“I’m just trying to soften theblow. Doesn’t work, does it?”
Roz shook her head. “Not even a little bit.”
Evan tried to smile. Then he remembered the other part. “But they did offer you another role,” hesaid.
Roz looked at him. The fact that she was even entertaining thethought showed just how desperate she was to remain viable in an industry thatchewed older actresses up and spat them out. Even once-successful actresses like her. But a supporting role wasn’t the worse thing in the world. It wasn’t the lead. But it was something. “What role?” she asked him.
“It won’t be even the second or thirdlead I’m afraid,” Evan responded. “Farfrom it.”
Roz’s hopes were dashed again. Not even the third female lead? “Which role?” she asked.
“It’s just a handful of lines, andthree or four scenes.”
“Which role?” Roz asked again.
Evan exhaled yet again. “The maid,” he said.
Roz gave him a look that could meltsteel. “What?”
“The role is the maid. That’s what the producers are offeringyou. That’s what I’m offering you.”
Roz couldn’t believe it. She worked her ass off to get somewhere,struggling for over a decade before she met Mick, and she was still treated inthe industry like some newbie who had to take whatever she could get?
“My advice,” Evan said, “is for youto take it. Take it, Roz. At least it’s something. It’s all we got to offer. Take it.”
Roz wanted to slap the shit out ofEvan. The nerve he had!
“I’ll try to get the writer to spruceit up a bit,” Evan continued. “Maybemake her a maid with an attitude. Howabout that? Like Florence from TheJeffersons, or Mammy in Gone With the Wind. What about that, Roz? I know you’re used to playing thesophisticated lady. But think how youcan stretch yourself if you play a role with attitude?”
“Oh, I got attitude,” Roz said,standing up. “Kiss my ass. And make sure you tell those producers I saidit too. How’s that for attitude?” And she walked out of that stately theatershe’d played, successfully, so many times before.
A maid, she thought as she walked upthe lane of Shubert Alley. All thoseyears of struggle. All that hard work tomake a name for herself. And that waswhat they reduce her to? A gotdamnmaid? And not just any maid. Oh no! A maid with an attitude. Florencefrom The Jeffersons, he said, or Mammy from Gone With the Wind. Mammy! A character who didn’t even have a real name! Her heart wanted to pound out of her chestshe was so angry. A part of her wantedto call Mick and tell him to get his ass to New York and put all of thosebastards in their places. How dare theytreat her that way!
But as she walked out of that theaterinto the stiff summer night air, and as Deuce McCurry opened the backdoor ofthe limo and she got inside, she knew she wasn’t about to go running toMick. He bailed her career out oncebefore, when she, as a black actress on Broadway, couldn’t pay anybody to giveher a decent role. And she was stillliving that decision down, as if that one break Mick gave her by bankrolling aplay she starred in, defined her career. It didn’t. He got her in thedoor, alright, a door that should not have been that hard for her to getthrough to begin with. But it was hertenacity, talent, and work ethic that kept her in that door.
But as Deuce drove her back to Phillywith yet another failed audition under her belt, she realized a startlingtruth: if she didn’t get a part soon, it was going to be the third Broadwayseason in a row where she wasn’t able to secure an acting gig. The third season. And her talent agency wasn’t faring muchbetter, as she was losing clients to more lucrative agencies on a daily basis.
And to make matters worse, Mickwasn’t around like he used to be. Usedto be a time she could go to him, and talk out her fears to him. He never let her get too weak on him: he didnot like weakness at all! But he wouldlisten to her, and would hold her, and that would be enough. But lately he was up to his old tricksagain. Always out of the country. Always had some fire somewhere he had to putout. Always leaving her in bed alone.
And she was about to turn forty.
For Roz, who’d never been that oldbefore in her life, it was the wrong damn time all around.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Billy Lancer laid in bed with thenameless woman beside him. It wasanother night and another bed partner. And he was so tired of it he could hardly stand it. But his appetite, an appetite only hisbeloved wife ever learned how to feed, had to be fed.
The woman finally woke up, turned tohim, and flapped her arm across his chest. She was gorgeous, he’d give her that. “I’m hungry,” she said, smiling and looking into his eyes, as if shejust knew she’d be accorded the privilege of having breakfast with the legendaryproducer.
But he removed her arm from him. “My driver is waiting,” he said, and thenlooked at her. “He’ll drop you off.”
The woman, offended, wanted to cusshim out. It was all in her eyes. But she knew that would spell doom for hercareer, a career that hadn’t gotten off the ground yet. She got up, and headed for the bathroom.
Billy got out of bed, too, put on hisbathrobe, and made his way into the living room of his palatial mansion in theHollywood Hills. He walked behind thefull-sized bar and poured himself a stiff one. Nine in the morning and he was drinking already. But that was his routine ever since his belovedleft this earth. And he knew he wasgoing to need more than drinks to survive what was for him the end of hisworld. And he was still barelysurviving.
He looked at the massive painting ofNatalie over the fireplace. Beautycouldn’t begin to describe her. And theworld loved her too. She was one of thebiggest actresses in Hollywood. Theywere considered the most-powerful couple in town too. But now, thanks to
