The Chelsea Girls(47)

“Brandy, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her. Can you fire her?”

Hazel shook her head. “Not without cause, without proof that she’s done something wrong. Otherwise we’re just like the other side. However much I’d like to.”

“The union would have something to say about it, no doubt,” added Maxine. “She wouldn’t go gently.”

For the first time, Hazel noticed that Maxine’s face was red and puffy. “Max, what’s going on with you?”

She was fairly certain she knew the answer. That man.

“Arthur. I know, I know. Messing around with a married man will break a girl’s heart.”

“What’s the latest?”

“I really am fine. I don’t want to bother you with this, especially now. I’ve been trying to keep it all out of the play so that it doesn’t affect anything that’s going on with us, with the show.”

“We’re friends first, remember? I’m sorry he’s making your life difficult.” She slung an arm around the back of the settee. “He hasn’t hurt you again, has he?”

“No. None of that. He promised it wouldn’t happen again. And it hasn’t.” Maxine delivered the words with a calm certainty.

“Then, what?” Hazel asked.

Maxine began laughing. “Don’t make fun of me, it’s so silly. Really.”

“What?”

“It’s my birthday.” The laughing turned to crying and back to laughing, which made Hazel join in, until the two of them were doubled over in a fit of giggles. Finally, Maxine grabbed a scarf off the nearby lamp and wiped her eyes. “I sound like a baby, like I’m some five-year-old who didn’t get a birthday cake.”

“Everyone deserves to be recognized on their birthday.” Hazel pulled her close. “Happy birthday.”

They hugged. “Thank you. I was hoping he’d call, but I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“Wait a minute, you were born on July third? That was Ben’s birthday.”

“It was?”

“Yes, he always said he wished it had been a day later, as then he could say all the fireworks were in his honor.” The memory made Hazel smile. The fact that he and Maxine shared birthdays brought her a strange bit of solace, as though he was right there with them.

“Well, happy birthday to him.” Maxine took Hazel’s hands in her own and kissed them. “In the meantime, how’s your shadow?”

“Charlie? He’s fine. Innocuous.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yes. I think he really likes being in a theater, he’s even started giving me notes.”

Maxine made a face. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not. I mean, we have nothing to hide, so having someone looking over my shoulder doesn’t bother me a whit anymore. Not if it means we keep his father at bay.”

“Please don’t tell me you let down your guard with him.”

“Of course not. But, really, what is there to guard? I’m not doing anything illegal or wrong.”

Maxine’s mouth stayed in a tight line. “We both know that doesn’t matter much these days. He’s a good-looking guy, don’t let that get in the way of your scruples.”

“He’s not that good-looking.” Charlie’s nose was too large for his face, although his eyes were rather sweet, the irises brown like coffee. He was a bit scrawny for her taste, to boot. “Like you’re one to talk about scruples, seeing a married man.” Hazel punched her lightly in the shoulder.

“Listen to us.” Maxine threw up her hands. “The whole point of me being here at the hotel and working together is to keep all the nonsense away, and I’m wallowing in it.”

“You mean boy nonsense?”

“Yes. Boy nonsense.”

“Then let’s get out of here. No more wallowing. I’ll stop fixating on every detail of the play and driving myself mad, and you stop waiting around for a boy to call.”

“Where will we go?”

“Trust me on this. Put on a fancy dress and meet me in the lobby.”

Maxine looked like a new woman when she stepped out of the elevator, wearing a tightly cinched silk with a low-cut V-neck, where a pretty brooch drew all eyes to her cleavage. Hazel wore a dress from before the war, a navy blue chiffon that draped around her torso, offering the illusion of curves. Unfortunately, this wasn’t something you could fake. Next to Maxine, she looked like a frump.

Maxine looked her up and down. “That’s pretty, but we’re going to have to find you something smashing for the opening of your play.”

“If you could advise, I’d appreciate it. My wardrobe is in desperate need of an update, but I’ve been too busy writing to shop.”

In the cab, Hazel explained that Mr. Canby had given her two tickets to the opening of a new Broadway play that evening, some kind of silly musical revue on a patriotic theme. She hadn’t planned on attending, but figured it might be a fun lark for a birthday celebration. The crowd in front of the theater dazzled. Men in tuxedos escorted women in clingy dresses under the marquee as photographers’ flashbulbs popped furiously around them. Just before they stepped inside, Maxine was waylaid by a fan who insisted on getting her autograph.