CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The cattle call was for eight thatMonday evening and Roz barely made it to the theater in time. It was still demeaning to her that she had toaudition for every major part she wanted, but that was the state of affairs onBroadway, especially for veteran actresses. And when you add to the fact that many of the biggest stars in Hollywoodwere doing limited run engagements, too, none of it helped her prospects.
She made it on stage where the otheractresses up for the lead role were individually rehearsing the lines, and wentto sit next to some young girl who barely looked eighteen. But then she saw Dena Allen. Dena used to be in the same group Roz andBilly Lancer ran in. Dena was one of thefirst of them to make it big on Broadway. And she treated Roz and every one of themstill left behind like they were trash in the street. She was hardly Roz’s friend. But then again, Billy left Roz behind, too,when he made it big. But at least shewas a familiar face, and she was around Roz’s age. So Roz smiled and sat beside herinstead. “Hey girl,” she said as shesat.
“Roz Graham?” Dena was thrilled. They hugged. “What are you doing here?”
“The same thing you’re doing here,”Roz said. “Auditioning for the lead.”
“They’re making you do cattle callstoo?” Dena was shocked. “I thought itwas just me.”
Roz shook her head. “It’s just Broadway. It’s just show business.”
“You’re right,” Dena said. “They don’t give a damn about your past success. They can pick and choose now.”
“What do you mean now?” Rozasked. “They’ve been picking andchoosing ever since I got in the business,” she said, and Dena laughed.
Then Dena shook her head as shelooked around the room. “They’re gettingyounger by the day,” she said.
Roz looked around too. “I know. Make us look like their mothers.”
“You don’t look like anybody’smother. But me, on the other hand.”
Roz looked at Dena. They used to call her the black bombshell onBroadway, but the lines of age were beginning to seep through. Roz patted her hand. “You’re be okay,” she said.
“There just isn’t any work anymore,”she said. “I called and ask and nobody’sworking. You know I had to play a maidlast season because that’s the only role they would give to me. Believe it or not.”
“Oh, I believe it,” Roz said. “They offered me that kind of role the otherday. So I absolutely believe it.”
Dena looked at her. “You turned it down?”
Roz didn’t respond.
“You can, can’t you? You’ve got that talent agency, and, ofcourse, your rich husband. You canafford to say no. I can’t turn down noneof this shit. I apply for everything. A paycheck is a paycheck, that’s my motto.”
Roz understood. She definitely understood. But she wasn’t there to lollygag with Dena. She was there to win that part. She pulledthe script out of her shoulder bag, and got busy rehearsing.
The limo stopped in front of the famed Carson-Benning hotel, the luxuriousManhattan hotel Mick owned outright, and Bella Caine, a beautiful African-Americanwoman, stepped out, walked across the sidewalk, and was ushered in by thedoorman.
“Welcome back, Miss Caine,” thedoorman said as he tipped his hat for her.
“Thank you, George.” That wasn’t his name, but she felt it wasclose enough.
Once she made it inside of theelegant lobby, the general manager, who had been laughing with thereceptionists, hurried toward her as soon as he saw her enter. “Miss Caine, hello!”
“Is he here yet?”
“Yes, ma’am, he’s actually here. Shall I let him know you’re here?”
Bella gave him a hard look. “Why would you need to do that? I’m the mother of his only daughter. I don’t need to be announced.”
Even the GM knew that was a lie. He knew Mr. Sinatra had a younger daughterwith his only wife, but he wasn’t about to get into it with fashion designerBella Caine, who was a big name in her own right. “Right this way, ma’am,” he said, andescorted her to the elevator that led to Mick’s penthouse suite.
One of the receptionists at the deskwaited until Bella was on the elevator. And then she picked up the desk phone and made a phone call. When the male voice on the other end pickedup, she smiled. “Guess who’s here fordinner?” she asked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
As soon as Deuce McCurry ended thecall, he saw his rider come out of the theater doors. He jumped out, hurried around to the backpassenger door, and opened it for Roz. “You were the best one,” he said.
Roz looked at him. How would he know?
“Because I’ve been your driver for solong,” Deuce explained, “they know me around here now, so they let me sneak inand sit in the back. Did you get it?”
Roz exhaled. “No,” she said. “I didn’t.”
Deuce was disappointed. “Sorry about that, ma’am,” he said as she gotinto the backseat of the limo.
Deuce shook his head. What was wrong with these show businesspeople? How could an actress go frombeing all in demand to not in demand at all? But then he closed the door, got in behind the wheel, and crankedup. He looked at her through therearview. “Where to? The Carson?”
Roz looked puzzled. Why on earth would she want to go to Mick’shotel when it was less than a two hour drive to Philly? “Home,” she said.
“Sure about that, ma’am?”
Roz frowned. “Yes, I’m sure, Deuce. Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
“He’s in town,” Deuce said.
Roz looked at him. “He’s back home in Philly?”
“No, ma’am. He’s here. In New York.”
Roz was really confused. “Mick’s here?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s at his hotel.”
Mick was supposed to be back inRome. What was going on? “How do you know that?” Roz asked Deuce. “He phoned you?”
Deuce shook his head. “No, ma’am.” One of his snitches at The Carson-Benning hotel called him, but that wasbetween him and his snitch.
But Roz was a little perturbed. If Mick wanted to see her, he would havephoned her. He knew she was auditioningin New York. She even looked at her cellphone messages, just in case. But herfirst instinct was right. Nomessage. “Take
