Beaches (8 page)

“My mother doesn’t trust me,” Bertie said, pouting. “One minute she lets me come here to be Neetie’s nursemaid, and the next she’s making me come home like I was a six-year-old child instead of a sixteen-year-old woman.”

“What does she think you’ll do?” Cee Cee asked.

Bertie took a deep breath. “Get laid,” she said.

It sounded funny, like a punchline to a joke, and Cee Cee laughed. Bertie started to laugh, too, and they laughed harder when their eyes met. Finally, shrieking with laughter, the two of them rose and ran down the beach into the water, splashing and ducking each other, coming up sputtering and squealing. After they ran back up the’beach, water-logged, and dried off, Bertie held the music score from Damn Yankees to see if Cee Cee knew the words.

“Perfect,” Bertie said when Cee Cee finished.

The sun was getting higher in the sky. Bertie scrunched sand between her toes, let it go, and scrunched it again.

She was thinking about her mother, who had raised her alone, without a man, for fourteen of her sixteen years, and never once said, “God this is hard,” or, “I envy other women for having husbands.” People said Rosie was “resourceful,” or they would tell Bertie, “Your mother is amazingly strong.” Bertie knew Rosie loved the image of being not only beautiful-which she was, a little like Katharine Hepburn-but also tough like the characters Hep-burn played in movies.

And as far as family, it was almost as if her mother enjoyed not having a husband. Just being the two of them. Not having some man around to boss them or needing to be catered to. Just the two of them to “carry on,” as Rosie would say. But even though her mother didn’t complain to Bertie or to anyone, there were lots of times when Bertie felt sorry for her. Like the time when she was outside shoveling snow from the driveway, so she could pull the car out to get Bertie to school. And up and down the street all the other people who stood in the driveways shoveling were men.

And those times on Father’s Day when, to make Bertie feel better about not having a father, Rosie would take her out to North Park for a picnic and in honor of the day tell stories about Bertie’s daddy Joseph, and how they met and what a “helluva good guy” he was. God rest him.

When she told those stories, Bertie could always see the loneliness in Rosie’s eyes.

There was no doubt that Bertie’s mother made their lives very bright and full and kept her daughter from feeling deprived though fatherless, and probably because she didn’t have a husband to worry about and fuss over, she worried about and fussed too much over Bertie. Certainly protected her too much, in Bertie’s mind. Like the way Rosie hated the thought of Bertie’s working at a theater.

“If I’d had any idea you’d end up being involved in show business,” she said on the phone, not finishing the sentence-not having to.

“Show business,” Bertie said aloud. “It’s so strange. I guess my mother’s right in a way. I’ll be better off in Pittsburgh. I’m really a fifth wheel around here.”

Cee Cee was spreading the damp towel out on the sand again. She’d put oil on now. Her shoulders were starting to sting. She wished the bookie would change his mind and leave Bertie’s Aunt Neetie for good, so Neetie would have to stay in Ship Bottom all summer and cry, and then Bertie could stay around. Or she wished Bertie’s mother would let Bertie stay without Neetie. But, most of all, she wished she could say things she was feeling, instead of keeping them locked inside, because then she could tell Bertie how important their friendship had become to her.

“Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” Bertie said. “Just the two of us. To Dukes. A celebration of the opening of your show and a good-by dinner for me.”

Gee Cee smiled. It was a great idea.

Bertie couldn’t believe that in Cee Gee’s whole life she’d never had a shrimp cocktail. She made her have two at Dukes. Both girls wore cotton sundresses, and with her tan Cee Cee felt as if she looked almost as pretty as Bertie.

Bertie rambled on about all the odds and ends she had to pull together before she left Tuesday morning, as if she were the owner of the theater instead of just an apprentice. She talked excitedly about the opening of Damn Yankees, and Cee Cee felt a rush of excitement at the thought of how she was going to look in the Lola costumes. John Perry would have to love her in them. Oh, yes. John. Had Bertie told him she was leaving?

Bertie flushed. She had. He said he would be sorry to see her go, and she changed the subject to Neetie or her mother or something.

“Bertie,” Cee Cee asked as she sipped her coffee, “don’t you think John Perry is really sexy?”

Bertie looked at her watch. “It’s late, Gee,” she said, “and you need your sleep for tomorrow night.”

Bertie dropped Cee Cee at the cast house, made her promise she wouldn’t sit in the living room and yak because it was bad for her voice, and drove away.

Cee Cee walked through the living room. Peggy Longworth was sitting in a chair reading An Actor Prepares by Stanislavsky, and somebody with a pillow on her face was asleep on the sofa.

“Good night,” Peggy said as Cee Cee walked upstairs.

She had fallen asleep almost immediately, even though she knew going to sleep too early was a mistake and now her eyes were open and it was, according to Nathan’s luminous dial, two A.M.

John Perry. Why was he on her mind? Cee Cee turned over on her stomach. Her body ached from all the dance rehearsals. And she ached inside, too. She would miss Bertie. John Perry. Oh, yes. Him. John Perry in those tight white pants; he must own a dozen pairs. And those tight T-shirts. His arms looked so strong. If only she could fall back to sleep. Had Bertie blushed when she asked her if she thought Perry was sexy? Actually, it wasn’t even an original question. It was something she’d

heard one of the dancers ask Marilyn Loughlin, who had laughed and said, “I don’t think he’s sexy, honey. I know he is.” What did that mean? Were Loughlin and John Perry lovers? Did they used to be lovers? Lovers. Aunt Neetie and her bookie husband. Bertie’s desperately horny mother. Shit. She was wide awake.

Slowly and quietly she got up, dropped her pajama top to her feet and stepped out of it, and slipped a caftan on over her baby-doll pajama bottoms. No one stirred. On tiptoe, she made her way to the door at the top of the stairs and opened it. Down the long wooden staircase that led to the living room. It looked odd in the darkness. The old wicker furniture was tattered, and everything smelled of mildew. Above the sofa hung a needlepoint legend. “You ought to go to Hollywood. The walk will do you good.”

“A walk will do me good,” Cee Cee said to herself, as if she didn’t know where she was going. As if this was just some insomniac’s way of tiring herself out so she could fall asleep after a nice walk on the beach. Marion Avenue. Was it north or south? North. She had passed it one night when she went with Richie Day to the bus to pick up his mother who was coming to visit.

“Perry’s house,” Richie had said, pointing.

Cee Cee had turned to look and couldn’t believe what she saw. It was a palace. A mansion maybe. Big and white and colonial. And Perry’s black Lincoln convertible parked right out in front made the house look even more elegant.

Now the whole place was dark. Totally. Cee Cee had walked the six blocks rehearsing the words, “I hope I didn’t wake you,” and now they seemed silly. Of course she would be waking him. There wasn’t a light on anywhere. Maybe she should go back. Then why did she keep walking toward the house? She held her breath as she passed the black convertible and walked to the front door. The door knocker was heavy in her hand-but she lifted it and then let go. Just once. The sound was loud and Gee

Gee closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding. Now was the time to go. To run. To get back to the cast house before she said or did something really schmucky. This was a good stock job, and she shouldn’t fuck it up with her crazy big mouth that Leona was always telling her about. “Steppin’ all over yourself,” she called it. Leona should talk.

The door opened about three inches, and a sleepy-faced John Perry looked out.

Cee Cee was too nervous to talk.

“Cee Cee? Is that you? Come on in, kiddo.”

Kiddo. Not even dear. Just goddamned-no-sweet-talk-for-you, Bloom-Kiddo! Well, fuck you, John Perry. Oh, yes. Fuck you.

She followed Perry into the warmth of a beautifully furnished living room.

“Y’okay?”

“N’huh!”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Wine?”

“No.”

“Sit down?”

“Okay.”

Oh, God. Now she’d done it. He was waiting for her to speak. To tell him what it was that got her to walk here at two in the morning in her caftan and wake him up, for God’s sake. How long could she stall?

“Cee Cee. What is it?” Perry said, stifling a yawn.

Now he was bored, Cee Cee thought miserably. What was she doing here? Her foot hurt. Maybe she’d gotten glass in it walking barefoot. Why didn’t she run? Not to the cast house. To the bus station.

“Cee Cee darling.” There, he said it. “What in God’s name do you want from my life at this hour? Hmmm?”

Cee Cee took a deep breath. This was it.

“I want to get laid,” she said.

Why didn’t it sound funny like the other day when Bertie said it, and they laughed so much? Why did it sound like begging? Why had she blurted it out so quickly when she meant to be really seductive and mysterious and just tell him at first she wanted a little nightcap, like people said in movies. And would he want her? Want to go to bed with a virgin who at nineteen was finally giving up “the golden crotch”? (That’s what Marsha Edelman, a girl in Cee Cee’s high school, had called hers, which she finally gave to her doctor fiance.) Cee Cee realized she was crying.

Perry still hadn’t said a word, and Cee Cee wished he would speak because the only sound in the room was the sound of her sobs. Outside, the ocean pounded against the beach; she had a subliminal flash of A Star Is Born, where Norman Maine walked out into the water, leaving his robe on the shore while Esther Blodgett/Vicki Lester sang. Maybe Cee Cee would keep her caftan on when she walked into the water instead of leaving it. At night that water probably felt very, very cold.

Perry moved toward the sofa where Cee Cee had seated herself and sat down beside her.

“Cee Cee,” he said. “Cee Cee, please stop crying. For now and forever more, if there is one person who doesn’t have to cry, it’s you. Do you hear me?”

Oh, yes, she heard him and she saw him and she felt him in that white (Norman Maine) terry-cloth robe next to her, with those adorable furry legs and . . .

“Yes,” she said. “I hear you.”

“Cee Cee,” he said. “Cee Cee. If I have stopped myself once from telling you what I am about to tell you, I have stopped myself ten thousand times. I swear to you on everything that is holy. But you’ve pushed me, forced me, and now I will do it-prudence, caution, and good sense be damned.”

Oh, my God. He loves me, Cee Cee thought. She steeled herself. Could it be? Oh, my God. Of course. Of

course. That’s why he ignored me. Afraid he’d be exposed in front of the others. They won’t understand, and we-

“Cee Cee. You don’t want to go to bed with me. You want my attention, that’s all. And I’ve known it from the first day you got here. But frankly, baby” (oh, yes) “I’m a little afraid of you, and that’s why I’ve held back.”

“Huh?”

“Cee Cee. You’re a star. You have the voice of an angel. The timing of Jack Benny. Confidence that any other actor would kill for. Cee Cee, you are it. I knew it the day I saw you. I told Jay Miller and Marilyn. They knew it, too. You see, my love, although I hate to admit it, you’re wasting time in my stinking little theater. You’re major stuff. Virtuoso. And you’re right. I have ignored you. Deliberately. I haven’t directed you because you don’t need me. You are beyond me. You know intuitively what I could spend years studying and still wouldn’t learn. Do you hear me, Cee Cee? Do you know what I’m saying? I mean, by all means, stay out the season with us … but, sweetheart, you will be, I predict, on Broadway next year. One good vehicle and good-by. Straight to the top.”

Cee Cee was shocked. Confused. Yes. Yes. She knew that everything he was saying was true. She knew he meant it, too.

“Straight to the top in the most competitive cutthroat business in the world. Because everyone wants it and dreams about having it-and you’re one of the few who will.”

“John … I … don’t . . .”

“I know you don’t. You don’t know how to deal with it. It’s heady. It’s big. And you’re scared. Well, you should be. Now go back to the cast house and get some rest. You’ll be fine in the morning, and tomorrow night the show will open and you’ll knock ‘em dead. Now go on.”

Gee Cee got up slowly. Her eyes were puffy, but she’d use some Murine and they’d look fine tomorrow. Perry put his arm around her and walked her to the door.

“Will you be okay getting back?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He kissed her on the cheek and gave the caftan a little pat where he guessed her ass would be, and she was out in the night walking back to the cast house.

Virtuoso, she thought. Baby, she thought. I’m a star. And he’s afraid of me. That’s why he’s steered away from me. She felt warm and sleepy and happy. He’s probably been in love with me since my audition, she thought. Afraid to approach me. She could see the cast house in the distance and was tempted not to go there and crawl back into her little bed but to run out onto the beach instead and scream at the top of her lungs: John Perry thinks I’m a star! We love each other!

After all the years when the only boys who really wanted her were “shlubs,” as Leona dubbed them. After all the years when she watched all the top guys going for the other girls. Girls who-what? Were pretty. That’s what. This time, Cee Cee had finally won out. This man, this fabulous man, John Perry, was different. Because he saw past things like looks. He was deep. And that’s why he appreciated Cee Cee. Loved her.

Cream rises to the top. That was an expression her singing teacher had used when he had promised Cee Cee that her talent as a singer couldn’t possibly go unnoticed. So, too bad, Stanley Berger, the schmuck who was supposed to be her date for the senior prom two years ago. The only reason he’d asked her to the prom was that he’d been out of school sick for a month, and when he came back, every other girl had already been asked. But then Cee Cee actually overheard Barry Rubin say, “Hey, Berger, you’re not takin’ B.P. Bloom to the prom, are you?”