One of the rituals of auditions in the past was psyching out the competition with your voice, dance movements, or your attire. When that didn’t work, divas would start to verbalize their résumés. I went against the advice of Kyle and Delaney and chose to wear a blue silk suit with a black leotard top instead of the black spandex dress. I was going for the role of Anita Hill and I doubted very seriously that Anita owned a spandex dress of any color. I wore very little makeup and had pulled my hair back into a tight chignon that brought attention to my diamond stud earrings, a gift from Raymond, and to the pendant that my daddy had given me before my first pageant. I was looking in a mirror tucking tiny strands of hair back into place when I suddenly heard my name called.
“Nicole Springer,” the deep baritone voice said.
I quickly grabbed my sheet music from my bag and darted toward the empty stage.
“What are you going to sing for us?” the voice asked from the darkened orchestra section.
“ ‘Save the Best for Last,’ ” I responded.
“Great. Have at it,” the faceless voice said.
I walked over to the heavy-set blonde sitting at the piano, gave her a smile, handed her the sheet music, and then walked to the center of the stage. I looked at the pianist and signaled that I was ready.
Just thirty seconds into the song I heard the voice again.
“Thank you. That was great. Do you have an up-tempo number?”
“Yes,” I said, realizing that I’d left my other sheet music at home. I walked over to the piano and asked the accompanist if she knew the Diana Ross version of “Why Do Fools Fall in Love?” She smiled and directed her head toward center stage, giving me the signal to return to my designated spot. When she began to play I started snapping my fingers to add a beat to the single instrument. Again just as I was getting into the song, I heard the voice once more.
“Thanks. Samantha Walker is your agent, right?”
“Yes.”
“Great, thank you. We’ll be in touch.”
I walked to the piano and mouthed a thank-you to the lady and started toward backstage. I noticed several male dancers going through stretch motions as I looked for my bag. I overheard one of the guys say that Robin Givens was up for the leading female role. I didn’t realize Robin sang or danced, but she was Robin Givens so what difference did that make?
We’ll be in touch, I thought, that couldn’t be a good sign. They didn’t ask me to dance or read and why did I choose that dreadful Diana Ross song? I was used to sealing the deal with my up-tempo numbers. Oh well, I sighed, as I pushed the heavy steel door, at least I have a job. I wasn’t performing but I was getting a paycheck.
I stepped out onto Forty-third Street and headed toward Broadway. I was going to meet Delaney at JR’s. She was taping a rap video at Radio City Music Hall. It was times like this when I envied Delaney. She would audition one day and shoot the next. The turnaround would be swift and stress-free or so it seemed. It might be weeks before I heard the bad news about this job.
As I walked down Broadway I convinced myself that I didn’t want the part. The show was bound to be controversial. It would mean twelve-hour rehearsal days and then the possibility of out-of-town tryouts only to return and close in a night if the New York Times critic didn’t like the show. Besides, I didn’t want to be away from the city this summer. I didn’t know why but I knew I had to be here.
Jelly’s Last Jam was settling in for a long run and there was sure to be a national tour. All I needed was one chance to go on, sing, and hit my marks and the rest would be history. Renee was bound to get bored. Maybe I would talk to the director about a role as one of the Hunnies, part of the female Greek chorus very important to the show.
I walked into JR’s and saw that the popular bar was empty with the exception of Billy, the regular bartender.
“Hi, Nicole. How’s the show?”
“The show is going great. Sold out every night.”
“What can I get you?”
“Give me a cranberry and orange juice,” I said, lifting myself onto a stool at the end of the bar. While Billy was mixing up my favorite juices I stepped down from the bar stool and went to the ladies’ room to see how well my makeup was holding up. On the way back to my stool I called and checked my messages.
“Yes, Ms. Springer, you have two messages. One from Sam, you got the part, and another one from Dr. Gessler, saying congratulations and I love you and wear the black dress.” I hung up the phone and took a deep breath and then let out a loud squeal. I quickly dialed Sam’s number to confirm her message. She said the director called right after my audition. Sam’s voice was filled with excitement. She said she had never got a director to call back so soon after her client auditioned. I didn’t tell her about Pierce’s intervention. When I hung up from Samantha I called Pierce’s office but his secretary told me he was with a patient. I dropped my remaining quarters in my purse and headed back to the bar.
“Good news?” Billy questioned.
“The best. Great news,” I said gleefully as I walked briskly to the stool, took a long sip of the drink, and grabbed my bag and headed out the door. I stopped long enough to ask Billy to put it on my tab or make Delaney pay for it when she showed up.
“It’s on me,” Billy yelled as I walked out the door.
As I headed toward Eighth Avenue to hail a taxi, I was so happy that I was literally skipping. I would give my mother a call to share the good news and then prepare my farewell to the cast of Jelly’s. I knew my mother would be happy but I could also count on her saying, “When are you going to get in a show that lasts as long as that Dreamgirls show?” Was there any way to satisfy my mother?
Seven
The things you do for love. Jared not only got me up each and every morning to exercise but he also got me to do something that I’d never envisioned doing in this life. Bowling. We would meet Friday evenings after work at a bowling alley near Lennox Mall and then head to a restaurant called Mick’s in Buckhead or to the popular bar Mr. V’s Peachtree for drinks. On this Friday all the time we were bowling Jared seemed preoccupied and in deep thought. So preoccupied that I came close to beating him, which would have been something of a miracle. I too was preoccupied, thinking about the dinner I would use to reveal my feelings and myself to Jared. After bowling we decided against going to Mick’s or Mr. V’s but went to my condo instead. We were drinking a couple of Rolling Rocks when Jared walked quietly toward the sliding glass door that led to the patio looking out over north Buckhead.
“What’s on your mind, buddy?” I asked Jared. “You seem to be out there with the stars.”
“Oh, just something I’ve got to clear up,” Jared answered.
“Anything I can help with?”
“Well, you know this guy from my old neighborhood is running against Congressman Thomas,” Jared said.
“I’ve only heard you mention it. He’s not serious competition is he?”
“No, not really. There’s just some information I know and I can’t decide whether or not to share it with the congressman,” Jared lamented.
“What kind of information?”
“Well, Jimmy Dee is gay,” Jared said with a trace of disappointment in his voice.
“Gay?” I repeated, trying not to change my facial expression.
“Yeah, and a couple of guys working on the campaign found out about it and want to use it to get him to drop out of the race,” Jared said.
“Well, how do you feel about that?” I asked.
“That’s the problem. I don’t know how I feel,” Jared said as he took a long gulp of his beer.
I took a sip of my warm beer and saw the disturbed look on Jared’s face. This was really a big concern for him. In the two-plus years that we had known each other this was the first time the word “gay” had been uttered by either of us. I thought maybe now would be the perfect time to tell Jared, when he suddenly started to think out loud.
“I mean I don’t have anything agains
t a person if that’s what they choose to be and I really don’t like to start throwing dirt in political races, especially since there are two black men against a white candidate. But he could split the black vote and force a runoff.”
Choose, I thought. So Jared thought someone chose to be gay. Should I correct him or let him continue to voice his feelings? The expression in his eyes was hard to read.
“How real a possibility is that?” I asked anxiously.
“Well, you never know,” Jared said. “I mean Jimmy has been on the City Council for years and people in the community love him. He’s done a lot for them. I’ve heard some people, even my mother, say that Congressman Thomas has gotten too uppity since he’s been to Washington.”
“Shouldn’t the people decide? Do you think it’s right to use something like that? And how do you know for certain he’s gay?” I quizzed, playing devil’s advocate.
“Yes, the people will decide, and trust me on being certain about Jimmy,” Jared said.
Well, I wasn’t going to touch that. I mean, it could only be one thing—this guy had come on to Jared at some point. If he had made a pass, I wondered why Jared didn’t share that with me. Maybe the pass had turned into something more. Jared leaned on the steel banister, swallowed the rest of his beer, and stared aimlessly.
“So what’s on the agenda for the rest of the weekend?” Jared asked after a brief period of silence and obvious deep thought.
“Well, I’m going to church with Gilliam.”
“Oh, that should be fun. Didn’t you say something about a special dinner?”
“Yeah, but that can wait till later. I mean it looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” I said.
“Yeah, but you know I can make time for you,” Jared said.
“Let me give you a call tomorrow. You doing your big brother thing?”
“Yeah, first thing in the morning. Give me a call and let me know what you want to do,” Jared said as he grabbed his briefcase and gym bag and walked slowly toward the front door.
“Okay, buddy, don’t think too hard about that situation. You’ll make the right decision,” I assured him.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Okay,” Jared said as he gave me a hug with his powerful arms.
After Jared left I got another beer from the refrigerator and walked back outside to the patio. I watched dusk descend with orange and purple streaks as the sun blended with the clouds. I tried to interpret my conversation with Jared and wondered if his current dilemma was caused by his disgust or his own insecurities. I was beginning to feel a strange sense of betrayal. I wanted to believe that in Jared I had the most difficult of all things in this world to find. A friend and lover in the true sense of the words. Someone with whom I could share my deepest confidences and completely bare my soul. Just hours before it had all seemed possible. Now, with a single conversation, I was not so certain.
I heard a knock at my door and since my doorman hadn’t buzzed me I assumed that it was Jared. I quickly opened the door without even looking through the peephole and realized that it was Trey, the evening doorman.
“Got this package for you, Mr. Tyler,” Trey said as he handed me a box wrapped in my mother’s familiar brown paper.
“Thanks, Trey. Looks like a care package from home,” I said as I reached in my pocket to retrieve a tip for Trey.
“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Tyler,” Trey said when he saw my hands come out of my pockets empty.
“I’ll take care of you later on this evening,” I said.
“No problem.”
I was right, it was a package from my mom. I ripped open the box and from the escaping scent I realized what it was. There in a tin box were my favorite chocolate chip butterfinger cookies that only my mother could make. There was a little note from Mom stating that she would love to hear from her number-one son.
I bit into one of the tasty cookies and headed for the phone to call home. Friday evening was the one night Mom didn’t cook and demanded that, like it or not, Pops take her and Kirby out to dinner. I looked at my watch and was certain they wouldn’t be there, but I could leave a nice message. Much to my surprise, my mom picked up after two rings.
“What’s going on, lady?” I quizzed.
“Ray-Ray,” my mother said with a slightly startled voice.
“Who else?”
“How you doing, baby?”
“I’m doing great now that I have my care-package cookies,” I said as I took a bite from my second cookie.
“Oh, you got them already. That was quick,” Mama said.
“Yeah, how is everybody and why aren’t you out on your Friday night date?” I asked.
“I’m here waiting on your father now. He’s out looking for Kirby.”
“How are Pops and Knucklehead?” I asked.
“Oh, your father is fine, but your little brother, well, that’s another story,” my mother said, concern in her voice.
“What’s wrong with Kirby?”
“Too long a story to go into right now, baby. But I will tell you this. Your father is thinking about shipping his lanky butt off to military school very soon,” Mama said.
“No shittin’,” I replied.
“You’d better watch your language, mister,” my mother laughed. “I might have to tell your father to send you too.”
“Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to talk with Kirby?”
“I don’t know right now. Let’s see what Ray Senior can do.”
Mom went on to explain that Kirby was staying out past his curfew and hanging out with a bad group at school. She said his grades were dropping and all he had on his mind were girls, basketball, rap music, and pressuring her to allow him to get a hole in his ear. She told me that Kirby’s peers constantly kidded him about making good grades and being from a rich family. “A rich family,” my mother laughed. “If these children only knew how hard we struggled to get here.”
“But you’re a schoolteacher, Mrs. Tyler. You’ve got to be rich,” I joked.
We talked about how kids had changed since I was a youth growing up in Birmingham and how there was even talk of L.A.–type gangs moving into our hometown. I assured my mother that Pops would take care of it and if she wanted me to I would allow Kirby to come to Atlanta for an extended visit this summer. She said she would talk with Pops about it and give me a call next week. My mother also assured me that Pops, as always, had everything under control when it came to Kirby.
After hanging up, I started to undress, put on a Whitney Houston CD, and debated how to spend the rest of the evening and my weekend. I thought about my conversation with Jared and tried to decipher his concerns. There he was on one hand condemning the gay lifestyle and subtly flirting with me on the other. I mean he was sending out mixed signals but so was I. I had to come face to face with the looming possibility that my friendship with Jared would not lead to romantic love.
I also thought about my little brother and how he was growing up so fast. Since I didn’t really have a social life I thought it might be good to have him here with me. Thinking about that made me realize that the day when I would have to share my sexuality with my little brother was close at hand. I knew he was growing up fast and that I would have to sit down with him soon, but I was going to clear it with my parents first. I took a long hot shower and sat nude in the darkness of my living room, sipping a warm, stale beer on the sofa as the sounds of presummer played a haunting symphony outside my sliding glass door and a soulful female voice floated throughout my condo.
Eight
During the taxi ride to meet Pierce I became excited all over. I had just got the lead role in a new Broadway show. Maybe this one would last longer than thirty-plus performances. When I spoke with Pierce he sounded excited about seeing me and celebrating my new role. He also said he had another big surprise for me. As the taxi moved through the busy city streets I wondered what the surprise could be.
Pierce chose J
ezebel’s for dinner. It was one of my favorite places to eat in midtown Manhattan and was just blocks away from most of the major theaters. It was one of Pierce’s favorites too. Jezebel’s was an alluring establishment with large palms and assorted delicate shades of green foliage towering overhead. The furnishings were antiques that looked like they came straight from a New Orleans brothel, with the exception of a large mahogany bar facing the eating area and Ninth Avenue in the background. Hanging from the ceiling were beautiful, multicolored shawls and antique chandeliers, glittering in the night, giving the room a romantic effect. Some of the tables had old-fashioned swings around them, instead of the regular wrought-iron chairs. The swings were reminiscent of the old swing on my grandma’s porch back in Arkansas. How I adored that swing.
As soon as I walked into the restaurant I spotted Pierce sitting at a table located next to the large picture window. He stood up to greet me as I walked past a crowd of people waiting for tables.
“Don’t you look beautiful. You’re wearing my favorite dress. How is Broadway’s newest star feeling?” Pierce asked.
“Yes, and I’m feeling great. What about you?” I asked as I gave Pierce a gentle kiss on the lips.
“I’m doing just great. So how was the rest of your day?”
“It was great, thanks to you,” I said.
“Don’t thank me. The bottom line has always been your talent,” Pierce said.
“But still I really appreciate all your help.”
“I know you do. Are you excited?”
“Yes, I am. I’m starving too. Where is our waiter?”
Pierce motioned toward an attractive-looking black man who quickly came to our table with a sly grin on his face.
“Would you like an aperitif?” the waiter asked.
“Sure, two Dubonnets,” Pierce said.
“No, I think I’d like a Campari instead,” I inserted.
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