The Dollhouse(54)

“What about Tanya?”

“Disappeared. She was just a junkie anyway.”

“But I have to focus on my schoolwork.”

“You’ll have all weekend to do your schoolwork. This is my stepping-stone to fame and fortune. Without you, it’ll be a disaster. We work so well together, everyone noticed.”

“You can find someone who’s much better, I’m sure.”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the way we sound together.” Confusion wrinkled Esme’s forehead, her bright red mouth set in a pout. “You really don’t want to?”

Darby didn’t know how to make her understand. “You’re destined for something big, I know that. But I’m not. Why pretend? I’ll only embarrass myself.”

“You need to change the way you look at things. Why settle for your mother’s sad little picture of you? Who cares what she thinks?”

Esme’s words rankled. “You don’t know my mother, or what we’ve been through.”

“I know that she wants to turn you into a bore. When you should be enjoying life, enjoying being a beautiful girl in Manhattan.”

“First of all, I’m not beautiful. Second, it’s better to be a bore who can support herself than to throw everything away on a whim. Mother had to marry Mr. Saunders to survive. Her only skills are gossiping and playing tennis. She had nothing to fall back on. What will you do if everything collapses underneath you?”

Esme’s eyes were fierce. “I’m scrambling to make a living, so I know what it is to work hard and take care of myself. If I don’t become a star, I guess I’ll be a maid at the Barbizon the rest of my life.”

“No!”

“You got that right.”

Darby blushed with shame. She had no right to assume anything about her friend. Coming to New York City from Puerto Rico was completely different from her posh train trip East. “You’ve got a point. You work hard. What have I done? Graduated from high school. That’s it. You’re glamorous and you can sing and act. You can probably tap-dance, too, am I right?”

Esme wasn’t so easily placated. “Why do you hide from everything that life is throwing at you right now? You can make some easy money, and instead you want to stay uptown and practice typing. You have until June, and then my guess is you’re going to run back to your mother and work as a secretary at the local high school or something like that.”

She didn’t want to mention Charlotte’s offer after the fashion show. Esme would get upset, and by the time Charlotte returned from London, she’d probably have forgotten all about their exchange anyway. “Mother wrote and said she’ll be able to get me a job in Cleveland, working for some businessman Mr. Saunders knows. It’s in the sanitation industry, apparently.”

Esme threw back her head and laughed, causing the old ladies sitting nearby to tut-tut at them. She pretended to be typing. “Dear ma’am, I’m sorry our toilets have been backing up on you. I assure you that your sewage is our foremost concern.”

“It’s a steady job.” Darby scooped some custard out of her éclair with her finger. Esme’s teasing hurt. “Or maybe I’ll go into publishing.”

Esme grimaced. “Don’t be stupid. Either way, you’re stuck behind a desk all day. There’s my friend. I’ll be right back.”

Esme crossed the room, sashaying with every step, and sat down across from an older man, maybe in his thirties, with tightly cropped hair and a rumpled brown suit. He spoke hurriedly, barely moving his mouth. Esme reached into her purse and handed a small parcel to him, which he glanced at before tucking into his jacket pocket.

She was back at the table a couple of minutes later.

“Who was that?”

“Guy from my acting class. Wants to do a scene with me, but I’m not so sure.”

“Why did he come all the way here to meet?”

“He wanted the notes from our scene study class. He missed it last week.”

“What kind of notes?”

Esme picked up her éclair and took a big bite, the custard oozing out the other end.

“That’s indecent,” Darby said, giggling.

“Anyway, his name is Peter and he’s too old to be going to acting school. Kind of creepy, didn’t you think?”

“I guess so. Is there an age limit on acting class?”

“Nope. Especially with the soldiers; we got lots of those.”

“Is Peter a soldier?”

“No idea. You have a lot of questions. Now it’s my turn. What about Sam?”

“What about him?”

“He likes you. He took you to see his mentor, Mr. Kalai, right?”

“He did.” A cold sweat rose up her neck.

“Aren’t you the lucky girl? Maybe when Sam’s brother comes back, we’ll double-date.”

“Sam has a brother?” She was surprised he’d never mentioned it.

“Drummer. Very talented. Mr. Buckley thinks the world of him and lets him do whatever he likes. He’s off on tour now, but he promised to take me out when he returns. Can you imagine, you and me as the Mrs. Buckleys?”

“But your career comes first.”

“It does. And don’t ever forget that. Hey, I just thought of something to convince you to sing with me.”