Scarecrow’s Dream (8 page)

Chapter Eight

October 1972

I walked away from the park, trying to shake off the anger that had been building up for the last five minutes.
Hunger. Just hunger
, I told myself.

A diner was open at the corner of 6th Avenue and 41st Street so I ducked in and found a booth in the back near the kitchen. I gave my order of iced tea and a grilled-cheese sandwich to a tired-looking waitress, and then sank back against the vinyl to take a survey of my life and try to figure out what the heck had just happened at the rally.

In actuality what I was pondering was more the “why”. I knew the “what” of the events. After talking about
Trapped in the Basement
for a while, Shane and Marshall had gotten into a stupid argument, the subject of which was me. And I do mean stupid. Marshall had accused Shane of being a hypocrite and coming to the demonstration and only wanting to do Rob’s play because he was “hound-dogging Holly”.

Shane had delivered a neat punch to Marshall’s jaw while calling him an asshole who was too much of a jerk to realize Holly Malone wasn’t interested in him—Marshall—and then shouted something about Marshall’s inherent racism seeping through every word he uttered.

I’d yelled, “This is a demonstration
against
racism, you clowns!” Then I’d run across the street and ducked inside this tiny restaurant, with the neon sign above the door proudly, if incongruously, proclaiming it was the Deluxe Diner). Shane had stayed in the park, busy defending a relationship that didn’t need defending. He and Marshall both needed to grow up.

“Ridiculous.” The whole scene had been ridiculous. “You’re repeating yourself, Holly,” I mumbled. True. I was. But since I was talking to myself I didn’t see any reason to hold back on the repetition.

“Holly Malone? Talking to yourself? You’re not rich—I guess this means you’re crazy.” Soft laughter followed. Clearly, the speaker hadn’t realized her comment was clichéd rather than witty or original.

I glanced up. A beautiful black woman stood by my table. Her eyes were cats’ eyes, exotic, deep hazel, and gold. She’d chosen to keep her hair very short and natural, which suited her amazing bone structure. She had an enviably tiny figure and was smart enough to ignore the glaring neon orange and green color fads in favor of a delicate blue dress topped by a black spring weight swing coat.

I felt like a slug in my jeans and army jacket bedecked with dozens of buttons. She looked familiar but I was too upset with Shane to figure out how or from where. She clearly knew me.

The waitress plopped my order on the table and I began adding sugar to my tea, which gave me a few seconds to gather my wits.

I strained my memory for any recollection, failed, and managed a polite, “Hey, uh, hi. How are you? Boy I’m starving. This looks great, doesn’t it?” I saw no reason to tell her I was semi-clueless as to her identity.

She stared at me. “Wow. Well, aren’t you the Little Miss Casual for someone who’s about to be involved in a controversial new play, even if peripherally.”

“Say what?”

“
Trapped in the Basement
.”

“Last I heard it was one scene and a dream.”

“Didn’t Shane tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

She appeared exasperated. “Jeez, Holly, you are so out of it. You must have inhaled a bit too much ganja at the rally outside. Derek has been trying to call Shane all day.”

“Wait. Are you saying Rob got the backing? We were just with him at the park. Why didn’t he tell us?”

“Because Mr. Stutzgraft hasn’t heard either. Derek has also been trying to call him.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m still confused.”

She tried to hide the obvious frustration she was feeling. “I swear, all these guys need walkie-talkies or bells around their necks or something to track them down. Here’s the deal. Derek Fergus called Wynn Davenport, Shane’s agent. I happen to work with Wynn at his office.”

“Okay.” All good so far. “And?”

“And Derek told Wynn he got the backing to do the play and wanted Shane as the lead. Derek probably figured if he cast someone who at least had a decent following in films, folks wouldn’t immediately burn down the theatre, regardless of the subject matter.”

“I can’t imagine anyone going ballistic and burning down the theatre for any reason,” I said. “I read one scene and the proposal and if it’s controversial it’s because of the whole Vietnam POW thing but hell…
Hair
was super anti-war and a huge hit and the Biltmore is still standing.”

I swallowed. I’d just experienced another odd déjà vu moment. A voice in my head telling me the Biltmore had indeed been burned to the ground. But it hadn’t, had it? I shuddered.

The girl didn’t seem to notice I’d zoned into a different time and place. She glared at me. “Yeah, well, you can get away with a lot when naked bodies are writhing while singing. At any rate, Wynn told Derek he doesn’t want Shane to do it since it could blow up what’s left of his career. I have to admit I’m apprehensive about the whole enterprise but there’s supposed to be a tiny part for me in there. Tiny—but Rob claims it’s good. And the chance to work with Shane again is too good to pass up.”

Again? She’d said “again”. Ha! A clue as to her identity. I now was almost certain I’d seen her at one of Shane’s shows.

“Point being, Derek has been trying to call both Shane and Rob. He’s heading over to the rally since he figured Rob would be there.”

A voice came from the front of the diner. “Chandra, sorry I’m late. Been on the phone half the day, with very little success in tracking folks down.”

Chandra waved back, turned, and started toward the speaker without a farewell to me.

Hearing her name jogged my memory. We’d met backstage during
Carousel
. She’d been in the chorus. And thanks to the newcomer I was able to say with confidence, “Bye, Chandra. Thanks for telling me about the play.”

So Rob and this Derek person had managed to come up with the money to produce the play that could make careers—or destroy them. Which was interesting, but what nearly sent me into shock was the knowledge that Wynn Davenport, Mr. I’m-More-Conservative-Than-Barry-Goldwater-Ever-Dreamed-of-Being, hadn’t kidnapped Shane and sent him off to Fiji or someplace to keep him from appearing in this production once Vietnam was mentioned. On the contrary, Wynn had allowed Derek to contact Shane. He’d been savvy enough to realize if the show was a hit, his fifteen percent would ease his war-mongering conscience.

I took my time with my sandwich, chips, and tea. Shane knew where I was. If he chose to act like an adult he could come find me. Which he did.

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry. I did not mean to get into a shouting match with Marshall, although I’m damned sure he’s after your luscious body.”

I scowled at him. “Shane. Hear me now and hear this well. Marshall is an underground newspaper writer who has no idea how to behave among polite society and believe me, you are
anything
but polite society. So he makes stupid comments he doesn’t mean. You need to suck it up and behave like the grown-up in the room. Or the park. Don’t you have enough self-esteem by now to avoid accusing everyone and his brother of consorting with your girlfriend? Plus, give me a little credit for being faithful. Jealousy does not make me love you more. Got it?”

He laughed. “Got it. ’Tis the Irish hot-tempered side of the family. Gets me into trouble all the time. The New Orleans side is all peace and harmony and love. I’m truly sorry, luv.”

“You are so full of it. Quit the blarney BS, which is actually redundant, and order something to eat. Your brain needs protein and I need some space because I’m still mad at you and Marshall for engaging in that lunatic behavior at a protest already hitting way too close to home for you and me.” I nibbled on a potato chip, swallowed, and said, “Okay. Apology accepted. So, did a Derek somebody find you and Rob?”

“What?”

“Oh boy. Let me back it up. You remember Chandra, I’m sure. From the chorus of
Carousel
you did last June?”

Shane nodded. “Of course. She works for Wynn.”

“Well, she just stopped by brimming with congratulations for you and Rob. Turns out this Derek guy got the backing to do the play.”

Shane nearly leapt on the table. “What? Really? I have to call him. Is there a phone here?”

“Don’t bother.”

We glanced up as Chandra returned, along with the man she’d met after cutting short our conversation.

Chandra leaned down and gave Shane a kiss right on the mouth, which did not make me happy, but didn’t send me into a jealous tirade. Yet.

“Shane! Gorgeous man. Fate seems to have brought you here so Derek and I can give you the scoop before you heard it from anyone else.” She threw a sharp look at me before cooing, “I’m so thrilled!”

The man I assumed was Derek said, “Fate had nothing to do with it. I saw Shane hot-foot it into the diner two minutes after I found you and dragged you outside.”

Shane stood and shook hands with Derek, then motioned to me. “Holly, I want to formally introduce you to Chandra Petrie and Derek Fergus. You met Chandra earlier this summer but if
Trapped in the Basement
is a go, she’ll be taking the role of the nurse who seduces me in the veterans’ hospital. Derek Fergus is our producer. He’s trying to talk Rob into letting him play a soldier who takes pot shots at me for messing with his wife. Something seedy, anyway. I’m sure someone gets murdered in the hospital at one point.”

“It changes daily, according to Rob. And I may end up as an orderly getting rid of bedpans before we’re through. Rob tells me I’m not right for the killer.” Derek chuckled. “I’m not sure whether to be offended or not. Anyway, he’s got someone named Nick or Rick in mind and I may let him have his way with casting.”

Shane asked Derek, “Are you still talking to Crimson Cloverly about coming on board as the cheating wife?”

Derek nodded. “Definitely. She’s a far better actress than she’s allowed to be on her soap. I’d love for New York audiences to get the chance to see her in a great part for a change. And playing a less-than-faithful wife is one of her specialties.”

“Well, considering I’m the man who did gladiator movies back in the day and one of the soapiest soaps to hit the screen since
Peyton Place
, I’m not casting stones.”

Derek grinned. “Crimson poisoned her husband last year in
Temptation Terrace
. She’ll have this role down to perfection if Rob keeps the murder in. He’s waffling between poison and suffocation with a pillow. I told him we should flip a coin and get on with it.”

I winked at Chandra and Derek. “So you’d describe this play as light, family friendly entertainment, correct?”

Derek laughed. Chandra did not.

Derek nudged Shane. “You told me she was beautiful, Halloran. You didn’t say she was witty as well.”

I could feel my face get warm and knew my cheek color now matched my hair. Shane assumed his “Don’t mess with my woman” expression, but apparently decided Derek was merely being polite and not hitting on me. He sat back down, hugged me, and kept his arm possessively around my shoulders. “She is all of the above, Mr. Fergus. And all mine, which you’d best be rememberin’.”

Derek didn’t take offense. “Shane seems to have forgotten I have my own beautiful woman who would not be pleased if I went after someone else.” He glanced over at me. “Angela is the one who, albeit indirectly, led me to Rob’s play. She works with a literary agent and Rob had sent a proposal there, thinking of the story as a possible book. She told me the agent had something he wanted me to read. When I found out it was Rob, I jumped at the idea of a play. He and I did one of his original shows back when we were in college. Down at some theatre in the Village that was falling apart.”

Shane relaxed. “You and Angela are married? How long?”

Derek nodded. “Three months. Long enough to state I adore my wife—but can’t stand any of my in-laws—who can’t stand me, either. Bunch of rich, conservative harpies, the lot of ’em. Anyway, I feel like I’m still honeymooning, although I miss being on the actual trip.”

“Where’d you go?” I asked.

“Cozumel. We’re both beach nuts and history buffs so we did some snorkeling and climbed the pyramid at Chitzen Itsa.”

“Cool. I’ve always wanted to go there. Did you go inside as well?”

Derek’s response was interrupted by Chandra nudging him with a sharp elbow. “Skip the tour, Derek, and give us the scoop on the play.”

“What do you want to know?”

“First off, when do we start? Are we being paid real money or is this strictly Equity showcase with the hope of Broadway down the road? Who else is in it? When do we get the scripts?”

Derek and Shane both laughed.

“Jeez. Hang on, woman,” Derek exclaimed. “All will be revealed. We start in about three months. January, I hope. And before you start renting billboards on Times Square, remember it’s really only at the workshop stage right now. No pay and yes, we’re looking at Broadway eventually. Or at least Off since Off-Off doesn’t pay squat. No other casting to date because we need to audition the remaining roles. Uh, let’s see. What else? Oh yeah. We get the scripts when Rob finishes draft number nine hundred ninety-nine or whatever. The man is the most secretive perfectionist on the planet. If he weren’t so damned talented, I’d say, ‘fuggedaboudit’ and produce a revival of
Camelot
or something.”

Chandra shrugged. “Well, at least it’s going forward, although pay would be nice.” Then she turned to me and completely changed the subject. “So, Holly Malone. I’m curious. What do you do with your life apart from hanging around Shane like a teen groupie?” She asked with just a slight touch of snide. “Are you even legal yet?”

I was a bit stunned at such an unprovoked attack from a woman I hardly knew.

I couldn’t say, “I’m in college,” which would only serve to heighten the age thing Chandra wanted Shane to note—as if he was somehow unaware of how old I was.

I couldn’t say, “I paint apartments with my father in Upper Manhattan.” Chandra would come up with a major tacky comment although I wasn’t sure why she’d object unless my real job sounded too plebian for her apparently exquisite tastes.