"That's it, just like that?" Clara asked as I scooped up the cards, righted them, returned them to the box.
"That's it. Just that simple." I looked around the room. Malcolm was standing off to the side. "Please take these back upstairs," I said. He took the box from my hands and left.
Clara and I stood up and joined Sam in the parlor.
"Sam, it's so amazing. You can have this anytime you want? How wonderful."
He changed the subject. "Did Bert say anything?"
"He's in. There are lots of papers to shuffle, but he's excited about producing your show, if Clara will agree to sing the lead."
Clara grasped his arm. "This is it, kid. This is the start of a beautiful friendship," her Bogey impression made us laugh. Sam played a rolling arpeggio from the bottom to the top of the piano keys. She clapped.
We were all silent.
"Sam, do you have some sweats I can wear. I'm so tired of being bunched up in this gown."
"Of course, come with me," he said, flipping his legs over the piano bench. The two ran up stairs like little kids, heads close together, chattering.
It's always amazed me how the house can be filled with waiters and maids, doing their jobs, joking, making noises, and yet the space feels absolutely empty. In that moment, I felt very alone. I knew I was about to become an orphan. Even as an adult, the feeling is powerful. No longer would I have parents. I would now be the oldest generation, the next to make my transition out of this world. My guides chided me at the thought. It's not such a bad thing to transition out of the physical world back into pure source energy. Still, I felt myself clutching a little stronger to my physical world.
I thought of my brother, Neil. We hadn’t talked in months, maybe even years. If things went as I suspected they would, I’d have to call him. A tingle ran over my body and I pushed thoughts of my brother out of my head. I moved to the bar. The young bartender was filling cardboard boxes with liquor bottles.
"What can I get for you, Mr. Donovan? A little more brandy?"
"Please, call me Duke. What's your name?"
"Harold, most everyone calls me Harry. Of course, those I sleep with tend to start calling me ‘Harry Boy’," he said with a wink of very deep blue eyes.
"I would like." I thought for a moment. What I’d really like is to take this young man up to my bedroom and fuck him. I enjoyed the thought for a few beats before returning my attention back to the bar selections. I'd had a cascade of different alcohols that evening between cocktails, wines, brandy. "I would like a diet coke, very cold." For the first time in my entire life, I simply didn’t feel like flirting, or drinking.
"Of course." Harry filled a tall glass with ice. He popped the tab on the soda can, poured. I drank off the soda. He refilled it. "Rough night, Sir?"
I liked that he called me “Sir.” It made me feel important. "Just a party. It all went very well." I downed another glass, got a bit of brain freeze, drank some more. "Do you have a card?"
Harry looked at me. "You can always reach me through the agency. They frown on us lining up private parties while we're working for them."
"Do you have a card?"
Harry pulled out his wallet, produced a card. "Henry Wainwright, Actor/Singer/Dancer."
Sam and Clara came into the room, still laughing like children.
"Oh, excellent, the bar's still open. Duke, are you hitting on the bartender?" Sam asked playfully.
"A little. I'm thinking we should have Mr. Wainwright audition for us this evening." I held the card up to Sam.
"Excellent," Sam said. "We're going to need some Actor/Singer/Dancers for our little show. What do you think, Clara, is Mr. Wainwright someone you think you could work with?"
"If he serves me a cold beer, I think it could be arranged. Well, a cold beer and a song," she said in a chipper voice.
"Beer for me, too. Beer and a bump. Jack Daniels. Then a song." Sam was giggles and smiles.
Harry filled the drink orders and refilled my glass, too.
"What's you're audition piece?" Sam asked, moving back into position at the piano.
"You know, I played Seymour in summer stock. Ms. Tells—"
"Call me Clara," she said in a cutesy voice, waving her finger at Harry.
"Clara, could we do “Suddenly Seymour” together? It would be like a dream come true." The boy smiled sheepishly, obviously expecting a laugh in his face.
"I just love gay men! Cue it up, Sam," she took a long swig of beer.
"Your wish is my command," he said, flipping through the score.
I took a seat, watched the performance, floored by the talent assembled in the room.
They finished the number and all of us looked at the boy in astonishment.
"Cell phone," Clara said to the air. Malcolm placed one in her hand. She dialed, waited. "This is Clara…I don't fucking care what time it is. I just heard a boy and I want him for my Seymour…I don't care. Either you hire this boy right now or I'm out—"
"Me, too. I'm out, too, if they don't hire Harry Boy," Sam tossed in, his words slurred.
I wondered how Sam knew about Mr. Wainwright’s nickname.
Clara placed her hand over the phone. "No offense dear," she said in a stage whisper toward Sam, "but you don't pull much weight since I got you in." She pressed the phone back to her ear. "What?" she said, listened. "I am a little drunk, but I still know talent when I fucking hear it!” She turned and winked at Harry. “He's right here with me…hold on…" she turned back to Sam. "Can you play 'Grow for me?' you sing it Harry."
The boys performed as commanded.
Clara put the phone back to her ear. "What? Oh…" She turned to the boys. "He's impressed. Can you do 'Da-Doo'?"
The boys performed while Clara held the phone toward them. When they finished, she held the device to her ear, then turned it again toward Harry. “Smile boy!” She snapped a photo, used her thumbs on the little keyboard.
Again Clara listened into the phone. "Duke Donovan’s…hold on. Duke, can he come over here right now and meet Harry?"
"Of course," I said, bemused by what was unfolding.
Clara rattled off the address to her producer as Sam fed it to her. Harry Boy was all smiles.
Chapter Fifteen
I needed help. I wanted help. I'd never hired a personal assistant before, but my life was busy. I wanted someone to handle the details.
With a turn of the wing, Malcolm appeared at my door the next day, like an aged, male, Mary Poppins, down to the carpet bag and umbrella in hand. I still don’t know how or why he showed up on my doorstep. I was so flabbergasted at his arrival that I never asked. We got along instantly. He toured the house. I hired him on the spot. That afternoon, I called Barton, and he and Malcolm made plans for the third floor of the house. Sometimes, life really is just that simple.
"Sir?"
"What is it, Malcolm?"
"There's a young man at the door. I think it was one of the staff from last night. He's got a box; wants to talk to you."
"I'll be down in a minute. Make him comfortable in the parlor."
Malcolm disappeared from the room. I finished dressing in loose, casual clothes. I wasn't going out today. It had been a late night. I wasn't in the mood for much, but there was a lot of activity in the house with the final party clean up still going on.
I entered the parlor to find Harry sitting rather stiff and formal in a chair.
"Duke!" He practically jumped up to greet me.
"Hello, Harry," I said, a little surprised to be hugged.
He backed off. "They signed me, Duke. I've got a lead on Broadway. How did this happen?"
"That's excellent news," I said, indicated a chair, sat. Harry followed my lead as Malcolm arrived with a tray. Coffee for Harry; Diet Coke for me. I couldn't remember if Sam had ever come to bed. He wasn't there when I awoke.
"Oh, what happened with your dad?" Harry asked, blowing across the top of his cup to cool the contents.
"Still waiting on
some tests. It was a heart attack. He's in intensive care. Lola's giving all the nurses way too much shit. But, the old man is hanging in there." I listened to my team. They were mixed about the outcome. That was an improvement from the night before when they were certain he would die. It's amazing to me, how easily and quickly the future can change. This knowledge proved to me, again, that there is no destiny, that we really do have free will. We're the ones who influence how our lives go.
"I lost my folks a few years ago. It's not easy being an orphan, even as an adult."
"I know. Well, I haven't experienced that, but…" I let my thoughts drift.
It was clear from they way he shared that experience that he didn't want to talk any more about it, not at the moment. Although, I found it interesting that he used that word, “orphan.” As I drifted off to what little sleep I got the night before, that word had been rolling around and around in my brain. My team kept reassuring me that I wouldn’t be alone, that I was never alone, but that was little solace. My relationship with my dad, while slightly improved in recent years due to my offering him financial assistance, remained strained. Yet, I still wanted him in my life. Again, they assured me that my father and I would have the perfect relationship, once I was dealing with him in their realm, rather than my own, but again, this was small solace.
Harry broke the silence: "Oh, this is for you," he said, pointing to the box on the table. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't worked your magic."
"You would have gotten there. You're talented. Just turned out there was something I could do in the moment to get you there a little sooner." I felt fatigued, terribly tired. I longed to crawl back into my bed. I watched the young man’s eyes sparkle and dance. It was his dream come true, of course he was thrilled. I suddenly wanted something to look forward to, something to be excited about for my own future, but as I leafed through the possibilities in my head, it seemed there was little that I desired for myself any more.
"Open it," he said, anxious.
I picked up the box. Despite its small size, it was heavy. I wanted to shake it, but thought better of that. "The paper's lovely." I ran my fingers over the Greek key pattern design embossed into the thick, rich paper.
"The girl at the store helped me out with the wrapping," Harry said with anticipation. He'd moved to the edge of his seat.
The matching, white ribbon pulled off with one tug, the paper came off with a slight pull. The gal who wrapped this was skilled. I removed the box top to discover a crystal ball.
"I wanted to get you something special, something to thank you for the magic you performed for me last night," the boy said, practically back on his feet.
My hand cupped the glass ball. I removed it from the box and noticed a small resting stand still inside. I placed the ball on its stand on the little table next to me. I gazed into it seeing how the morning sunlight enhanced our images mirrored into its center. Gazing has never been one of my interests, but the gift was quite thoughtful and the quality high.
"This shall hold a place of honor in my office. Thank you so much," I said.
Harry backed into his chair and sat. "I know it's silly," he seemed a little dejected. "I just wanted to do something nice for you."
"This is lovely. Thank you so much."
"I thought you'd be, well, more excited about it."
I'd disappointed the young man and that was disappointing to me. I liked young, handsome men to be thrilled and excited around me. But, I simply didn’t have the energy this morning.
We sat in silence for a few moments.
"So, what's your new schedule like?" I asked.
He recovered quickly. "I start private coaching and rehearsals on Monday. They still need to cast two of the urchins. It seems strange to me that they're so close to starting rehearsals and they still don't have the cast put together." He sipped coffee.
"Things come together and they also fall apart. I'm thinking that they had people lined up and for some reason it didn't work out. But, the nice thing about theater in New York is that there's always an actor looking for a job." I winked at Harry and that wonderful smile of his returned.
"I still can't believe how my life has changed in just a few hours."
"Sir," Malcolm was in the doorway. I looked up at him. "Sir, you've got an appointment in a few minutes."
"Thanks, Malcolm," I said, standing up. Harry rose, too. The butler left. "Well, my boy, I'm thrilled that all of this has come to pass. But, I've got to go to work."
"Ah, oh…" Again he seemed dejected.
I walked Harry toward the door. "What is it?"
At the door, he turned to me and kissed me, hard on the mouth. I went along for the ride.
"I want you to fuck me, Duke," he whispered in my ear once he’d ended the kiss.
"Aren't you sweet." I gave him a light kiss on his lips. "I'm with Sam."
"He could be there, too. He's incredible."
I could feel the heat emanating from Harry. I missed meeting young boys in the morning on the street, bringing them home, fucking, sending them away. But, this wouldn't do. Having sex with someone we all knew, someone we'd all be seeing a lot of, this would never do.
"I don't want to hurt your feelings, but this isn't going to happen."
He cast his eyes down. "You don't want me." Harry reached for the door. I stopped him.
"Yes, I do want you. It's just a bit…” I searched for a word, but couldn’t find anything better than: “…complicated. It’s a bit complicated at the moment." He was a nice young man. He was confused by life, which was obvious. "And, I really do have to go to work. Go enjoy your day. You're about to become a Broadway star. You should be out in the world, walk the streets, see New York from your new perspective while you can still be anonymous on the streets."
He looked into my eyes, gave a half hearted smile, left. My own lips curved into a smile as I watched him walk down the block, his head down. A line from the movie, Secret of My Affection, popped into my head. I called out: "Head up, young person. Head up." Harry turned, gave me a brilliant smile like the first time I'd seen him, starlight virtually shooting from him. The boy waved and went on his way, head up.
"Duke?"
"Yes, Sam?" I looked up from the book I was reading. Some new tome on becoming suddenly psychic by an unknown author.
"Is all of this okay with you?" he asked shyly.
His tone surprised me. I placed a bookmark and put the book on the table. "Sam, I’m fine. Are you having fun?"
Sam's schedule was out of control. When he was home, he was at the piano working on the Little Shop score or in a private rehearsal with one or more of the cast. Clara and Harry became constant fixtures in the house. The three black girls were finally selected for the urchin roles and added to the assemblage in my living room. It was wonderful, all the activity. Malcolm, on task from me, found out their favorite foods, what they all liked to drink, and kept the kitchen appropriately stocked.
"I couldn't be happier. I can't believe how magical this experience is, how spot on the cast is, how easy everything is going." Sam continued on and on about how perfect his life was, how happy he was. I listened, all of it merging into background noise to the team in my head. He finished speaking. I could hear the pause, but was a little lost. "Duke? Are you okay?"
"Yes," I mustered. "It was so strange. As you were talking, my team chimed in."
"Oh, them," he said. I couldn't read his tone.
"There's something about the opening. There's something bad that's going to happen at the theater. It's not horrible, but like a flood. It's going to set the show back, just a little."
We were silent. I was seeing images now of a floating upright base, like a canoe, traveling up the isle of the once beautiful theater, with several rats going along for the ride.
"Is there anything I can do? Anyone I can warn?"
I listened for a moment, waiting for my team to offer some advice or suggestion.
"No, it's something
to do with a city water line. No way to stop the damage that's coming. But, you could let them know at the theater. If they move things out of the basement, out of the pit, they'll be spared a lot of grief….Unless…"
"What?" Sam was interested now.
"Unless there are things they want to replace. Has there been a discussion about old light fixtures? About the old piano?"
"I know they were talking about not replacing the piano, even though the one they have isn’t really all that great."
"If they get it into the pit by tomorrow, and they need to make sure their insurance is up-to-date, it will be damaged beyond repair and they can get a new one. Same for the lights."
We looked at each other across the room.
Sam popped open his cell phone, told the stage manager what I'd said. They laughed a lot together.
"Sir, those women are here," Malcolm said from the hall.
"Well, let them in, Malcolm," I said with a flutter of my hand.
I picked up my book and stood to leave the room, offering greetings and salutations to the black women playing Sam’s show’s oracles.
Chapter Sixteen
Malcolm's arrival altered my life quickly. I became dependant on his talents and skills, on his being there without me asking. The kitchen was stocked with my favorite foods, even though we’d never discussed menus. Everything was impeccably clean and always worked properly. I never had to change another light bulb or replace a roll of toilet paper. The butler took care of every little detail.
Something else new to me that I never knew about house staffs is that they seem to know all the maids and butlers in town. The six degrees of separation we hear about in life narrows to only two or three when a butler is thrown into the mix.
With the extra time, I started to enjoy life more. I took the dog for long daily walks. I spent more time with friends. I traveled the world. My client base grew.
I sat in my office, Aristotle’s head resting on my foot, waiting for the phone to ring. A client I’d had for years, who insisted on her calling me. The upside of her late calls was that I charged her for my time, whether she called or not.
The Middle Man [A Broadway Romance] Page 11