The Home For Wayward Ladies (16 page)

Being a former Baptist, Hunter is not aware that the worst thing you can do to a Jewish mother is to give her a glimmer of hope. While watching Carter Harrigan, Tilly starts to sweat like Coach is having a sale. I call the waitress over and order the woman a wine spritzer. When she returns, Tilly snatches the glass from the tray and presses it against her forehead. Her makeup smears from the condensation. “It’s so hot in here,” she huffs. “Who do I have to talk to about getting a fan to move the air or something?”

I couldn’t agree with her more. The room is roasting and Jason’s absence is bringing my blood to boil. I am about to excuse myself to the men’s room to give that bastard a call so I can find out where the fuck he is. The lights begin to dim. That’s when my sweat turns cold. 

Danny takes the microphone at the back of the house. As I stand, he looks me square in the eye so I know to sit the fuck back down. I’m trapped. He starts Nick’s introduction in a voice of a radio announcer from the days when Burns and Allen were a thing. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am overjoyed to present to you the newest and most luminous star on the scene. Please give me a hand in welcoming to the stage Nick Applebaum as Bette Midler as Nick Applebaum in ‘Sing Louder Tomorrow: A Boy and His Bette Midler.”

19

NICK

If I hadn’t given up drinking to save my voice, I would undeniably be blotto right now. It would be real easy for me to get my paws on a cocktail, too; I can see the bar from my dressing table through a hole in wall. All I’d have to do is reach through and whimper. Meanwhile, my nerves are jingle-jangled and there’s not a substance to snort in sight. Not that I could anyway; a line of blow would only give me post nasal drip. And since smoking hash is obviously out of the question, applause is tonight’s only available drug.

After Danny’s intro, there’s a smattering that’s started by my Ma and slowly echoed by the capacity crowd. It ripples through them just as my IBS ripples through me. I hold back a minute to clench my asshole so nothing sprays down the back of my legs. When I do, I hear the old crew from TKTS start clamoring. I let them beg while I work to regain control of my sphincter. By the time I have, they’re chanting my name. That’s my cue.

I enter in a flood of light as if I have been launched from a catapult directly into the sun. It’s all so exciting that I can’t help but sing loud. Too loud. Everything coming out of my mouth is split between two dynamic markings: forte and fortissimo. If I keep it up like this, il voce will never sustain. After all, this show is called
Sing Louder Tomorrow
- if I blow out my voice tonight, there will be nothing left tomorrow to sing louder with.

I can tell it’s making everyone nervous. Three numbers in and you can already hear the signs of strain. Eli grimaces from a table near the front and Hunter’s pasted smile is as fake as my tan. It’s not until the back-up girls start in with their “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” that I can finally relax. Even though they’ve given me more trouble than they’re worth, it’s nice to know that I’m not doing it alone.

I really settle into my grove by the time I get to “From a Distance.” From then on, the audience is putty in my hands. Everything that follows is near perfection. Naturally. They’re so devoted that even the jokes that aren’t funny are met with howls.

What amazes me the most is how I’ve lasted a year without this feeling. Since we got to New York, I haven’t performed anywhere except on my boyfriend’s lap or while I’m Swiffering the living room. I can tell by the faces of the people that know better that I was worth the wait. Believe it or not, I’ve matured.

When my husky bark-tenor grapples with the thorns in “The Rose” I look toward Danny as to imbue a majestic happy/sad. I never thought myself capable of falling in love. Until him, no one was worthy. But now I can sing a symphony composed on heart strings. It demonstrates a depth to my work that had been lacking until today. I own it. His belief in me unearths emotions that make me sing Bette’s old songs as if they have been freshly composed.

I’m not ashamed to say that the ovations I receive are well deserved.  For my curtain call, they clap so hard they might get carpal tunnel. Still, it wouldn’t be gracious for me to not act surprised. So, as they celebrate me, I pull my hands to my mouth and blow kisses while I preen from side to side. The guy in the spot booth must be in on my plan, because he hits me with a pink wash to ensure the light catches the single tear I’ve forced myself to shed.

“Thank you!” I quiver. “Thank you so much!”

This night is a validation of everything I’ve been working toward my whole life and a celebration for everything my life is about to become. I’m a hit, just as I knew I’d be. And now that it’s over, I’m ready to reap my rewards.

20

ELI

We all stand waiting impatiently at the dressing room door as Nick takes a moment to take off his stage makeup in favor of something street-worthy. Before he’s emerged, I check my phone and find this text from Jason: 

“Srry I didnt make it to Nick’s thing. My mother came to town w/o warning. Am stuck with her til tmrrw. Maybe plans next week?”

I want to go chain smoke in traffic, but propriety intervenes. Hunter takes my elbow and leads me to where Nick emerges like a beauty queen on a parade float, cupped hand waving: wrist, wrist, elbow, elbow. As much as this experience has turned him into a facsimile of who he once was, I am proud of my friend. He accomplished exactly what he set out to do, with or without the help of Uncle Pennybags. And, best of all, I don’t have to lie to him because the show was actually good.

Before anyone has the opportunity to lavish Nick with praise, Danny escorts him to the awaiting Carter Harrigan. Mr. Harrigan’s face is stony to say the least. His thin lips are drawn in a straight line. This is either a foreboding sign or his default look in an attempt to hold in his dentures. Then again, Nick was so good I wouldn’t be surprised if he spat out his teeth.

Tilly nearly has to be restrained when the Nick and Carter Harrigan start to shoot the shit. “What are they saying?” she asks. 

Hunter peers back over his shoulder. “I’m not quite sure. I never could read lips, but it looks like it’s going well.”

“How can you tell?” I ask.

Hunter replies, “That agent doesn’t seem the type to crack a smile, but if he throws his head back laughing one more time, he may wind up in traction.”

Hands are shaken, which is easy for Harrigan because his don’t ever seem to steady. He leans on his cane as he bids Nick and Danny a fond farewell. The rest of the room is at a standstill. Everyone is pretending that they haven’t been eavesdropping while we wait to hear the official word. We don’t have to wait long. As soon as the coast is clear, Danny picks up Nick and cradles him in his arms. They spin in circles. He kisses Nick’s face over and over and over. Even when Nick’s feet are back on the floor, he looks like his feet may never touch the ground.

Tilly is holding my hand as Danny rushes over to make an announcement. “Mostly Ladies but also gentlemen, I want you to know that if you plan to put the name ‘Nick Applebaum’ in lights, you’ll have to be in touch with Carter Harrigan, his new agent.”

Tilly collapses into Danny’s chest before she bothers to say a word to her own son. “Thank you for taking such good care of my boy. You haven’t asked yet, but I want to let you know that you can have his hand in marriage as long as you call me ‘Ma’ and promise that my grandsons will get Bar Mitzvahed.”

Nick looks at Danny and laughs as if Tilly’s suggestion might not be so far off the mark. Danny closes his arms tight around her. “It’s a deal… Ma.” As soon as he lets go, she attacks her son with kisses on his neck and cheeks and face. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away. From what I’ve been told about their storied past, I’m glad he’s given her a reason to be proud. 

If only I could say the same for the rest of us. Hunter and I are relegated to waiting patiently in a receiving line so we can give our own Lady a hug. Nick is too preoccupied with the homos from TKTS. Before we garner his attention, Danny steals him away again and proclaims, “We need to celebrate. Let’s go get drunk!”

I think of my thin wallet after the cab ride, the cover, and the two-drink minimum. The night is over for me; I can’t stretch myself any further. Anyway, I’ve been emotionally defeated by Jason. All I want now is my teddy bear, the only man I’ve ever known who’s still smiling when he wakes up next to me. I make eyes at Hunter so he knows to make our excuses. 

“Danny, I’m afraid that Eli and I will have to say goodnight.”

He looks back at us as if we’d called his dead grandmother a whore. “Ladies, I shouldn’t have to remind you that we’re talking about your best friend. It would be guache for you to not raise a glass in his honor.” 

I find that there is nothing more gauche than to accuse someone of being “gauche.” “Danny,” I say, “the two of us couldn’t be happier for Nick. This really is a dream come true, but…” I shake my head as I rub my fingers together to prove there is no money between them.

“Darlings, money is a problem that’s all too easily solved. You’ve been in show business long enough to know that the producer always picks up the tab. It’s on me. And if the two of you are anywhere near as talented as Nick claims you to be, then your money woes will be short lived. Your time is coming. Just stick with me.”

The people that matter the most wander in a herd to a dive bar around the corner. I take the opportunity to admire the remarkable bouquet of flowers overflowing from Nick’s arms. “A present from Danny,” he smiles, giddy with love and occasion. “Today he gave me these along with my future. I still can’t tell which is more beautiful.”

I try my best to swallow everyone’s happiness. It makes my stomach grumble like I could shit a roll of nickels. Watching Danny hold Nick’s hand only rubs the lotion in. It’s impossible to keep my mind off how fucking furious I am to be blown off by Jason. He and I have been an item (of sorts) for four months now. In that time, he hasn’t learned a thing about loving himself. I suppose that I’m to blame; it’s not possible to teach a subject you yourself are wholly ignorant in. But for some fucked up reason, I enjoy how he makes me feel. I’m like a teenager again. It’s too late- I’ve already fallen. Hard. The muscles and tissue beneath the skin are raw, red, and exposed. If only this wound could be cured by Neosporin.

At the bar, Danny orders a round of shots from a hairy bartender that either has testicular elephantitus or a lumpy sock stuffed into his thong. Hunter’s eyes are set to wander and he has to be collected after our drinks are poured. It’s something frothy and yellow that looks fruity enough to not need a chaser. At first Tilly protests. Nick wins her over, though, and her big mouth helps her suck the drink down like a champ: another example of genetics in motion. Nick says he gave up drinking to get his voice ready for the show, so one shot doesn’t begin to wet his whistle. Danny keeps the tab open and the five of us happily wrack up the bill.

Tilly corners Danny to ask him what his parents do (read: where the money comes from). Hunter and I finally steal a moment with Nick.

“Lady,” I say, “I’m so happy for you I could spit.”

That’s all it takes to reduce him to a simpering puddle of tears. The alcohol has obviously kicked in. “Eli, what happens if this is the best night of my life? What if this is as good as it gets and I never feel better than I do right now?”


Hunter tries his best to stand up straight, but the liquor makes him list to starboard. “It takes but a moment to make a memory that can last a lifetime. Remember this always, Lady. Remember how proud we are of you.” He tries to kiss Nick on the forehead and they both nearly tumble to the ground.

Never knowing too much of a good thing, Nick takes another sip of whatever Danny paid for and then slams his hands down on the bar. I know that look. It’s the look of “what goes down might just come up again”. Hunter and I pull him off his stool so we can get him to the bathroom. Nick’s night of making memories dare not be tainted by vomiting on his own shoes. As Dionne Warwick so famously sang, “That’s what friends are for.”

We don’t make it past the end of the bar before Nick stops. He won’t budge and is digging his heels into the ground. Something has caught his eye. Or is it someone? He gasps. “Um, Eli,” he’s points into the undulating crowd, “as if I weren’t queasy enough- do my eyes deceive me or is that Jason over there sucking face with some old man?”

As soon as I reign in my blurred vision, I can see my Lady has spoken true. It is Jason. He’s easily identifiable by his thick legs, sweet ass, and wavy hair. Sure as shit, he’s tucked into the back corner of the dance floor. But he’s not alone. The frenetic pattern of green and purple lights pulsate as his hips wiggle back and forth on someone else’s lap. “But that doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “He told me that his mother was in town.”