by Romi Hart
She didn’t answer but that afternoon, she went for the auditions. Within three weeks, Keri and I were singing back to back and sometimes combining as a duet. The audience found the contrast between us two girls delightful.
Keri had been wrong about not being able to deliver Cabaret. She did it quite well. She flounced about in short skirts, her eyes full of daring. Sometimes, she would kick off her shoes and throw them at the audience. I remained the ice queen as my bit. It routinely brought down the house.
I hadn’t really thought that much about Cody James after our first encounter. He was just one more young man in the audience, one more of the good-looking, rich and arrogant. Still, I was slightly disappointed when the weeks went by and he still hadn’t returned, which was annoying. I preferred to be the one who remained just out of reach in the battle of the hearts. His quick retreat had left a lingering longing.
Keri was the first of us to notice Cody James the next time he returned to the Lamplight. She was getting down with a ‘done me wrong’ type song, her be-bop crossing the stage from left to right, her eyes seeking out members of the audience to accuse and berate. Her glance fell on Cody’s flashing smile. It lingered there only a moment, but at the finale, her eyes sought out his again and were rewarded by another cheery grin.
When Keri went backstage, she was filled with the giggly excitement she usually displayed when discovering a new gorgeous hunk to fixate on, and I thought nothing of it…until I realized the object of Keri’s new affections.
This did not happen until the show took an intermission and we went out to the floor to circulate among the audience.
It was one of those things Harrington liked to see, circulation among the audience. He felt it added a friendlier atmosphere and helped performers acquire loyal fans. Whatever arrangements were made between the audience and the artists were none of his business, but he did periodically remind them that he kept a clean house. As all artists have a different interpretation of clean, he also had to periodically remind his employees if it was illegal, take it outside.
It was a satisfying arrangement for everyone. There were few who hadn’t run the circuit of cheap dives with a lowbrow audience that equated performers to strip-teasers and pole dancers. The Lamplight was as respectable as the Royal Theater, but the performers were not asked to conform to anybody’s morality. They simply were what they wished to be, whether they were as reckless as Keri or as reserved as I am, or as dedicated to a role as Angelique.
Angelique and I strolled leisurely together toward the main floor. “Keri took off in a hurry,” observed Angelique. “What was up with that?”
I scoffed. “New eye candy. I know that look. She gets it every few weeks. It’s no wonder she was always in a scrap with Jackie. He’s in love with her, you know. He just doesn’t know how to tell her.”
“Men have a problem with those three little words. It’s easier for women. They know how to say it from the time they receive their first doll.”
“You’re clearly not a modern man. Girls don’t play with baby dolls anymore.”
“I stand corrected. I meant, from the day they receive their first My Little Pony!”
We stopped to chat at a few tables and shake hands with some of the fans. I stopped at the third one and tapped Angelique on the shoulder.
“Keri is walking into trouble,” I said.
He looked to where I was pointing. “Wasn’t that young fellow in here hitting on you a few weeks ago?”
“Yes. He’s a total player! Keri’s going to get hurt.”
“She’s a big girl. I’m sure she can handle him.”
“His type annoys me! Keri lays her heart wide open and men like Cody just walk all over it.”
“What about Jackie?”
“He walks on it too. Why hasn’t he called and apologized?”
We finished making the rounds and left together for the dressing rooms. “You can’t save her, you know,” Angelique told me. “She’s going to make her own choices. The only thing you can do is help her pick up the pieces when it’s done.”
It didn’t do any good to talk to Keri. She was gushing at the end of the night, positive she had found true love. “He’s so cute!” She interrupted my words of caution. “And he’s a baseball star! I bet he lives in a penthouse.”
“He’s still a rookie.”
“For the Big League! For the Giants. That boy ain’t earning a minimum wage!”
“He’s not your type, trust me.”
“You don’t know my type.”
This wasn’t true. I knew Keri’s type. Keri’s type tripped as cheerfully through life as she did, cherishing every new contact, embracing every love affair with abandon. Her type believed every spoken word the moment it was said; words that upheld, words that cut, words that made promises, never understanding words were often promises never kept. It worked well for Keri’s type because they understood the passions of the moment when the words were truly sincere and could truly forgive each other for passing like ships in the night, but outside her type, Keri was completely lost. I felt it was necessary to intervene.
I tucked my arm in hers as we went out to the floor. Cody James was leaning with one elbow hiked up on the bar, his pack of followers held off by his teammates. To be fair, I did get the attraction. He was cute in the way you saw a picture of a tow-headed young man in front of a flag, with the words, “God bless America” above it. He talked with a slow, lazy drawl. The problem was, his talk seemed kind of empty in a house filled with philosophers, ringside politicians and aspiring artists. It primarily consisted of flattery toward the women when it wasn’t centered around baseball scores.
He grinned from ear to ear when he saw Keri and I come in together. “I guess I didn’t waste my time after all,” he said when he saw me.
“I thought you had forgotten about our little club,” I answered, forcing Keri to take a secondary place for his attention.
“Well, we’re in full season right now, you know. We’re out of town a lot.”
Keri tugged at his arm, “You and Diana know each other?”
“Why sure, honey,” he said, patting her hand. “Miss Diana danced across my heart, ripped it out and hung it on a tree to dry.”
“All in three hours,” I told Keri dryly.
She giggled. “Are you really hung up on Diana?”
“I was for three hours,” he assured her. “It’s like seeing a school of dolphins for the first time. Ever see one?”
She shook her head. “It’s like this,” he explained. “The whole ocean is still, except for the waves that roll on as far as you can see. Suddenly, the waves break free and the ocean is alive with these long, silvery backs. They dance and leap in the sunlight. For three hours, you are so dazed, you are in love with everything on earth. It’s amazing, but then you return to normal.”
“And are never dazzled by dolphins again,” I added.
“I wouldn’t say that so much as there’s more than just dolphins to dazzle you.” Cody continued patting Keri’s hand, drawing her closer to him. “Keri here, she has another kind of dazzle, like a wild colt daring you to tame it.”
Keri giggled again. I knew when I was losing an appeal to her emotions. The problem with truth at the moment people, was that they had no practicality. They could not differentiate between sugar-coating and sincerity. He had a silver tongue. She was enamored, and my bantering, meant to disclose his flirtatious nature, only added to the conviction she was in love.
Keri went out with him that night. For the next three days, she was in a delirious state of happiness. On the fourth day, she began wringing her hands because he hadn’t called. On the fifth, she nearly jumped out of her skin to answer a call on her cell phone, only to discover it was Jackie. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, flopping down on the couch in disappointment and drawing up her legs. “What do you want?”
She listened a few minutes, then shrugged. “Well, maybe I like the fancy-pants music,” she said over the phone
. “There’s nothing wrong with expanding your tastes.” She listened again then shouted, “at least the drummer isn’t deaf!”
She threw the phone across the carpet and folded her arms.
“The band wants you back,” I guessed.
“What right does he have telling me who I am? You tell me who I am. Angelique tells me who I am. The Lamplight tells me who I am. Everybody tells me who I am. I’ll tell you who I am. I am somebody… absolutely free!”
She went out the door and didn’t return until that evening. Her arms were loaded with shopping bags.
“This is who I am,” she said, still pumping her special ginger-spiced adrenaline. “I just purchased two-hundred-fifty-dollars in stuff I don’t need.”
* * *
Saturday night came, and once more Cody James sat in the audience. Keri pulled out her full rebel girl on the rampage routine, belting down her songs while hovering close to Cody’s table.
During intermission, I tried to warn her again.
“He told me you’d say that,” Keri answered triumphantly. “He said you would be sore because it didn’t work out between you and him.”
Keri left with him again that night, her cotton-candy head snuggled under one arm. Another couple followed them out, a slightly older man with narrow eyes and a bottle-blonde with a broadcasting front who stood a shade taller than her date, making her nearly as tall as Cody. It seemed as they reached the exit door, they all smirked, but I decided to put it off to my sexy imagination.
Keri had returned home by the time Angelique was up and making coffee in the kitchen. “You’re rather early to be back from a date,” he said with surprise.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said sulkily, then noticed that I had already stumbled into the kitchen, and was leaning against the china hutch, waiting for Angelique to do his magic number with the French Press. “You were right. Cody is a jerk.”
My antennae for jilted women needing girlfriend attention went up and I slid into a seat across the table from Keri. Angelique knew how to flavor her coffee better than Keri did. She liked it black, with only a hint of sugar, but there was something about the way he strained, poured and blended coffee that always made it turn out perfect. Whereas Keri’s own attempts always made the coffee taste too flat, too dark or too sweet. Angelique was the coffee maestro.
“What happened?”
“Nothing good. Although, I didn’t really sleep with him, so I guess I can keep my self-respect.” Keri waited until Angelique had distributed their cups and settled down with them. “First of all, he doesn’t live in a penthouse, but it is a very swank apartment that he shares with a couple of others. Two floors on a hill. Huge patio. Fantastic view. The first time we went out together, we went to a hotel. He told me then that he lived with some of the other ball players and wanted some privacy. He was so sweet and charming. But that’s not the point.”
“What happened then?”
“He asked me this time if I wanted to go to his apartment. When I said yes, he told me they shared everything there, but I guess I didn’t really understand. I was just so happy he was taking me to his San Francisco home, or at least where he stays when the team is in San Francisco.”
“And?”
“It was so exciting. It has big floor to ceiling windows that look out over the bay bridge, with all kinds of twinkling lights below. Everything was so romantic at first. Cody told me there were two other roommates but that they had gone to bed. ‘They’ll probably come out to meet you later,’ he said.”
“Ohh…”
“So, we stayed in the living room, in front of those giant windows, sitting on the plushest carpet and pillows I’ve ever had the pleasure of sitting on in my life! We drank German Riesling, just the four of us, him and me and two other people. The carpet was so luxurious, it just seemed natural to lie down on it. Cody and I were doing a lot of kissing and hugging. I felt so happy, I thought I would melt.”
“But…?”
“Then, the other guy who had come with us, Mike, leaned over and whispered something in Cody’s ear. Cody then sat up, reached over and started playing with the breasts of the other girl! He told Mike he wanted to switch. ‘You’re okay with it, aren’t you?’ he said. But I wasn’t okay! I thought I meant something to him! So, I walked out of there right away. I was so upset, I didn’t even think to call a taxi until I had reached the avenue. How could I be so stupid?”
I shook my head. “You’re not stupid, just trusting. Too trusting. You think that every guy who plays nice is nice. Sometimes guys play nice only because they are being watched. When they are unsupervised, they are worse than coke heads dancing to Bohemian Rhapsody. I know. I have four brothers. Remember?”
Keri gave a short laugh. She had met my brothers once.
Angelique reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “Do you know who you can trust the most?” She shook her head. “A man who still loves you even when you get mad and call him names.”
She sniffled. “I miss my band. I don’t want to be hoity-toity anymore.”
“Call them up.”
After several hours of brooding debate, she finally did. The next day, she quit working for the Lamplight. And big surprise, she even got back together with Jackie.
Oh well, happily ever after for her. At least Cody let her down easy and didn’t sleep with her.
* * *
We were sitting in the living room that had been restored to order now that Keri had returned to the band. She only came back to us between practice sessions and some astonishingly long all-night performances. Robbed of their favorite character for practicing dramatics, Larson and Alice were sprawled on the floor, listening intently to the conversation—our conversation of giving that arrogant jerk Cody a taste of his own medicine.
“I’m not so sure you’re the one who can teach Cody a lesson,” answered Angelique softly. “Maybe you’ll end up falling for him.”
“He’s a cowboy! What use do I have for a cowboy?”
“Diana’s too good for a cowboy,” agreed Larson. “He probably thinks art is a painting of John Wayne and keeps a bunch of cattle in his backyard.”
“What’s a cowboy doing in a place like the Lamplight?” Wondered Alice. “It doesn’t have any country singers.”
“Oh, heavens!” sniffed Angelique. “He’s a country boy. He’s a boy in a candy shop, really. He doesn’t know what he wants because there are too many untried flavors. He’s just trying them all out.”
Larson gave a short, dry laugh. “The Lamplight contains some rather exotic flavors. You’re music hall material, Diana. Probably the only music hall he understands is the Grand Ole Opry.”
Alice yawned and stretched like a cat appraising its situation, her little paw scooping up an imaginary mouse. “It’s what he doesn’t know that will catch him. He’s a freshman on campus trying to be the cool guy when he doesn’t even know the ground rules. I don’t think you will have a problem, Diana.”
“Just as long as you don’t fall for him,” warned Angelique. “Give him your time, your attention, but don’t give him your heart.”
“Don’t even let him know you have a heart,” agreed Larson. “Most importantly, don’t let him get under your skin. Don’t let him make you angry.”
I took their advice seriously because it also helped me see things from their perspective. Larson’s intellectuality was the guide post into cool collectiveness, the difference between enlightened humans and the unwashed heathen. Alice was an expert on body language. It wasn’t just that she could interpret it. She could call upon full sets of body language to fit any personality type. It was what made her such a good method actress, but it also obscured completely whatever was going on behind the mask unless she voluntarily felt candid.
The cat and mouse pantomime was Alice being candid. She perceived a cat and mouse game and was reminding me that there are times being a predator had its advantages.
It was Angelique’s advice, however, th
at I took most to heart. Angelique didn’t really see gender, just people. He accepted that some men were lewd, crude and rude, but he also accepted there were women who brought it on themselves. Keri wasn’t one of those people. She just liked being a rebel. Her heart was good. She was talented, kind and generous.
All I knew was that I resented the way Cody James treated my friend. Maybe it was her fault for being so naïve, but Cody had taken away a piece of her innocence. I felt obligated to take away a piece of his. Maybe he didn’t sleep with her but he did hurt her feelings. He was going down and I was the one who would make sure it happened.
2
Cody
My name is Cody James. And every Saturday night, I’m out partying, ready to find a new girl to charm, wine, dine and dump. I’m sure a lot of women feel like they’re on a crusade against me. Thinking I’m some kind of player. Thinking I’m like all these other men who use women.
But then again, I know the truth. There are women who use men just the same. Most of the time, it’s a mutual back-scratching. Gold-diggers and ladder climbers, old men trying to feel young again and young women trying to appear powerful by being with those old men.
But one thing I am not is a liar or a player. I don’t fit that category. I don’t use people. I don’t have to use people. They’re the spectators, they use me!
Every Saturday night feels fateful. Every Saturday night is another building block toward success or the fatal blow of failure. Failure perched on a knife’s edge. If you didn’t keep your material fresh and innovative, you failed, that’s what people say. If you deliver your fresh, innovative material clumsily, you failed too.
Saturday night rolled around with its usual air of expectancy. Something had drawn me back to the Lamplight. It had a different class of people, urbanites, I guess you would call them. The Socialites were tight-kneed, their smiles inviting, but looking down on me as though I was a boy toy. Somehow, I felt if I touched them, my temperature would drop fifty degrees.
