“The show’s over, Donald. So get off the fucking stage and show my friend and me some hospitality.”
But Donald wouldn’t break his character and the dummy kept talking: “The shows not over till I’m in my box for the night. Speaking of in my box, who’s the jailbait?” The dummy raised his eyebrows up and down and rolled his eyes at me.
“None of your fuckin’ business. Where’s Rose? Rose!”
Lou walked past Donald and knocked on a door that had a red glitter star on it. I followed him and ignored the dummy’s wolf whistles and catcalls.
“Rose!” Lou shouted with desperation as he knocked on the door.
“The dressing rooms are for performers only, bitchface.” The dummy was mad.
Lou spun toward Donald and said: “One more word and I will punch your fuckin’ lights out. Got it? You cheap fuckin’ whore. Get yourself to the West Coast. They know what to do with soulless hacks like you. They’ll put you right on The Hollywood Squares.”
Donald and his dummy retreated into the other dressing room and closed the door behind them. Almost at the same time the actress opened her door. She was wearing a white bathrobe and her hair was wet. Out of her stage makeup she looked smaller, younger, and kinder. She was thrilled to see Lou and lunged into his arms.
“I heard you were here but I didn’t believe it.” She grabbed Lou tight and he squeezed her even harder. It released something in him and brought the tears and sobs once again.
“Oh, Rose. You were so brilliant, so good. It wrecked me, it really wrecked me. Just hit me so hard.”
Rose was surprised at Lou’s emotion. And he wouldn’t let her go.
“When you took the rings off, I just . . . you have no idea. You are a genius. I am . . . like shattered . . .”
“Thank you, Lou” was all she could say. He pulled away and introduced me as his secretary. She extended her hand and shook mine firmly.
Lou just kept staring at her. “What a fuckin’ performance. Just . . . just . . . I wanted to ask . . . you know . . . because you’re an actress and you experience pain in imaginary ways . . . does it . . . does it . . . does it mitigate the suffering you feel in real life? . . . I would think because you’re so consciously used to it and you have a perspective, an objectivity, you know? . . . There’s a distance, right? . . . Does it help you in real life when everything starts to fall apart?”
Rose kissed him on his forehead. “It doesn’t hurt any less, Lou.”
“No, but tonight, when you took the rings off, you had to know, right?”
“Had to know what?”
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I write songs about . . . you know . . . but you . . . I’m like an actor but I’m not . . . I’m just . . . I’m sorry . . . I gotta go. Great work, my friend.”
“Do you want to get a drink? We can talk if you like.”
“No. I have to go, Rose. Thank you . . . Call me, please.”
“I will. Thanks for coming tonight.”
“Of course. It’s my privilege.”
On the street I felt some drizzle falling. Lou was walking up Seventh Avenue and stayed five steps ahead of me, mumbling to himself. He stepped off the curb and stuck his hand up. A cab swerved toward him. I ran to catch up and hopped in the cab after him. He wouldn’t slide over in the seat and I had to climb over him. He closed the door and told the driver to take us to Washington Street.
“I need to make a stop, Tim.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll have to wait in the cab.”
“Okay.”
We got to Washington Street way downtown and it started pouring again. Lou went into a building and I sat in the cab for almost an hour as the meter slowly ticked away, dime after dime after dime. I had no problem waiting.
thirty-three
It was dark when we left his building and hit the streets. We turned down Smitty’s offer of a ride downtown and decided to take the bus. I don’t remember why we didn’t catch the subway but I think it was Veronica’s decision. We avoided making eye contact and walked three blocks to the bus stop in silence. There was an ice cream truck idling at the corner of 204th Street and Broadway.
“Do you want an ice cream? My treat.” She said it without looking at me.
“No thanks.” I was honest. I didn’t say it out of spite. I just genuinely had no appetite for ice cream or anything else. I can’t say that I was angry at her or felt betrayed or double-crossed. I was feeling something but it wasn’t really directed at her. Well, it was but it wasn’t. It’s hard to explain.
“Would you mind if I got myself one?”
“I’ll get you one.” I felt it was my duty. “What do you want?”
“C’mon, Matthew. You know exactly what I want.”
It may have been the first and only time I ever heard her say my name. Now I know that sounds strange and it is possible that I’m wrong, but I cannot remember her saying it any other time.
I did know exactly what she wanted. I walked over to the truck’s window and bought Veronica a Bomb Pop. I used the twenty-dollar bill that Smitty gave me for services rendered. The ice cream man was not happy at having to break such a large bill and he made me wait until he served three or four other people. I understood, and I was sorry. It was a lot of change to make for something that cost twenty-five cents but I wanted to get rid of the filthy twenty as soon as I could.
I unwrapped
