The Winter of Her Discontent (34 page)

Up until that moment, I would've admitted to anyone who asked that Paul Ascot was a handsome man. Right then, he became soft and unformed to me. “Then why did you even bother to see me?”

“I thought you should know what happened. I know how important that is. I thought you should know how brave Jack was and how he was trying to do the right thing.”

Tears burned my eyes. My lone link to hope was lost. “Was, was, was. So that's it—you've given up.”

“We have to, Rosie. There's nothing anyone can do.”

So much of the stories of war emphasized how powerful everything was: the men fighting, the equipment they used, the weapons designed by our enemies. It was the powerlessness, though, that really defined war. That was how people became victims, how women became widows, how soldiers became lost. Not because the opposition was so much better than us, but because when you winnowed it all down, we didn't have the strength to change anything. We were impotent.

It didn't have to be that way, did it?

I tied on my hat and picked up my purse. “Maybe you can't do anything, Paul, but I'm not ready to say uncle yet.”

 

I called Tony the next day and asked if I could see him. He agreed to meet me at the Bernhardt before rehearsal.

“Your friend's come around,” I said.

“Jayne?”

“Your other friend.”

He nodded to tell me he'd caught on. “He told me it was too late for that.”

“He was wrong.” I held up the key to show him I had it. He reached for it, and I closed my hand tight and slid it into my pocket. “Before I give you what you want, you have to make me a few promises.”

“And if I don't?”

“I see this gets lost again.”

He was silent for a moment, no doubt debating if he could pin me down and steal the key. “What do you want?”

“First, I want you to promise you'll leave Al alone. Tell me you'll keep him safe.”

Tony bowed his head. “Consider it done.”

“Second, do right. I don't have any problem with a man trying to make some money, but keep things safe. Our boys abroad are eating that meat. Jayne's eating that meat. Don't be greedy.”

I doubt he listened to me on that point, but it had to be said.

He put out his palm for the key. “When do you think Jayne's going to come to her senses?”

“She already has, I'm afraid.” I dropped the key into his hand. He slid it into the interior pocket of his suit and started to leave. “I've got more insurance, Tony.”

He froze with his back toward me.

I swallowed hard and squeezed my toes together to try to keep myself from shaking. “I know about Johnny Levane. So that means at least two people know your business now, and I'm not afraid to turn canary if I find out you haven't kept your word. Vinnie Garvaggio's in jail and I think you know how he got there.”

He slowly turned toward me, and his distended eyes became slits. “I don't like being threatened.”

I stepped toward him and held my head up high. “So be it, but I'm not going to back down on this. And if you're interested in testing me, I'll make sure Jayne knows everything too.”

He shook his head at me before turning tail and heading toward his car. I didn't exhale until he'd climbed inside and driven away.

 

Two days later,
Goin' South
debuted. While the reviewers noted the shaky script, they praised the clever choreography, diverse dancers, and universally strong performances. Friday couldn't have been happier. Unfortunately, his joy was short-lived. The same night we
opened, a show debuted at the St. James called
Oklahoma!
While you would've thought our tale of a girl turned human radio turned war hero would've aced a sappy love story set among small-town Oakies, two names—Rodgers and Hammerstein—and innovative ballet choreography by Agnes De Mille seemed to give it more credence than our little production. It went on to run for 2,248 performances and had a multimillion-dollar gross.
Goin' South
would close just shy of six weeks. Luckily, that was long enough for Garvaggio to earn back his investment.

On the same day
Goin' South
opened, the USDA and OPA's new meat regulations went into effect. Mayor La Guardia made a public promise to jail anyone found with uninspected meat on their premises. He also urged all private citizens to report any instances they found of people violating the new laws. The American Theater Wing even got involved. They helped sponsor a play depicting the important role of food during the war. Part guide to the ration point system, part lament for American wastefulness and the evils of the black market, the Elia Kazan production was slated to run in 2,100 theaters throughout the United States.

Vinnie Garvaggio's girlfriend Gloria got a bit part in the film version of
Stage Door Canteen
. Two weeks later she was on a plane to Hollywood, where she managed to sign with Louis B. Mayer himself. Zelda moved into Harriet Rosenfeld's old room at the Shaw House and started volunteering her time for the American Theater Wing's other war projects, the ones that didn't require that she spend her time in the company of soldiers. George went back overseas and they wrote each other every day.

Once
Goin' South
closed, I never heard about Olive and Izzie again. For a while I combed the wedding announcements looking for their names, but either they were smart enough not to advertise what they were doing or they decided to find another way to keep themselves in the lifestyles to which they'd become accustomed.

As for me, there was only one thing left to do: write another letter.

I
CONTINUE TO BE OVERWHELMED
by all the people who encourage me as I tell Rosie's tales. I'd like to thank my wonderful editor, Sarah Durand; her assistant, Emily Krump; and the rest of the talented staff at HarperCollins for all the work they do to make these books possible. I am also indebted to my agent, Paul Fedorko, for his advice and wisdom, and to Gregg Kulick, for his brilliant cover designs.

I couldn't write without the ruthless criticism, razor-sharp wit, and cheap wine offered by the talented members of SPEC, among them David Doorley (see? I said your name this time!), Beverly Pollock, F. J. Hartland, Judy Meiksin, Carol Mullen, Jeff Protzman, and Paula Martinac.

I am eternally grateful to Ralph Scherder and my first reader, David White, for their amazing critiques, good humor, and deft skill at getting me off the ledge.

For their generous support of all things Rosie, I am indebted to Mary Alice, Richard, and the entire staff at Mystery Lovers Bookshop. I'd also like to acknowledge The Six whose support, advice, and good humor keep me sane.

Families are unpredictable beasts, but I've been very fortunate to have one that shows me overwhelming love and support. For those who are related to me by blood, and those who might as well be, I offer my sincere thanks, especially to Loretta Miller, Stephen and Nancy Miller, Pamela and James Nicholson, Barb von der Haar, Larry Haines, and Wendy Gressman.

While I might write about backstabbing actors, monomaniacal
directors, and divas of all shapes and sizes, I have the good fortune not to perform with them. I am grateful to the immensely talented Randy “Bruno” Oliva, Steve Werber, Chris and Laura Bondi, Scot Rutledge, Randy Kirk, Carla “shiny object” Delaney, and Barbara Williams, for not just encouraging my nontheatrical pursuits, but for reminding me why I love theater and the people who do it.

I'd also like to acknowledge Dan Vancini. You know what you did and I thank you.

And always last, never least, I must express my gratitude to my four-legged assistants: Mr. Rizzo, Violet, and Chonka. You may not have thumbs or the ability to engage in commerce, but you support me all the same.