“I’m not lying.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said and began brushing her teeth.
“What do you do now?” he asked when she returned to the bedroom.
“Take a copy of the play over to Fannon.” She got into bed, reached for the alarm clock and set it for noon. “But first I want to get over to the beauty parlor and get my hair washed and cut.”
“It looks okay to me.”
“It’s not. It’s been months since I had it cut.” She leaned back against the pillows. “I have to get some sleep.”
He left the room, closing the door behind him. The heavily draped room was suddenly dark and she lay in the bed staring at the wall. She didn’t like the way she was acting but she couldn’t seem to help it. He had no idea how uptight she was, how important her writing was to her. He had never seemed curious enough to want to read what she had written, and she had the feeling that as far as he was concerned her work had nothing at all to do with him. The only communication they had between them was sex.
***
The alarm aroused her from a deep sleep. The sound jangled her nerves and she groped with shaking hands to turn it off. After putting on the bedside lamp, she lit a cigarette and took a few drags. She was feeling somewhat calmer when the telephone began to ring.
It was a woman’s voice. “May I talk to Fred, please?”
“Just a moment.”
Fred was asleep on the couch. She touched his shoulder. “Phone call for you,” she said.
“Who is it?”
“I didn’t ask.”
He picked up the telephone beside the couch as she went back into the bedroom. She closed the door behind her and hung up the extension. In the bathroom she stared at herself in the mirror and didn’t like what she saw. Her face had an indoor pallor and there were tension lines around her mouth and eyes that she had never noticed before.
She thought about the sound of the voice of the woman on the telephone. Whoever she was, there was no doubt that the lady was in control. She wondered what the woman looked like, how old she was, then suppressed an impulse to eavesdrop on the extension.
What was the matter with her? These were not her kind of thoughts, that was not the kind of thing she would do. There were no strings between her and Fred; he didn’t own her, she didn’t own him. They were together only because they wanted to be. Anytime either one wanted to leave, they were free to do so. But for six months they had been cooped up with each other, and that kind of togetherness sometimes played funny numbers on your head.
She wished now that she hadn’t answered the telephone. But then Fred wouldn’t have answered it either. He never did—because of her mother.
Her mother had gotten very angry when she discovered they were living together. She hadn’t approved of JeriLee’s way of life before but living with a black man was going too far. And she made no bones about telling them exactly how she felt. There was no doubt in her mind that Fred had completely destroyed JeriLee’s life.
At one point she threatened to have JeriLee committed until JeriLee pointed out that she no longer had the power. Since then communication between them had completely broken down. It had been four months since JeriLee had seen her and weeks since they had spoken on the telephone.
Maybe what she needed was a shrink. But even if she had one, there was no way she could pay him.
She scanned the shelves of the medicine chest. Pills weren’t as expensive as a psychiatrist. She took down the vial of Quaalude 500 mg. Just what she needed. Librium relaxed her muscles, Valium helped her sleep, but Quaalude did a double trick. It both calmed her and made her feel good at the same time. She popped the pill and stepped under the shower, turning the cold water on full blast.
***
Wrapped in a bath towel, she sat on the edge of the bed and dialed Fannon’s office.
“Adolph Fannon Productions,” a woman answered.
“Mr. Fannon, please. JeriLee Randall calling.”
“Just a moment, please.” Suddenly she felt her heart begin to hammer inside her chest. It had been more than a year. She wondered if he would remember her or his promise.
There was a click, this his voice. “JeriLee. So good to hear from you.”
She made her voice light and casual. “It’s good to talk with you, Adolph.”
“It’s been too long,” he said warmly, then he became more business like. “You finished the play?”
“Yes,” she said, relieved that he had remembered.
“When do I get to see it?”
“I can bring it by whenever you want.”
“That isn’t the way old friends do business. You come to dinner with me. We’ll talk about it first. Then I’ll take it home and read it.”
She smiled to herself. She knew that the play would be read by his entire staff before he looked at it, but even so it was nicer than just dropping if off at the office. “I’d like that,” she said. “When do you want to have dinner?”
“How about tonight?” he asked. “Are you free?”
“I can be.”
“Good. Sardi’s at eight thirty. The theater rush should be over by then and we’ll be able to talk.”
“Eight thirty,” she repeated. “I’ll be there.”
It wasn’t until she put down the telephone that she realized how nervous she had been. Her hands were shaking again. She would need another Quaalude before going to dinner. It was very important that she hold herself together.
Chapter 5
When she let herself in after dinner the apartment was empty. It was almost eleven o’clock. The note on the table was brief and to the point. “Have gone to a meeting. Should be back around midnight.”
JeriLee felt a twinge of annoyance. She had not left for dinner until eight and Fred had said nothing to her about a meeting. She crumpled the note and threw it into the wastepaper basket. Restlessly she went into the bedroom and changed into a shirt and jeans. Now that the play was finished, the apartment suddenly seemed confining.
She roamed aimless through the living room, then went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of white wine. She had to start thinking about getting a job.
“I’ll have to go back to work, I guess,” she had told Fannon when he asked about her plans. “Do you have anything for me in any of your shows?”
“I don’t think so. It’s been a bad season. I don’t have any shows on the road this summer.”
“I’ll have to look around then,” she said.
“Who’s your agent now?”
“I don’t have any,” she said quickly. “I sort of let everything drop while I was working on the play.”
He had looked at her without speaking. She knew that he knew what had happened. “Now that I finished the play I thought I might go over to William Morris.”
“You can tell them that I’m interested in the play if that would be of help,” he said.
She looked at him gratefully. “Thank you, Adolph,” she said sincerely.
“Anything I can do,” he said, moving his hand along her thigh, “just call.”
“I will,” she said.
He put her into a taxi in front of the restaurant. When the cab turned the corner on Broadway she told the driver to drop her at Forty-second Street. She took the subway uptown from there. Taxis were too expensive these days.
Strange how things had changed. For a long time cabs had been her only way of getting around town. But that seemed like a long time ago. Sardi’s too was different now.
A little more than a year ago when she walked into the restaurant it seemed as if everyone knew her.
This time the maitre d’ had looked at her with a blank expression even after she had asked for Fannon’s table. She wondered if she had changed that much.
“Mrs. Thornton, of course,” he answered with a professional smile when Fannon asked if he remembered Miss Randall. “I thought it was you. But you’ve changed your hairstyle. I wasn’t sure. Welcome back.”
Welcome back? Where was she supposed to have been, the Arctic Circle? “Nice to be back,” she said, hating the words as she spoke them.
It was the same with other people who stopped by the table to talk to Fannon. In each case she had to be introduced and she could tell by their expressions that her name rang no bells. Broadway didn’t have a long memory, that was for sure.
She had almost finished the wine when the telephone rang.
Fred’s voice sounded happy in her ear. “How’d the dinner go?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said. She could tell that he had been drinking.
“He goin’ to do the play?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “He’s got to read it first.”
“We’re havin’ a celebration up here,” he said. “I just signed a management contract with Licia an she broke out a bottle of real champagne. Hop in a cab and come on up.”
“Maybe I’d better not,” she said hesitantly. “It’s late.”
“Come on, honey,” he said. “There’s just Licia, her lawyer an’ me.” She heard another voice in the background. “Change of plan, honey.” He laughed. “You wait there, we comin’ to get you. Goin’ to do a little finger popping tonight.”
Then he clicked off. Maybe it was just as well, she thought. Without work the apartment was depressing.
***
Arthur’s was jammed. The music reverberated from the speakers over their heads and they had to shout in order to be heard. There had been a long line at the door when they had pulled up but, without hesitating, Licia had gotten out of the car and left it for the doorman to park. Then, as if by magic, the door was opened and a good table found for them. She seemed to know everyone in the discotheque.
It wasn’t until they got out of the car that JeriLee realized how tall Licia was—at least five ten, she guessed. There was something statuesque about her, a composed strength that revealed itself in the way she moved and walked. By comparison, the girl Sam with her selfish petulant look seemed soft. Marc, the lawyer, was a young man with a shrewd Jewish face which created immediate feelings of distrust.
As soon as they had reached their table and the waitress had taken their order, the lawyer and Sam got up to dance. In a moment they were lost in the press of people on the dance floor.
Fred, sitting between Licia and JeriLee, smiled. “You two are goin’ to like each other,” he said. “You’re both very independent ladies.”
Meeting Licia’s eyes, JeriLee had the feeling that she and Licia already knew each other. There was a kind of recognition that went beyond the spoken word. She felt herself flushing.
Licia smiled. Her voice was casual. “I know we will.”
“Yes.” JeriLee nodded.
When the waitress came with their drinks, Licia picked up her glass of orange juice. “The music man,” she said.
Fred laughed as they clinked glasses. “I hope neither of you will be disappointed,” he said.
“I don’t think we will,” Licia said, looking at JeriLee.
JeriLee felt herself flushing again. “We won’t be,” she added.
“Why don’t you two dance?” Licia suggested. “Don’t worry about me. I’m okay here.”
Fred looked at JeriLee. “How about it, honey?”
She nodded and got to her feet. The floor was crowded with bodies and after a moment JeriLee gave herself up to the pulsing beat. She loved to dance, especially to rock. There was something exhibitionistic about it that appealed to her. It was a form of dancing that seemed to have been made for her alone.
Fred leaned toward her. “What do you think of Licia?”
“She’s a very special lady.”
Fred nodded, his body moving with the beat. “Smart too. She’s got interests in a lot of things besides the Green Bar. Record stores, music companies and some clubs in other cities.”
“Sounds good,” she said.
“Real good,” he said. “At least we don’t have to scratch for dough no more. She’s guaranteeing me a hundred and fifty bucks a week for the next year at least.”
“And what does she get for it?”
“We’ll be fifty-fifty partners. We’re putting all my songs into a publishing company and everything else, including records and club dates, will spring from that.”
“What does she put in besides the money?” JeriLee asked.
“Her contacts. She knows everybody in the business, and with the things she’s into she’s got a lot of muscle. People are goin’ to try to please her.”
“Sounds good.”
“It is good.”
She met his eyes without answering.
“They ain’t nothing between us but business. Sam’s her friend.”
Suddenly it was beginning to fall into place. JeriLee had known there was a quality about Licia that reminded her of someone else. Now she knew who it was. It wasn’t a physical resemblance, it had more to do with the way Licia looked at her when they met. Carla Maria had given off the same subtle vibrations. Perhaps it was that experience that had given her a new kind of awareness. Through a break in the crowd she saw Licia glance at her meaningfully and she felt her face flush.
Licia knew just as Carla Maria must have known. Could it be that she was telegraphing a message without realizing it? Was it possible that there was a latent lesbian crawling around inside her skin waiting to get out?
She had been so into her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard Fred. She brought herself into focus on him. “What?” she asked. “So much noise I couldn’t hear.”
“She wants me to get some new threads. She’s advancing the bread. She wants me to have a superhip Sam Cooke kind of look.”
She nodded without speaking.
“We’re goin’ to get a few tapes together, then Marc and me are goin’ out to Detroit to see some of the biggies at Motown. She thinks we can swing there.”
For the first time she realized how young he was—not in age, he was older than she—but in naïveté. His dreams were dreams she had had many years ago.
Suddenly she felt old and depressed and in need of a drink. She touched Fred’s shoulder and they left the floor.
As they reached the table, Sam returned alone. “Marc left me on the floor.” She pouted. “There was someone he wanted to talk to and I still feel like dancing.”
“That’s Marc, always hustling.” Licia smiled. “Why don’t you dance with her, Fred?”
“Sure thing.”
JeriLee slid into her seat, carefully reserving Fred’s seat between her and Licia.
“Fine bunch of freaks here tonight,” Licia said. “Half of them are stoned. The other half are showoff smartass freaks who are here because this is the in place to be.”