The Chelsea Girls(28)
Canby spoke up. “I don’t know, maybe we should interview some other possibilities first, just to be safe.”
“Since she’s green, you won’t have to pay her as much,” I volunteered.
Mr. Canby’s eyebrows lifted. I’d found his weak spot. No doubt he was thinking of the savings in salary compared with a pricey veteran like Mr. Williams. Less overhead, more profit for him. “That’s true, I can’t pay Hazel as much. On top of her being a girl.”
Hazel’s eyes flashed. Now she really wanted the job. “I’m certainly not the first woman director on Broadway, by a long shot.”
“That’s true.” He snapped his fingers. “Let’s do it. As long as Maxine Mead plays Lina.”
I could have sworn Hazel winced, but it was too late. After some back-and-forth, Hazel and Mr. Canby shook hands. The deal was done. She was a director, and I had my first Broadway leading role.
Hazel was quiet during the cab ride. We passed the front of the hotel, where a few photographers lingered. “Take us to Twenty-Second Street,” she told the driver. I waited for her to thank me for acting as her de facto agent over what turned out to be a lucrative business dinner, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk.
We took the reverse route back into the Chelsea. I used the key that Mr. Bard had pressed into my hand earlier that evening to get into the basement door of the brownstone. Once in the tunnel, the only sounds were our footsteps and occasional drips of water, like we were in a cave deep in the earth.
Hazel walked ahead of me, her shoulders back and tight.
I couldn’t stand her freezing me out. “Look, I’m sorry if I got ahead of myself at the Tea Room,” I offered. “I know I don’t match what you picture in your head for Lina. But I can do it, I promise.”
“You’re wrong for the part. Entirely. She has to be able to blend into the background, at least at first.”
“I can blend into the background.”
“How? By putting yourself up for the part less than two minutes after meeting the creative team?”
“I didn’t do that. Canby did. I got you the job of directing, by the way. No thanks for that?” I tried to make her see the big picture the way I did. “Being a writer and director is a giant career leap, and it’ll serve you well going forward. And in the meantime, you get to work with an old friend. Is that so bad?”
“Look at you.” She gestured from my feet to my head. “You couldn’t look like a boy if you tried.”
Her rejection stung. If she only knew.
There was one way I could prove it to her, but it would take all the courage I had. I reminded myself this was Hazel, a friend. And I wanted this part, more than anything. I lifted my hand to the top of my head and gently tugged, letting the wig slide off. I held it by my side while she gaped at me.
My hair had been chopped off, each irregular piece no longer than a few inches. The color wasn’t the red I got from a rinse, but my natural color, more of a dirty blond. Her face reflected exactly what I feared: Without my mane, I was a wretched, ugly girl.
“What happened to you?”
“Arthur got angry. He held me down and cut it all off. That’s why I fled to New York. And that’s why I can do the role.” I paused. “I can play a boy, like this. I can play a girl playing a boy. You have to give me a chance, that’s all I ask. One chance.”
* * *
We talked well into the night.
I told Hazel that Arthur had become increasingly cruel over the past year, taunting me and pushing me to fight, then apologizing and swearing he’d never do it again. He’d been under a lot of stress, and while we’d always had arguments in the past, they’d begun spiraling out of control. This last time, after we’d both had too many drinks, I’d confided to Arthur that the movie producer had pawed at me, offering up several guesses as to the size of my brassiere at the film audition, the one that had just been announced as going to Marilyn Monroe. Arthur said something snide about how I shouldn’t be so precious about sleeping my way to the top, since my talent obviously wasn’t enough to get me there on its own, and I’d tried to smack him. Bad mistake. That only made him angrier, and before I knew it, he’d grabbed a fistful of my hair and was dragging me to the bathroom. He picked up a set of shearing scissors and, with a knee to my chest, snipped off two thick locks of hair before coming to his senses, collapsing on the floor beside me. We both wept. I told him to get out, and once he was gone, I finished the job, doing my best to even it up as tears streamed down my face.
“He’s horrible. I’m glad you’re free of him,” Hazel finally said.
“There’s more to me than a vamp. I can do the part of Lina, I swear I can.” I stayed still while Hazel studied me.
“Why don’t we read through Lina’s part together, up in my room?” she suggested.
“Tonight?”
“Why not? Time is of the essence.”
Hazel and I worked until dawn. She spoke of the character’s desires, and her weaknesses. Scene by scene, we picked apart the motivations, focusing on Lina’s desire to be with the man she loved, while hiding her true identity from the others. Around five in the morning, I read the character’s final monologue, and when I looked up, Hazel’s eyes were shining.