The Chelsea Girls(27)

Mr. Canby swiveled his head around to Hazel, his eyes popping. “Then there we have it.”

“Have what?” Hazel fixed him with a strange expression.

“Your character in the play is named Lina. This is Lina.” He gestured to me. “Obviously, Maxine Mead is our girl.”

I blinked in surprise, but already my excitement was building. I could list a dozen reasons why this appealed to me. It could be a chance to prove myself as a real actress, on a Broadway stage. A way to leave the sordid life of L.A. behind for a few months. And an opportunity to reconnect with Hazel. Not to mention—

I was jolted back to the present when Hazel offered a weird half smile. “I see how you might think that, but the Lina I wrote isn’t Maxine.” She put her hand on mine. “Please don’t be offended, you know I adore you. But this character is more of a tomboy. The actress who’s cast in the part has to be able to play a man believably. You’re too recognizable, too womanly. You understand, right?”

I knew I was more bombshell than boyish, but still, her speedy dismissal hurt. We did God knows how many shows together, catching each other when the lines failed to come because we had so many plays stuffed inside our heads. We played in thunderous rain and sticky heat, and I never failed to bring down the house. “Sure, I understand.”

It was as if Canby never even heard us. “We can use this in all the publicity. The reunion of two wartime heroines, from the USO to the Great White Way. It’s perfect. Done. You’ve got the job.”

Both Hazel and Mr. Williams shifted in their seats, tense. From the way little Brandy was staring at Mr. Williams, it was quite evident she’d counted on getting the job.

The director spoke first. “We have auditions set for tomorrow. We can’t just cancel them.”

Mr. Canby would have none of it. “Of course we can. For a rising star like Maxine Mead, that’s exactly what we’ll do. She’s the next Kim Hunter or Tallulah Bankhead.”

News to me, but I’d take it.

Hazel began to speak, but the young actress slammed her beaded handbag on the table. A couple of the tiny beads came loose and rolled along the tablecloth. “That’s not fair. Not at all.” She turned to the director. “You promised.”

“Promised what?” asked Hazel, her eyes narrowed. “An audition or the part?”

The director paled. “An audition, of course.”

“No, Willy.” The girl’s voice shook with rage. “That’s not what you said. You said the part was mine.”

I sat back; things were getting interesting.

Hazel grew cold. “You had no right to do that, Mr. Williams. This is my play, not yours.”

“As your director, I know what works.” The poor guy was caught between two very angry women, and I almost pitied him. “You’re too close to see it. That’s what we tell all the writers. To leave the decision-making up to us. Canby, tell her.”

Miss Sainsbury let out a whimper.

Mr. Canby smiled, still coasting on the genius of his great idea. “It’s true, the writer can gum up the production if not held in check. But I want Maxine.”

Mr. Williams looked at Miss Sainsbury and back at Mr. Canby, his face red. “That won’t do. I won’t stand for it.” I noticed Miss Sainsbury’s hand sliding across his thigh as a reward for his courage. “Either I get control of this production or I quit.”

“Yeah, he quits,” echoed Miss Sainsbury.

Mr. Canby held firm. “Great. Quit.”

Hazel looked panicked, and I could understand why. Her show was falling apart fast. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Williams cut her off.

“I cannot believe I’m being treated like this. Trust me, I will complain to the union about having to suffer such an indignity. Being fired before I’ve even begun, it’s unheard of!” He carried on with his diatribe as he and his chippy exited with as much dignity as they could muster, not easy when it involved sliding out of a banquette.

After they’d left, I turned to Hazel, who’d gone white. “Good riddance, I say.”

“What now?” she said, to no one in particular.

“Don’t worry, there’s a line of directors down the block eager to take on this project.” Mr. Canby, unconcerned, ordered another round of drinks.

“But the auditions start tomorrow at ten,” she said. “They’d still have to read the play before then.”

The answer came to me like a shot. “You should direct it.”

I knew I was right the minute I spoke the words.

“What?” Hazel pushed her drink away. She was probably regretting she’d ever agreed to bring me into her circle.

“You directed us on tour.” I cut her off when she started to speak. “Maybe not at first, but definitely by the end. You stepped up and took over. Remember the show at the Teatro di San Carlo?” I turned to Mr. Canby. “She wrote it and directed it, the whole shebang. Just like what we’re proposing today.”

“That was just a matter of making sure we all didn’t collide onstage,” Hazel protested. “Hardly directing. More like being a traffic cop.”

“You could do it. I know it. You’re bossier than you think.”

Got a smile out of her with that one. I could see she was warming to the idea.