The Home For Wayward Ladies (38 page)

Robin’s character is overwhelmed to see his younger self with life still left to live. When I sit next to him on the bench, he starts to remember the words and sings along. “
It’s very fancy on old Delancy Street, you know. The subway charms us so when balmy breezes blow to and fro
.”

Together, we sit there simply singing. And then our true love appears. Carolyn comes on wearing a boffo 40’s soxer getup. Robin, ashamed of the old man he has been reduced to, refuses to rise to greet her. Instead, he takes off his fedora off and hands it to me. As I put it on, she instantly recognizes me so we sing “There’s a Small Hotel.” The two of us plan the dreams yet to be while the old man shimmers with the memory of how they all came true.

Vicki enters through a sputtering fog all decked out in heavenly garb. She sings a haunting strain of “I Didn’t Know What Time it Was” and Carolyn and I get lost in a dance that’s slow and sensual- like it’s time to say goodbye. I turn to Robin to see if he’d like to cut in. The old man makes it to his feet, wanting nothing more than to hold his girl one last time. The problem is, when he reaches for her, a force repels his touch away. The lovers no longer exist in the same time. As he is about to meet his maker, he is helplessly tormented by the thought of losing her again. 

Vicki makes a sweeping gesture as the synthesized orchestra swells. Robin sings the final chorus of “Manhattan” from somewhere between heaven and earth. “
The great big city’s a wondrous toy, made for a girl and boy. We’ll turn Manhattan into an isle of joy…
”

With that, he and Vicki disappear into a wash of light. Only, he’s forgotten his fedora so I rush after him to give it back. It’s too late. He’s already gone.

Defeated, I sit back down on the bench at center. Carolyn enters and sits down as if she’s been expecting me for years. She pulls my arm around her and rests her head on my shoulder. In eternity, we are one. I smile as I slowly put on my hat and— blackout. 

Carolyn and I hold our pose in darkness while the main rag flies in. It’s already halfway down and I don’t hear anyone clapping. What the fuck? Until now, I was pretty sure that this was the best part of the show. Then, just before the curtain hits the floor, I hear a sound one better than applause— sniffles. Carolyn kisses my cheek as we retire to the wings for an intermission piss and powder.  

I put my feet up in my dressing room and wait for Mandy to call “places” again. In the meanwhile, Robin offers me a dry martini. It’s not worth telling him that Danny is here; just mentioning it would cause my irritable bowels to flare. “Thank you, honey, but I shouldn’t. I need a clear head to get through Act II.”

Robin looks surprised. “Since when did you bother to become a professional?”

“My dance with Vicki is more of a workout than sucking off a swim team,” I reply. “I can’t risk dropping the bitch because you’d rather not drink alone.”

I see him roll his eyes in the mirror. I get up before I make a scene - again, innocent until proven guilty. Leaving the dressing room, he calls after me, “You spoil sport!” I’ve been called worse things that I’ve pretended not to hear. “Fine,” he adds. “More for me.”

I stand alone on the empty stage. Puddles from the rain have started to form on the deck. It’s coming through the roof at a constant drip. I look into the rafters as if there was something I can do. Another droplet seeps in. This one doesn’t make it to the stage. Instead, one of the lighting instruments is in its way. It strikes it and hisses as it is turned instantly to vapor. Working here makes me wish I had the power to do the same.

“I’m sorry, Miss Ginny,” I mumble, grabbing a mop. “Your fortress is not what it was. But, then again, what is? Maybe you could ease up on the goddamn rain, though. My boyfriend is here and I’d consider it a real blessing if he didn’t have to watch me slip and die.” 

I do my best to dry the floor. Working with my hands gives them a reason to stop shaking. Not long after, I hear Mandy call “places.” The boulder that is Act II quickly picks up speed as it begins its roll downhill. This act has more of what you’d expect from a standard musical revue: “park and bark” we call it, where an actor stands still so they can sing their fucking lungs out. At least Eli had the sense to string all of the boring solos together so the audience doesn’t get sick of having to clap after each one.

Hopefully, the old folks in the crowd will nap through my big dance-stravaganza. It’s the scene that I’m most nervous for. In it, I play a waiter in a café. Vicki plays some broad whose date stood her up for dinner. Feeling sorry for her, I offer her my hand and invite her to the floor.

Dancing, when done right, is more intimate than fucking. Lucky for Vicki, the dumb galoot, I’ve got a lot of practice in both. I see her eyes glaze over as soon as she takes her first step. It’s not a look of panic so much as that of vacancy. I do my best to drag her around the stage and contort her into whatever positions Hunter saw fit. In our brief rehearsal, her tendency during our lift was to tense her body so it was like I was carrying an unruly bundle of logs. This time, however, I can thank the sheriff for making her manageable. The distant sound of him shooting that deer causes her body to go limp. I grew up in New Jersey, so the gunshots barely makes me flinch. I grab her like a wet noodle and float her like a swan. Thank God the critic made it here tonight because it’s the most graceful Vicki Vallenzino will ever be. She has me to thank, although I doubt she ever will.

The startling sound of artillery rouses the majority of the audience who are up way past their bedtime. Carolyn and Robin join us onstage for the final quartet. I’ll be the first to say it: we sound fucking great. Our tone is clearer than a symphony performed on glass, perfectly balanced with a ringing that could cut you to the core. The standing ovation we get is unexpected when you consider how hard it is for our audience to stand. We’re a hit. I can tell because even the thunder is clapping.

44

HUNTER

As was the case with Miss Ginny’s gala back in 1946, the soggy conditions force our after-party to be moved to the great indoors. Lorna, the woman from diner, has brought with her a fabulous spread of finger foods. The smell of spanakopita and pigs-in-blankets quickly overpowers that of mildew. It masks the unpleasant aroma of the theater itself as well as its elderly patrons contained therein.

“I hope no one minds I brought a nibble,” Lorna says, lighting the burner beneath one of the many aluminum trays. 

“Mind?” I reply. “We’re pleased as punch both you and your food are here.” Feeling more comfortable staffing a party than being its object of regard, I attempt to lend a hand.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” she asks, shooing me away.

“I want to help,” I reply. “Tell me what I can do.”

“For starters, you can sign my program so I can brag to all the ladies at the salon ‘I knew him when.’ This is your party, kid. Go enjoy it. Someday it’ll be your picture up on these walls.” 

With the addition of a few clip lights, the tacked up head shots leer. They sparkle through the dust that coats their eyes. If I knew no better, I’d say they were envious of our success. As well they should be. Everyone’s atwitter about how the Show Barn’s finally got a hit on its hands. There’s barely enough cheap wine to go around. 

Danny, the unexpected scene-stealer, is too busy being accosted by Mandy to pay me any mind. As soon as she sees her beloved cousin, she launches at him for a hug. It seems that he knows how to handle her better than most. As she stampedes closer, he sticks his footing so her bulk doesn’t topple him to the ground. I avert my gaze to offer them privacy, although, they make such a scene that no other patron is willing to do the same.

As if I weren’t uncomfortable enough, the actors are still backstage changing and I, for the life of me, can’t find Eli. The only other people I recognize here are Teddy and Frank Vallenzino. I keep my head low to avoid a conflagration. Not that it matters; they’re keeping themselves busy. It seems they’ve cornered the bald critic from the Chronicle who is holding a notepad to his chest as if it were a shield. “Dear, God,” I say, turning to the headshot of Donna Reed, hoping to effect her mannered poise. While a bad review would cost me $1,000, I sincerely don’t expect one. Only, it would mean so much more to know our rave was earned on merit and not by threat.  

“Even you gotta admit, Mr. Newspaper,” I overhear Teddy say, “my gal’s star shone awful bright in this one.”

“Gee, Pops,” Frank adds, “that sounds real nice. Maybe you should write reviews so we don’t got to deal with the likes of this guy here no more.”

“I assure you,” the critic stammers, trying to push past them toward the door, “I have nothing but kind words for this production- Mrs. Vallenzino included.” The sweat on his hairless dome makes him look like a hard-boiled egg that’s just been peeled. While he may have nothing but kind words to offer our production, it’s clear that the same can’t be said about the theater’s management. “You’ll be very pleased with my review tomorrow morning. I guarantee it will be the nicest thing the Pocono Chronicle has ever printed about a Vallenzino.” 

Without opening his umbrella, the critic storms off into the rain. The Vallenzino boys are elated. They slap each other’s backs with such force that it could cause scoliosis. That’s when they spot me. I’m all by my lonesome and I’ve nowhere to hide. They approach with their typically formidable swagger.

“Hey, you,” Frank says. “Think fast.”

He reaches into his pocket and I’m relieved when he doesn’t produce a gun. Instead, he has an envelope in his hand. It’s simply labeled “Dance Boy.” I try not to look surprised.

“That critic says he’s got nothing but love for Mrs. V, which means we got nothing but love for you. Love and money. Count it if you want, Dance Boy, but every penny’s there.”

Teddy ignores the plastic cutlery on the cheese platter and picks at the gorgonzola with a similarly moldy hand. The stench of it combined with his un-flossed teeth makes my eyes water when he tells me, “You done so good I want to talk witchoo about next year. As long as the Pocono Show Barn’s still standing, you can count on us for envelopes plenty thicker than that.” Part of me is flattered that they appreciate by my work. The rest of me is terrified that, within a year, my career won’t be any better off and I may have to accept his offer. “The same goes for the rest of you queers. You let ‘em know I said so.”

“I’ll be sure to do just that,” I reply, forgetting how to smile. Luckily, Danny brushes through them with outstretched arms, which gives me an excuse to seek pardon.

“Hunter, my love!” Danny bellows. “Kudos to you Ladies on a fabulous show. Really remarkable work all around.”

“You lowdown sneak,” I tease, “why didn’t you tell me you’d be here?”

“And spoil my fun? I wanted Nicholas to be surprised and you can’t spill a secret that you don’t know. Speaking of which, where are you hiding Eli?”

“If I knew I would tell you. I’ve been wondering the same. I’d not be surprised if he’s gone to put a carton of cigarettes in a blender so he can mainline them. Oh, Danny, I’m so glad you liked it. Putting this show up has been trying at the best of times.”

“I can only imagine. The ominous rain as I approached this eyesore seemed all too fitting. If Mandy was ever less than chipper, I would have second-guessed sending you here.”

“That’s right,” I reply. “I’d nearly forgotten this was your idea. I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive you.”

“I’ll be sure to think of a way. Come find me when Eli’s out of hiding. I’ve got good news.”

Before I have a chance to pry, the house doors fly open. With that, the party has begun. The cast is ready to be celebrated. For what they’ve just pulled off, they deserve for the world to stop turning beneath their feet. Carolyn and Robin come out first waving and smiling while Nicholas and Vicki linger to determine who gets to enter last. I see Eli’s hand shove Nicholas through so that the owner’s wife can take the final bow.

Vicki revels in it, dipping down into a low curtsy that could suction change from the floor. During the hubbub, I watch as Nicholas wanders toward Danny as though he’s in an hallucinogenic haze. He and Eli must have pinched from Robin’s weed supply back at the estate. Their eyes are thin slits and what’s left exposed is a deeper crimson than cranberry jam. While I don’t approve of their indulgence, I’m pleased to know those two have resumed the passing of the proverbial peace pipe.