The Chelsea Girls(23)
“Twenty-six,” added the actress with a sly smile. Brandy Sainsbury was her name. Hazel had run into her on previous auditions, where she had a tendency to tap-dance in the waiting room, ostensibly to calm her own nerves, but more likely because she knew it would irritate and fluster her competition.
“Right. Well, just a thought.”
Hazel returned to the table. She’d never been in this position before, one of authority, and was unsure. Should she assert herself now, making her preferences and demands known right off? Or was it better to wait until they had an actual cast and were in rehearsal? It was less immediate pressure if she chose to wait, but was that just a cop-out?
By the time she’d convinced herself to speak up, they’d launched back into the play. Too late.
Emboldened by Mr. Williams, the actors went all out, offering up over-the-top line readings and, a couple of times, silly voices. She’d have to add in slamming doors and tripping on rugs, now that her play had turned into an English farce.
Finally, the stage manager intoned, “Curtain.”
Hazel tried to catch Mr. Canby before he left, but he said he had a lunch to get to at Sardi’s and he’d see her tomorrow at the auditions. She asked if he had any notes about the play, any suggested changes, and to her surprise he made a good one, switching around two scenes in the second act. Easy to execute, and an improvement. Maybe today’s reading hadn’t been for naught.
She walked back to the hotel, where a half dozen men with cameras slung around their necks had gathered just outside, smoking and talking among themselves. A strange sight, more suited to the fancy hotels uptown like the Plaza or the Waldorf. She made her way through and headed for the elevator.
Mr. Bard stopped her.
“You have a guest, Miss Ripley.”
Hazel wasn’t expecting anyone. She looked about the lobby, but all the chairs were empty.
“I didn’t think she should wait down here, so I sent her straight to your room with an extra key.” He looked positively giddy, like a schoolboy who’d aced a test.
She imagined her mother showing up, demanding that she return home. “Who is it?”
“She said I was to not tell you, to let it be a surprise. Don’t you love surprises?” He clapped his hands together. “Up you go. She arrived a few hours ago. Do let me know if she requires anything. We can send up anything you need.”
What on earth was he talking about?
Hazel braced herself and headed up. Her door was unlocked, and at least seven suitcases were strewn across the Oriental rug, several opened and the contents bursting forth, as if they’d been dropped from a great height. She recognized one of the dresses from the tent in Naples.
“There you are!” Maxine popped her head out from the bedroom, her shoulders bare. “Just changing, I’ll be with you in a bit.”
Maxine Mead had arrived.
* * *
Hazel didn’t have to wait long before Maxine rushed into her arms, wearing only a silk slip and smelling like lemons. Memories flooded back, of sand and mud, of uncertainty, and deep belly laughs at the silliest things. And of the boy in the cell, petrified and alone.
“Are you surprised?” asked Maxine.
Hazel stared at her friend, amazed. “I am. I didn’t even know you were in town.”
“A last-minute decision. Gosh, it’s boiling in here. Can we open a window or something?”
An early hot spell had settled on the city the past two days. In the dark quiet of her rooms, Hazel barely noticed. Somehow the hotel seemed to keep the humidity low by the sheer thickness of the walls, but just having Maxine in the room caused the temperature to rise considerably.
“Ugh, I can’t breathe.” Maxine clawed at her throat. “We have to get out of here.”
“There’s a pack of reporters out front. Are they part of your entourage?” It was almost as though Maxine had been flown in from another planet. What she was doing here at the Chelsea Hotel instead of at the fancier hotels uptown was anyone’s guess.
“Can’t seem to shake them. I came to New York for some peace and quiet. Didn’t realize the frenzy would follow me here.”
“We could go up on the roof.”
“Splendid idea. Let me put on some clothes.”
While Maxine dressed, Hazel looked in the icebox for a bottle of wine and grabbed two glasses. They took the stairs instead of the elevator, winding their way up to the top floor. Hazel shoved open the heavy metal door at the top and squinted in the bright sunlight.
The various chimneys and gables, including a pyramid-shaped turret that sprouted in the middle of the building, were festooned with vines and softened by potted trees and grasses. Hazel and Maxine settled in a corner that faced west, where the ships glided down the Hudson River. Over in New Jersey, a line of gray clouds paralleled the horizon.
Maxine plopped down in one of three Adirondack chairs. Hazel took another and pulled the cork from the bottle. “I assume you need a drink.”
“Do I ever.”
They toasted to each other’s health, and then Maxine rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Her cheeks were slightly fuller than Hazel remembered, but the added padding suited her. Maxine seemed to gain weight in even proportions around her bust and hips, whereas Hazel’s thickened waist made her feel older than her years.