveness? Territorial boundaries not to be trespassed upon, and especially by the likes of Blair? Helen looked over to where Kim stood—still smiling. Maybe Helen should set up a few boundaries of her own.
Don’t cross my line, Kim who plays a cello. I trust the Japanese with my electronics but not with my woman.
“Come off it, Chamberlain,” Blair said. “Do you have to be so damn honorable?”
“Honorable is better than inebriated, and it’s because of your inebriation that I won’t ask you to apologize to Helen.” Cory quieted. “Now…” She reached up and straightened Blair’s collar. “Listen to Helen or don’t. Just keep your pretty lips shut.” She returned to her place beside Kim.
Blair was appalled. “Stacey, are you going to allow her to talk to me like that? Can’t you put a leash—” She was mortified when Stacey grabbed her by the arm, led her to a sofa, and pushed her down with a heavy hand.
“Yes, I can. Stop being a pain in the ass, Blair.” Stacey sat beside her and nodded for Helen to continue.
Helen answered Blair. “I want to be there, as MC for the evening. I’m not the talent showcase. That will be provided by all of you.”
Marty joined Helen and placed her hand on her leg. She turned to the group. “I want to do it. Let’s shake ’em up a little.”
“Someone’s already shaken Helen too much. Her brain’s loosened up,” Blair said.
Cory started for Blair but stopped when Stacey grabbed Blair’s arm. Stacey warned her. “You’ve got nothing on me, you little actress. I won’t think twice about sending you out the door.”
Blair seethed with anger and humiliation. She glared at Stacey and pushed herself from the sofa. “I don’t have to take this abuse. Get my coat,” she demanded of her hostess.
“Get it yourself,” Stacey said and joined the women at the bar. Blair stormed to the closet and pulled her coat on. “Good night, Blair.”
Blair pointed to Helen. “Don’t let her fuck up your lives,” she said to the room and then pointed to Stacey. “I’ll talk to you later.” She slammed the door behind her.
Except for Judy torching “Stormy Weather,” the room was quiet, and when Stacey brushed against Helen’s arm, Helen jumped.
“Turn up the volume, Jenny. Come on, guys, relax,” Stacey said to her guests.
“So that’s Blair Whitman. Whew!” Helen pretended to wipe her brow.
“That was nothing, sweetheart,” Marty said and grabbed a celery stick from the bar. “She behaved rather well.”
Cory still watched the door. “Why did she act like a wounded puppy when you—”
“I’ve never seen her react to anyone like that,” Marty said to Helen.
Stacey grinned. “I’ll pay for it. Blair and I, well, we’ve been…sort of, uh…seeing each other for the past month.”
“What?” Marty said.
“Nothing serious. You know me. We’re just dating,” she said and poured herself another glass of wine.
“We do know you,” Marty said. “You’re dating her brains out.”
With Blair out of the way, Helen mingled and found that everyone was at least talking about her idea. There was an air of skepticism combined with an equal amount of enthusiasm.
“Give it some thought,” she said to them. “Just let me know in a few weeks.”
Helen joined Cory, who was again closerthanthis to Kim. Stacey ousted Judy’s album and replaced her with Doris Day. What would be, would be.
“It’s an interesting idea,” Kim said. “I’ll think about it, and I’d like to have your number.”
“Of course. Before we leave.” She turned to Cory. “Let’s finish our dance.”
“I
think you’ll win some over,” Cory said. “Artists love power, and you’ve just offered us the world.”
Cory placed her hands near Helen’s throat. Helen enjoyed the soft stroke of fingers that brushed her neck. It was Cory’s favorite resting place for fingers and her lips.
“Helen,” Cory said, “there’s something you need to know.”
Helen’s stomach knotted.
Damn it. She seldom called her Helen unless it was serious. And that damn Kim still watched them and smiled. Fine. Tell me you and Kim are seeing each other. Tell me you need your space. Just go ahead and shred my heart to pieces, right here in front of Marty and Jenny and Jay and Stacey. Damn it all. I’m falling in love with you. Don’t you know that?
“Why doesn’t she take her flawless face right the hell out of here?” Helen grumbled loudly.
Cory took a step back. “Excuse me?”
“Kim.” Helen narrowed her eyes toward Kim and then she looked at Cory. “Is she what you have to tell me about?”
“You think Kim and I—”
“I understand you may see other women—”
“Really?”
“—but you could have chosen a better time.”
Cory grabbed Helen’s belt buckle and yanked her closer. “What kind of a person do you think I am?”
“Ambushes are in your blood. How pompous you must feel having both of—”
“Both of who?”
“Well, look at the two of you. All night. Smiles and giggles.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t know what I’m feeling.”
“It’s perfectly clear, Helen. You’re jealous.”
“It’s not like I’ve put a ring on your finger, but—”
“I see.” Cory’s expression softened. “Would you like the bottom line?”
“The very bottom line, and don’t look so smug.”
“Okay.” She looked into Helen’s eyes and with her fingertips drew a line from Helen’s chin to the back of her neck. Helen tried not to weaken from her look and her touch, but the situation was hopeless. “I’m Delphinus,” she said.