The Home For Wayward Ladies (30 page)

“What happened to Mickey is all your fault and I don’t care if you know a guy that could break my knees for saying so. That boy is suffering from an affliction that goes far beyond the standard nausea that caused by dancing with you.” His theater seat creaks closed as he rises to face her. “Mickey was your friend. He was kind enough to drag your flabby fun-backs across the stage and back. Doesn’t he deserve better?” She tightens her grip around Carolyn who painfully bites her lip in support. “We all must look stupid to you, but everyone here knows a lot more than what we’re allowed to say. What almost killed Mickey wasn’t any goddamn flu. Your husband has these people showering in a gas chamber. Honestly, it’s no wonder Carolyn keeps trying to vomit up the baby.” Vicki tries to look away but Robin leans over so he can speak directly into her puffy face. “Don’t you people ever get tired of having to cover your burnt tracks? I don’t even have to keep up with your lies and they exhaust me. Mickey’s liquid shit is on your hands. Just because you’re still standing doesn’t give you the right to walk around here like you’ve never smelled better.”

“And just because you took your Geritol this morning doesn’t mean you should waist your strength pointing fingers. Mickey has the flu. Get it through your big fat head. And you better be careful,” she warns. “People around here know how to make accidents happen.” That’s when I see something in Vicki snap, something evil that dwells within a certain type of woman. The scowl on her face rises into a calculated smile. “But I suppose accidents are something you know plenty about. I’ll admit: my husband may not be the most upstanding man. But at least he didn’t have to kill himself in a helicopter crash to get away from me.”

Robin slowly unties his Hermes headscarf and hands it to Carolyn. He then hurdles his stubby legs over a row of chairs. They kick and struggle as he grabs hold of Vicki’s reptilian gizzard and they scrapple to the floor. It’s the type of undignified display that you would never expect from such a refined individual- some good-natured hair pulling and the exchange of empty words. Vicki soon makes it to her feet and brushes off her pink Juicy Couture jogging suit. That moment is all the opportunity Robin needs to draw back and slap her square across her face. Vicki’s howl is otherworldly, like a vampire left out in the sun. She reels for a moment before brandishing her claws; for this, she’s willing to sacrifice a good manicure. She takes a swipe at him, leaving behind three gashes across his cheek. Blood slowly gurgles to the surface. Its formation looks like war paint. The sight of it is unsettling, so naturally, without warning, Carolyn vomits on the floor.

Mandy does what any stage manager would do; she springs to action. She puts those powerful thighs to use and leaps over the puddle toward the continuing melee. She attempts to wedge herself between them, but Robin’s got Vicki’s hair by the fistful and refuses to let go. Ultimately, it takes her Hulk-like strength to pry the two apart. In a Kung Fu flash, she’s got Vicki’s arms pinned behind her back. All the while, Vicki kicks her legs like a Rockette on a bender.

She screams, “Get your goddamn hands off the merchandise, you fucking dyke.” 

It’s safe to say that everyone has a button, even sweet Mandy. Storm clouds gather in the whites of her eyes. She spins Vicki around in a whip until they are met nose to nose. Her fist is cocked and we all watch her raging muscles bulge. The girl has enough upper-body strength to take down an alligator. If she throws a punch at Vicki Vallenzino, there’s no telling what extent of cranial damage she might inflict (not that the aftereffects would be all that noticeable).

And then, suddenly, we are plunged into darkness. It happens so quickly that it is as if someone unplugged a Christmas tree. “Nobody move,” Mandy shouts.

“What happened?” Carolyn asks despondently. 

“It’s Miss Ginny,” Robin replies. “She’s here now. I can feel her. Listen.” I close my eyes, but all I can hear are the turkey vultures on the roof, shifting their position to combat the appreciated breeze. 

Vicki’s unpleasant squawk fits right in. “This has nothing to do with that old ghost bitch. I’m sure Frank forgot to pay the bill.”

The door creaks open at back of the house. I see a hobbled silhouette leaning in its frame. The voice calls, “All the lights went out in the bathroom.” It’s Hunter. His voice is strained. “For a second, I thought I died. Then I realized that couldn’t be; I deserve an eternity of so much better than this.”

Nick follows shortly after. “I hope someone brought marshmallows because it looks like we’re going to have to rehearse by campfire.”

“Not quite,” Mandy replies, pulling a flashlight the size of a car battery from her stage manager kit. “This should hold us over so I can escort everyone out of the building until whatever happened is repaired. That is to say, if that’s what Eli wants…”

She shines the light directly in my eyes triggering temporary blindness that will soon become a migraine. “What I want is for everyone to sit the fuck down. You especially, Carloyn, before you slip in your own vomit and miscarry. I said that I have good news and, so help me God, I’m going to tell it. Nick- get over here.”

Mandy sends the beam of light his way so he can make it safely down the aisle. With my arm begrudgingly looped around his back, I continue. “This valiant prince is Nicholas Irwin Applebaum. He’s taking over for Mickey; therefore, he’s the answer to our prayers. He’s only got two days to learn everything that’s taken you weeks to still fuck up. Henceforth, Miss Ginny and I would appreciate it if you would stop behaving like monkeys fighting over a banana. For the past three weeks, we have been rehearsing a delicate musical revue and, yet, here you are performing scenes from
The Oresteia
. The least you could do is give this talented young man a round of applause. Go on; pretend you’re grateful to him for saving all our fucking asses.” The sound of their clapping wouldn’t be louder if they were wearing woolen mittens that had been soaked in beef stew.

“Thank you all so much,” Nick says, dipping down into a deep curtsey. “You’re too kind.” He claps back at them condescendingly, which is far more than they deserve. “It’s a relief to hear my darling Eli make mention that you all know how to put up a fight. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than with a group that takes their work so personally. To think: we’ll never live in fear of being told to raise the stakes. To that, new friends, I say ‘bravo.’ Yes,” he lingers. “Bravo.”

Robin stands at attention like a soldier that’s just come back from war. He’s got a tissue pressed to the wound against his cheek in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. “Nicholas, those of us who are about to die salute you. Welcome to the jungle. As long as you don’t mind the overbearing smell of shrapnel, you’ll do fine.” He turns to address the other members of our troupe. “And as for the rest of you savages, let’s not waste time apologizing for words we meant to say. I’m here to make magic, not friends.”

“I don’t give two shits about making magic,” Vicki says. “I’m here to make my husband money. We open in two days and Teddy isn’t going to cancel the first show; we’ve already booked a bus group from the senior center for that performance. Mr. Director- what’s your genius plan?”

“To send you all to bed without supper,” I reply. “Go home and think about what you’ve done. Then wake up tomorrow and do it all better.” They make their way toward the back door, happily accepting their punishment of being let off the hook. Nick starts to follow so I grab him by the collar. “Not so fast, Lady. You’re going to stay. Hunter and Mandy, you are too. We have to get Nick up on his feet.”

“But what about the lights?” Mandy asks.

“If candlelight is good enough for Christine Daaé, then it’s good enough for some Jew-fag from Marlboro, New Jersey. We’ll regroup with full company for a put-in tomorrow morning.”

“Do you think there’s enough time?” Hunter says.

“There will be plenty of time if you refrain from asking me any more asinine questions. From here on out- I’m not playing Mr. Nice Guy. As Robin so fittingly said, ‘We’re here to make magic, not friends.’ For that to happen, I’m going to need more batteries for that flashlight, a fishbowl full of coffee, and enough pixie dust to make a pirate ship fly. I have a feeling that our trip to Neverland is going to make for one very late night.”

36

HUNTER

Exhaustion sets in around one in the morning but Eli demands that we push till a quarter to three. By then, none of us retains the ability to sashay in a straight line. Like the electricity, Nicholas is clearly shutting down. In fact, the poor angel is practically limping by the time we reach the finale. But the whip in Eli’s hand keeps cracking. All the while, he bellows, “Hustle, people. There’s only 43 hours left until we reach the height of public ridicule.”

I keep moving for I dare not disobey. After my unpleasant spell of sickness in the gentleman’s washroom earlier, Eli has made it abundantly clear that my membership to the Ladyfriends has been demoted to probationary standing. I can tell how mad he is with me for I am the only one who is spared his shouting. The truth is, he’s not speaking to me at all. I’m being regarded with no regard, as if I’m not worth the fight. Or, maybe, he thinks I’m worth too much. I suppose it doesn’t matter; knowing the method to his madness wouldn’t make it any easier to bear. Anyway, I gave up trying to figure him out several hours ago, when I was crouched over a toilet to purge myself of the bile my deceit had caused me. At least I have my other Lady by my side. While I am being spared the brunt of Eli’s wrath, Nicholas is asked to deflect more than an earful.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” Eli screams at him from the back of the house. “I told you to cross upstage on the down beat, not downstage on the upbeat. It’s talent like yours that’s devalues my degree.” 

Mind you, Nicholas has never been the type to not scream right back. I have to hand it to him; he resists the urge for as long as he’s able. It’s around the time that I am teaching him the soft shoe section of “This Can’t Be Love” that I sense him itching to jump off the stage to start a rumble. Nicholas and I steal a quiet moment that’s actually not quiet at all. Eli is too busy gnawing off Mandy’s ear to notice. Apparently all the props for the end of Act Two are “an anachronistic disgrace.” Even she’s too tired to take on the burden of pleasing him completely. She nods like a buoy in his wake while he continues to berate her.

“Then you’ll just need to send out a search party to find us a goddamn rotary phone. That touch tone handset is forbidden to appear on that stage. Use your fucking head, Mandy- those weren’t invented until the ‘60s. While you may not be smart enough to know the difference, I like to think that our audience might be.” She shrugs and walks away, resigned to being buried in sand up to the bridge of her nose.

I pull Nicholas close and whisper in his ear, “Whatever you do, don’t kill him.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” he replies, “I’m fresh out of silver bullets.” He unties the drawstring on his cutoff purple pants. As he re-cinches the bow, it drips sweat onto the deck of the stage. He drags his toe through the pool of perspiration. It is the only tangible proof of our otherwise unnoticed efforts.

“We have to keep working,” I say. “I dare not give Eli another reason to despise me.” I reach for Nicholas’ arm to lead him to the position for the top of the number. He slaps me away.

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you either,” he replies. “What the hell were you thinking not telling Eli I was gonna be here?” 

“Yeah, sure,” I snark back, “because telling him you were coming would have made this situation run smoother than a fat kid with Crisco on his thighs. Nicholas, you’re here because I need you. But if you’re planning to turn on me too, the least you can do is use proper port de bras.” I urge him again to take his position for the pas de deux but he refuses. “Lady, look- it’s all my fault he’s treating you this way. I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Maybe it’s not all your fault,” he laughs. “After the incantation I spewed at him while you were busy ralphing on the john, he’s earned the right to pay me back for my witchcraft twofold.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” Nick replies. “But you’ve summoned me here to protect your virtue. I’ve done that and nothing more. Now, you’ve only got two wishes left, Hunt. If I were you, I’d use them wisely.”

“Nick, I called you here to help contain the symptoms of my disorder, not to tell Eli that since the last petal has fallen from the rose, the spell which rendered him a beast shall remain forever unbroken. What have you done?”

“I took care of it,” he replies, “the same way I’m taking care of you now. So, are you going to teach me my number with the boss’ slut wife, or do you want for me to improvise?”