The Home For Wayward Ladies (35 page)

Eli and Hunter exchange a discomforting glance. As the men finish their approach, my Ladies don’t have the opportunity to fill me in. As soon as we’re spotted, the older one’s face folds into a scowl. His smile makes his forehead wrinkle up like a Hot Pocket in a wading pool. “Hello, Mr. Director. Hello, Dance Boy. I’m sorry for whatever unpleasantries my son caused you to overhear. Frank forgets his place every now and then and, as his father, it’s my duty to put him back where he belongs.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” Eli replies. “We didn’t hear a thing.”

“Good boy,” the man says, cupping Eli’s chin with his unwashed hand. He must have felt me staring because he returns the favor by setting his sights on me. “And look what the cat dragged in. Scrawny looking thing, huh, Frank?”

“Yeah, Pops,” Frank says, snickering. “You think he’s man enough to handle Vicki?”

I stumble through a reply. “I got everything Vicki needs except what you give her, boss. She’s a pretty lady but,” I flip my wrist, “don’t expect any competition there.”

He throws his arm around my neck and cackles. “What the libbers say about you queers is right- you’re useful for all purposes except a transfusion. Ammiright?”

His grip makes me choke like I’m sucking on a dildo made of ice. “So right,” I reply, enveloped in his armpit musk.

“I’m glad I found you here because, even though it ain’t Thanksgiving, I want to talk turkey. Me and Frankie-boy are sittin’ through rehearsal today. And since Frankie’s already gone to all the trouble of sharpening a few pencils, I figure I’d take some notes. We can shoot the shit afterwards to see where we stand. How does that ring your bell, Mr. Director?”

“Ring-a-ding-ding!” Eli’s reply is far too enthusiastic to sound sincere. 

“Glad to hear,” says the boss. “So, when the hell do we get started? I ain’t got all day.”

“Yeah,” Frank adds, “I’m real excited to see what Dance Boy’s done with Vix.”

Poor put-upon Hunter digs deep for the courage to say, “If I could have a moment to walk Vicki through the routines with her new partner, we’ll be ready in just a few. Might I suggest that our producer step outside and make the most of a cigar? I’ll have Mandy come fetch you as soon as we’re ready.”

“I like the way you think, Dance Boy,” Vallenzino replies. “You’re right, the producer deserves a cigar. Come with me, Frank— I’ll let you light the match.”  He walks slowly down the escape stairs into the house with the confidence of a man half his age. Unfortunately, his son lingers.

“This better be good, Dance Boy,” he says, poking Hunter’s ribs. “Let’s not forget our little wager.”

“I assure you that I haven’t,” Hunter replies. “In just a few minutes you’ll see that the work I’ve done is worth more than what you owe me.”

Frank twitches his way up the aisle and out the front door. Eli and I take pause while Hunter springs to action. He screams. “MANDY!”

Ever at the ready, she comes running.  “Is everyone okay?”

“We’ll find out soon enough. Get me Vicki for a put-in with Nicholas and clear the stage.”

“But Vicki’s still getting dressed.” 

“Then she can dance naked for all I care. After all, I’m sure that’s how she got her start in this business.” Mandy doesn’t budge. “Go. Fetch. Now,” Hunter commands. 

Eli interjects, “If you’ll pardon me, this seems like a good opportunity to take my leave. I’m going for a cigarette on the loading dock. Does anyone have any rosary beads?”

“I got one better,” I reply. “You’re probably not supposed to know, but Robin paid Frank a little on the side to intsall a mini-bar in our dressing room. It’s fully stocked. Go get a drink, Lady. You’ve earned it.”

41

ELI

Robin and Nick’s dressing room still reeks of fried electricity. I nearly gag when I walk in. Frank’s capabilities as an electrician seem to be as short-reaching as his daily hygiene. If the power hadn’t been restored, it would be safe to say that meth-head has done more harm than good. Fiberglass shards from fallen ceiling tiles create a frost on the otherwise pristine costumes. Stray wires have been taped together and left exposed. In all, it gives the unsettling effect of a bomb that has been unsuccessfully defused. 

Robin sits calmly among the wreckage. His crooked lip-liner emphasizes his already crooked smile. The stress of the day has not yet overwhelmed him as it has overwhelmed me, likely because the contents of his new mini-fridge have left him too tipsy to care. “I brought mint from my garden,” he says, polishing a highball glass with a paper towel. “Let me make you a mojito, my little love.”

“Robin, you know I don’t approve of my cast getting drunk before a run-through. This behavior is completely unacceptable.”

“Well, excuse me for living, but I find that a little nip helps take the edge off. And from the impression I got at breakfast this morning, your edge could cut through titanium. Darling, I say this with utmost love: change your pad and name your poison.”


I sink down off my haunches and settle back to my natural height. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a cunt. You’re right- I could use a drink. Anything but a mojito, though; they’re a total waste of calories and with Nick here, I can’t gain an ounce. You know what? A scotch on the rocks would do me good. But put it in a coffee mug; it’s 10AM for fuck’s sake— not all of us can afford the luxury of openly admitting we’ve given up before noon.” 

Robin bends down to procure ice from his little red cooler on the floor. As he does, he raises his unappealing ass in the air and shakes it from side to side. “You can’t let this place get to you, Eli. That’s what put Miss Ginny in the grave. Well, that and she was older than the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. But my point is: tomorrow night when the show is open, it’s your professional responsibility to walk away. This is it- our last rehearsal. Your work here is nearly done. Then you and Hunter go back to your exciting lives and leave Nicholas and I to play out our two weeks. And when that two weeks is done, then Nicholas will leave too. Well, what about me? I suppose as Little Edie says, it’s ‘another winter in a summer town.’”

“Robin, darling, you’re about to perform a musical comedy revue. Must you be so maudlin? At least let me get through today before I’m expected to say my goodbyes. And when I do, Scarecrow, I promise I’ll miss you most of all.”

“That’s not fair,” he says, reaching for the Kleenex. “You can’t tell me not to be maudlin and then quote the saddest line from
The
Wizard of Oz
. Now I’ll have to fix my mascara. Oh, if I were the Tin Man, I would rust.”

“At your age, the stiffness would come in handy.”

He mouths the word “bitch” to me in the mirror and then begins to repair his eyes. The poor dear looks more like the Wicked Witch; a few tears in and he’s melting. Honestly, though, it doesn’t help that he’s got on enough makeup to paint a mural. But after weeks of tiresome rehearsals, this is the first time I’ve seen the cracks in his foundation. It hadn’t dawned on me until now how much he’s bound to miss me. And that doesn’t begin to cover how much I will miss him. I cozy up behind him and give him a kiss on the cheek. Nothing serious, just a little peck to show how much I care. 

“You’re a sweet boy, Eli Bodner-Schultz.”

“Oh, please,” I reply, “as I said to the Jehovah’s Witness, ‘keep your revelations to yourself.’ No one needs to know I’m sweet; it would only spoil my image. Although it’s not as if the Ladies would believe you anyway.”

“Eli, I don’t mean to venture into territory where land mines may be hidden, but what does it say when your best friends are one room away and you’re squirrelled away in here with me? Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you smile once since Nicholas arrived. What the fuck is going on with you three?”

I try to hide my face so he can’t see my brooding, which, I suppose, defeats the purpose of brooding at all. “Hunter kissed me last night.”

“Oh, Eli- that’s wonderful! I told you so.”

“Save it. Him and Nick just told me it can never happen again. You know, for the greater good, or whatever.”

An angry cry wells up in my throat and escapes before I can swallow it down. The first tear has not yet hit the floor when I find Robin’s arms wrapped around me. Despite his small stature, his spirit has me fully surrounded. He holds me tight. I let him.

I can’t help but cry, especially when he whispers, “There, there,” and rubs my back like my grandma used to do. “There is never love without desperation. And it may not feel like it right now, but this is wonderful news. Eli, think of it- you’re free, free to learn who you truly are without pretending you’re what Hunter wants you to be. Someone is going to love that truth someday.”

It’s not until I’ve soaked through his silk robe that he has the sense to let me go. The crying, however, having long since overthrown my pride, leaks on. My mind continually loops the image of Hunter walking away. The sadness of him evading me once and for all is unbearable. Each time I see it, there’s a stabbing sensation right where my heart should be. “Oh, Robin,” I sniffle, “tell me that life gets easier than this. I’m not equipped to handle this much pain.”

He takes me by my sullen shoulders and sits me down in his chair. “My darling boy,” he says, “I love you too much to lie. Life never gets any easier; however, in time, you learn to not let it disappoint you so.” 

“You must think me some sort of fucking fool,” I say as I attempt to screw my head back on. “I know how trivial this seems. I have so many reasons to be happy. Then why can’t I breathe without loving him?”

“Eli, close your eyes.” When I do, a solitary tear sweeps inward, settling uncomfortably in the crevice of my nose. I hear his makeup compact click open. Before I know it, a cool sponge is gently powdering all traces of the moisture away. Even with my sorrow covered, the heaviness in my heart keeps lurking. “When I look at you, I am overwhelmed by how much about the world you already know. Not simple things either, like the capitol of Peru, but concepts well beyond your years. Real Ladies grow up fast, Eli. We have to. The world doesn’t give us any other choice. But of all the things that make you who you are - your beauty, your humor, the way your dick looks in those pants - the most indelible definition you possess is that you are an artist. Eli, the universe has blessed you with the most wonderful gift it can bestow. You are a truth-teller. You have been ordained with the responsibility to make sense of all that is senseless. You are destined to experience the world with more passion than any of God’s other creatures.  Unfortunately, that means a paper cut may often feel like an amputation. That doesn’t mean you’re crazy; it means you’re good at what you do.”

“No pressure…” I reply sarcastically.

“Hunter Collier has been the only love your life has ever known. In a few years, when you have real experience, the memory of today will make you cringe. But, now, nothing else has ever felt so real. That’s not much different than my truth when I lost Alexander. Only, where our roads diverge is that Hunter is still here. Enjoy him. You’re a damn good artist, Eli. Go find laughter through those tears. Explore your gift. Your journey is going to show you magical things.”

I’m smiling for the first time all day. And then Nick rushes in. “Mandy’s calling places for the top of the show.”

“How did your put-in go?” I ask.

“I’ve seen my mother dance better when she was drunk at a Bat Mitzvah but we’ll be fine. Now stop bothering me, Eli- I have to get ready. Kiss, kiss.”

He almost tears off my arm while he pushes me out the door. Before I go, I impart whatever wisdom remains. “Alright, fellas, this is it. Stay light, stay bright, stay lively. Those Vallenzinos aren’t going to know what hit them.”

I squeeze past the in-one drop to get out of the wings and into the house. The bucolic backdrop of pine trees quivers as I pass. As an empathetic sign, my stomach quivers too. Teddy and Frank are waiting impatiently for the canned orchestra to begin. As if they couldn’t have made themselves more of a nuisance, they’re sitting in the seats where I’m supposed to be. My notepad remains trampled beneath their feet. I give up. Anyway, standing in the back of the house with Hunter seems like a safe alternative. For once, my pen and paper can be forsaken.