Authors: Elizabeth Adler
“There’s just the matter of my fee, of course. Now, let me think….” He twirled his cigar again; he knew exactly what it was going to cost Ned Sheridan and he could already see the country place with the roses and the cat, and the Lambs Club and the opening nights. Ned Sheridan would be his entree into the big time for the first time in his life. “Of course, as your manager I could ask for more, but I think fifty percent would be appropriate, considering our friendship.”
“Agreed!” Ned grabbed Jacob’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. “When do we leave for New York?”
“You
do not leave, dear boy.
You
are going onstage to play my role—the lead—while I shall travel to New York and consult with my friends on your behalf.”
Jacob departed the next morning, dressed in his flamboyant best—gray pinstriped trousers and a black broadcloth jacket, greening at the seams with age. He wore a flowing silk foulard knotted at his neck and a voluminous
black cape and broad-brimmed black hat, and he carried his silver-topped malacca cane.
He swore Ned to secrecy and did not tell Sasha why he was going to New York. She watched him go, wondering what exactly he was up to, because the wily old bastard was up to something, she knew. She noticed young Ned Sheridan was seething with excitement, too, and she was sure it was not just because he was to play the lead tonight instead of Jacob. She sighed as she emerged from her nest of pillows and began to prepare for the performance. Whatever Jacob was up to, she surely hoped it was successful because she was getting too old for this.
That night Ned gave everything he had to his role as a French count in love with a dying courtesan. It was Jacob’s version of
Camille
and the meager audience lapped it up, calling for an encore.
Sasha gazed at them, stunned. She had not heard a call for an encore in years and lately she was only too glad to get off the stage so she would not hear the horribly personal insults hurled at them by the departing patrons. Ned stared across the flaring footlights at the few dozen people applauding him and he felt that heady rush of power and exhilaration that only success could bring. He told himself excitedly that with Jacob’s help he would soon be playing to audiences of hundreds of people, and he couldn’t wait for Jacob to get back with the good news.
Jacob’s “connections” in New York’s theater world were real enough: he knew them all right, but they did not want to know him. Still, with Ned’s studio portraits clutched in his hands and his own bravado he managed to bluff his way into the office of famous producer Charlie Dillingham, who just happened to be casting a new play, and there just happened to be a role for a handsome juvenile lead. Dillingham told Jacob to send Ned to audition. “But he’d better be as good-looking as his picture,” he said, tapping the studio portrait of Ned with a warning finger.
“He’s more than that,” Jacob replied confidently. “My client has talent, Mr. Dillingham. The kind of talent that
brings in audiences.
Ned Sheridan will put arses in your seats,
Mr. Dillingham, make no mistake about that.”
The next day Ned and Jacob went to New York together. And Ned, bareheaded, handsome, and confident, strode into Dillingham’s office as though he owned the place. He told Dillingham what a good actor he was and at the auditions held later in the Fifth Avenue Theater he proved it. Ignoring Jacob’s urging to repeat his previous night’s role in
“Camilla by Candlelight,”
(written by J. de Lowry), he read cold from the script Dillingham handed him.
It was a lighthearted play; there were no hidden meanings and deep thoughts. It was meant purely to entertain and Dillingham knew that Ned Sheridan was the man for his juvenile lead. The women would adore him for his looks and the critics would not be able to say a bad word against him. But he was a hard man and he struck a hard bargain. One hundred dollars a week was a long way from the five hundred Jacob had hoped for and he saw he would have to wait awhile for his rose-covered cottage. Still, he asked for a week’s salary in advance and he handed fifty dollars to Ned with a flourish. “Don’t spend it rashly, dear boy,” he cautioned. “The play doesn’t open for another month and there’s no guaranteeing how long it will last. One week’s pay may be all you get.”
Ned did not give a damn. He was walking down Broadway, the street of dreams, and his own dreams were about to come true. He went straight into a jewelers and spent it all on a pretty amethyst ring for Lily. It might be a while, but when he could get back to Nantucket he would ask her to marry him again, and this time he would seal it with an engagement ring.
He worked out his final two weeks with the Players, playing the leading roles because Jacob said it would be good practice for him. But in reality it was because the word about Ned had gotten around and for once the de Lowry Players were playing to a full house, and Jacob wondered with a pang of regret whether he had done the wrong thing after all, sending his protégé to New York.
“He would have gone anyway,” Sasha said with a shrug. “It never takes long for an actor to know when he’s got the upper hand, because he’s usually been at the bottom so long. Didn’t I tell you the boy had talent?”
“This is just the beginning,” Jacob said, happily smoking his Double Corona. “Ned Sheridan will buy us our cottage in the country,
and
our entree into New York stage circles. Fifty percent!” He laughed. “And the boy never even questioned it.”
Sasha glanced disparagingly at her husband. “He will, Jacob,” she promised. “Soon enough, he will.”
Two weeks later Jacob and Sasha escorted Ned to the railroad station, warning him that the city was full of thieves and con men, telling him to find himself a respectable boardinghouse and to watch his money. Just as the train was pulling out Harrison Robbins hurtled along the platform, a valise clutched in his hand. The train was already moving and he ran alongside, flung the valise on board, then swung himself up after it. He turned to wave as they steamed past the de Lowrys. “I just quit, Jacob,” he yelled, laughing at their astonished faces.
“After all, I couldn’t let my greenhorn friend go off to Broadway alone,” he explained to Ned. “It would be like sending an innocent lamb to the slaughter.” He sat back and folded his arms and grinned at him. “I’m sick of de Lowry,” he said. “And I’m sick of second-rate plays and third-rate theaters. I’m an actor. I can dance and I can sing. I can play the fool or the suave seducer with the best of them and I’m taking my chances in New York with you, Ned. Besides, I know this terrific landlady. She serves the best Sunday roast you and I will have tasted in a long time
and
she’ll keep her motherly eye on both of us. Believe me, Ned, it’ll be a lot better than the crappy lodgings we’re used to. I’ve got three hundred and fifty bucks to my name and if I don’t have a job by the time it runs out, I swear I’ll become a traveling salesman. It’s make-or-break time, kiddo. That’s what it gets down to when you’ve been an
actor for twenty-five of your thirty-two years and you still haven’t made it.”
Ned leaned across and shook his hand. He said, “Thanks, Harry, for coming along. And it’s make-or-break time for both of us. If I flop, I’m going back to Nantucket to run my dad’s chandlery and marry Lily.”
“And if you win?”
Ned laughed. “I’ll still marry Lily.”
“I knew it. Hark to the voice of experience, old son. Forget her. There’s a hundred pretty chorus girls just longing to be seen on the arm of the handsome young lead in Broadway’s latest success,
Tomorrow’s Man.
You are tomorrow’s man, Ned. And Lily is the past. Forget her, I say.”
“If you knew her, you would never say that,” Ned said stubbornly. “No one who met her could
ever
forget Lily.”
Harry lit up a cheroot and stared out the window at the passing scenery. “I only hope you don’t waste yourself on a memory,” he said thoughtfully.
The boardinghouse was on West Fortieth Street and the landlady, Eileen Malone, carefully inspected the two young men ringing her bell. “It’s you again, Mr. Robbins,” she exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you in an age. So who’s your friend?”
“My friend is the next big Broadway star,” Harry said, introducing him. “He is starting rehearsals for a starring role, Mrs. Malone. Not, I admit,
the
starring role, he’s a little too young for that honor. But the ingenue is good enough to start, especially working with the famous Charlie Dillingham and I don’t doubt he’ll go on to even bigger and better roles from there.”
Mrs. Malone looked at the handsome, eager blond young man with the expressive pale-blue eyes and thought Harry was probably right. But then, she was a sucker for a good-looking fella anyway. She showed them their rooms, they paid their rent in advance, and Harry told Ned he was taking him out to breakfast.
“We may not be able to afford dinner at this place yet,”
he said, sweeping grandly into the men’s cafe on the Broadway side of Delmonico’s, “but for the grand sum of forty cents you can partake of boiled eggs, toast, and coffee. Add another dime for a tip, and for a total of fifty cents you can sit with the greats of theater land, reading the reviews in the morning papers just like they do. And when they look up you can catch their eye and nod and smile and after a while they’ll start to think they must know you.” He raised his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and rolled his eyes to heaven. “And then, dear boy, you can ask them for a job.”
“Does it really work?” Ned asked glancing eagerly around to see what famous faces lurked behind the raised copies of the
New York Herald
and the
Tribune.
“I sure hope so,” Harry said, ordering boiled eggs and toast for the both of them. “But even if it doesn’t at least you’ll be able to drop their names to other people. You know, the sort of thing … ‘When I was in Delmonico’s having breakfast this morning with A. L. Erlanger, I mentioned to Lillie Langtry and David Belasco that I thought Ned Sheridan would be perfect for the starring role….’”
Ned threw back his head and laughed out loud. Newspapers were suddenly lowered around the room and a dozen pairs of eyes fastened speculatively on him. “See?” Harry said triumphantly. “It’s working already.” Ned laughed again, but Harry was quick to notice that one or two of those newspapers remained down and that there were thoughtful looks on the faces of a couple of the readers. His idea had not been a bad one after all: Ned Sheridan was already being noticed.
“You’d be much better off with me as your manager than that old ham, Jacob,” he commented, slicing off the top of his egg.
“But he got me the part,” Ned protested. “A hundred a week, and that’s five times more than I’ve ever earned.”
“Only because de Lowry didn’t pay you enough. He
never paid
any
of his actors enough. So, what’s he charging you for the favor? Ten, fifteen percent?”
“Fifty.” As Harry’s stunned eyes met his, Ned added quickly, “He deserves it; without him there was no job.”
“The dirty low-down little crook,” Harry said slowly, leaving his egg untouched. “Ned, you’re like a babe on Broadway. Ten percent would have been more than enough from such a small salary. Agents, managers”—he shrugged—“they get anything from ten to twenty-five and that’s tops, when they’ve really
made
a star.” He glanced suspiciously at Ned. “Have you signed a contract with him?” Ned shook his head. “Good. Then there’s nothing that binds you to pay him a cent.
The hell with acting!”
he said suddenly, slamming his fist on the table, and again the newspapers were lowered to stare. “I shall be your manager, Ned Sheridan, because if I’m not you’ll be working every night of your life for a thief like Jacob de Lowry.”
“It’s a matter of honor,” Ned said stubbornly. “We shook hands on it.”
“Okay, so pay Jacob his fifty for the run of the play. But after that, I’m looking after you. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Ned said, relieved, thinking that he hadn’t even set foot on the stage of the Fifth Avenue Theater yet and already he was in trouble.
Rehearsals started the following morning and after a leisurely breakfast at Delmonico’s he and Harry wandered over to the theater around eleven. Mr. Dillingham and the rest of the cast were already assembled on the stage and Ned hurried through the darkened auditorium to join them.
“Thank you, Mr. Sheridan, for being good enough to give us the benefit of your company,” Mr. Dillingham said scathingly. “You have just kept my stars waiting for fifteen minutes. You will be on time in future or I shall be looking for another second lead.”
Mumbling embarrassed apologies, Ned took his place on the stage. He had memorized his lines and everyone else’s as well, and he had no need of a script but he held it open,
like the others, while the director put them through their paces. It was a long, hard day of rehearsal, and so were all the others leading up to opening night.
“There’s terrific advance booking,” Harry told him, examining the newspapers over their regular Delmonico’s breakfast on the morning of opening night. “The word is it’s not a bad play—not great, but not bad. And look here, Ned, it says ‘Watch out for Dillingham’s secret weapon, a handsome young actor in the role of Marcus Jared, the “Tomorrow Man” of the title.’”
Harry’s mustache fairly bristled with excitement. “It’s your first notice in the Broadway columns, old son, and it’ll not be the last.”
Ned was nervous. He was made-up and in his costume hours too soon and he prowled backstage, muttering his lines, his fingers clutched around the little box with the amethyst ring he had bought for Lily.
He had not told her or his family about his big chance in case it was a disaster, and if it was he had told himself he would quit; he would go back to Nantucket and marry Lily and maybe that’s what he should have done anyway because he sure as hell couldn’t remember a single line.
The opening-night audience was already filing into their seats, and he could hear them laughing and chattering as though nothing was wrong. Harry strode, beaming, toward him.
“Dillingham’s filled the orchestra with celebrities,” he said happily. “Everybody who’s anybody is here tonight. You’ve got it made, Ned. Just go out there and
give
’em your best. Oh, and by the way, Jacob’s out in front with Sasha. I left instructions he wasn’t to be allowed backstage until after the performance, okay?”