Mick Sinatra: Breaking My Heart

by Mallory Monroe

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Three days later and the Graham Agency was trying its best to get back to normal. But not without fallout. Roz was in her office, with her chair rolled up to her file cabinet, pulling the files of the people on her waiting list. Two of her three teachers quit, and a couple of her students wanted out. She could replace her students quickly. The waiting list for her acting studio was substantial. But she needed her teachers. Good acting coaches, who, in Roz’s view, had to themselves be good actors, were not easy to come by. Teegan Salley, her secretary, hurried in.

  “I finally got Naja,” she said as she walked in. “She’s on Line 4.”

  Roz rolled over to her desk, picked up the phone, and pressed the button. She cradled the phone on her shoulder and moved back to the file cabinet. “Hey, Naj, it’s me.”

  “I know why you’re calling, Roz,” Naja said into the phone, “but I can’t do it. I can’t come back.”

  “What happened with Johnny was a one-time thing. An aberration. You know that. Why would you sacrifice your teaching career because of an aberration?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not how I see it. Your husband is no aberration.”

  Roz stopped all movement, and became suddenly defensive. “My husband? You mean the man who saved your ass? What does my husband have to do with this?”

  “I appreciate what he did, Roz,” Naja said into the phone. “Truly I am. And I’m not trying to knock your man.”

  Roz rolled her eyes. They always say they aren’t trying to knock her man, and then they knock him. “But?” Roz asked.

  “And I know the media is claiming that the gunman was after you because his girlfriend was fired by your agency or whatever,” Naja continued. “But that’s not what I’m hearing.”

  Roz shook her head. More grapevine bullshit. “What are you hearing?” she asked.

  “I’m hearing it’s not like what the media is saying. I’m hearing that man was there because of some beef he had with your husband, and that was why we were all in danger.”

  “That’s a dirty lie,” Roz said. “My husband had nothing to do with that shit Johnny pulled, and you know he didn’t. You were right there! You heard what Johnny said. But you would rather listen to rumors by people who weren’t even there? My husband rescued us. And you want to blame it on him? Girl bye! Forget I even called you. I wouldn’t want your stupid, grapevine believing fake ass anywhere near my studio.” And Roz angrily ended the call.

  She rolled back to her desk, put the phone on the hook, and leaned back in her chair. “These people,” she said with frustration in her voice.

  “They’re something else,” Teegan said. “I’ve been hearing those same rumors. It’s all over the place. Everybody wants to blame Mr. Sinatra.”

  Roz rubbed her forehead. “And he had nothing to do with it.” Then she looked at Teegan. “Thanks, Tee, for getting her on the line. That’ll be all.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Oh, and Zina Klein is here to see you.”

  Roz was surprised. “Zina’s out there?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I told her you had an appointment.”

  Roz’s audition was today, and her goal was to make that two-hour drive to New York so that she could have time to calm herself down after a busy morning. But Zina was an old friend. “You can send her in,” Roz said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Teegan responded, and left.

  Within seconds, Zina Klein, a tall, slender, African-American woman and one of Roz’s oldest friends, walked in.

  Roz smiled and rose to her feet. “Welcome back, Hollywood! Long time, no see.”

  They embraced. “Hey, Roz,” Zina said with a smile. “It’s so good to see you again!”

  “Sit down.”

  Zina sat in front of Roz’s desk. “Your secretary said you have an appointment.”

  “I do,” Roz said, sitting down too. “But I have a few minutes. What’s up?”

  “Nothing’s up. I saw on the news what happened. I wanted to come by and make sure you were okay.”

  “Ah, that’s sweet of you, Zeen. Thanks. And I’m good.”

  “Sure?”

  “Positive.” Roz brushed any thought otherwise away. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not today. Not when she had that audition. “But what are you doing in town?” she asked. “I thought you were off to Hollywood to make all your dreams come true. I thought you were gone for good.”

  “I thought I would be when I left,” Zina said with a smile. “But it didn’t work out that way.”

  Roz knew what she meant. Another waterfall chase that ended up as water in her face. She knew how the details hurt, so she avoided asking about them. “You’re back for good?” she asked her instead.

  Zina nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” Then she looked at Roz. “That’s the real reason why I’m here. I heard one of your teachers quit.”

  “Another one quit this morning. Naja.” Then Roz realized what Zina meant. She stared at her. “You’re interested?”

  Zina nodded. “I always wanted to be an actor, not teach it,” she said.

  “But?” Roz asked.

  “But I’m getting old, Roz. You’re still in your thirties. You’re younger than I am, and look at what all you’ve accomplished.”

  “But I failed as an actress too now, Zeen, don’t forget that.”

  “You might not have been a successful actress,” Zina said, “but you own a successful talent agency, and now a successful studio. I don’t own shit, I don’t have shit. And I’m over forty. It’s not happening for me, Roz. I went out there to California, following that man with all of his big talk.” Tears welled up in her big, brown eyes. “I couldn’t even get an audition. And I tried. Oh, how I tried. Then all of these creeps want me to do porn flicks.”

  Roz nodded. They used to try and recruit her too, but she would never go that route.

  “Here I am,” Zina continued, “traveling all the way across the country trying to be a serious actress, and they want me in some skin flick. Hell, I could do that in Philly. I didn’t have to go all that way for that. I told them what they could do with their flicks, and came back to Philly.” Then she looked at her friend. “But I’m so broke, Roz, I can’t even afford pride.”

  Roz didn’t laugh. She’d been there too many times herself.

  “I’m going to be blunt,” Zina said. “Do you need a teacher? Because I need the work.”

  “That’s easy,” Roz said. “Yes, I need one. And yes, you’re hired.”

  Zina smiled, and more tears came. “Thank you so much, Rosalind.”

  Roz grabbed a couple Kleenex out of the box on her desk, and handed them to her. Zina grabbed them, but couldn’t contain her gratitude. She went behind the desk and gave Roz a hug. “You don’t know what this means to me,” Zina said as they embraced. “Thank you so much!”

  “I’ll love to have you teaching my students,” Roz said when they stopped embracing. “You’re one of the best actresses I’ve ever seen, Zina. One of the best. And your timing could not have been more perfect.”

  When Roz said those words, something tugged at her from within. And she remembered what Mick always told her: there was no such thing as a coincidence.

  She had offered a down-and-out old friend a job, and she wasn’t taking that back. But she wasn’t sure if she was just paranoid because she was Mick’s wife, or if that tug was a red flag. Either way, she knew she had to proceed cautiously with Zina.

  Zina blew her nose, and wiped it. “You said you needed another teacher too?”

  “Why?” Roz asked. “You’ve got somebody in mind?”

  “Yes! Tamron still lives in Philly, you know. When was the last time you heard from her?”

  Tamron was another friend from Roz’s acting days. “We had a falling out here recently,” Roz said.

  “It’s high time you two fell back in,” Zina said. “We’ve got to put the band back together, Roz. She’ll make a great acting coach. You know she will.”

  “Ha! Tamron as so
mebody’s teacher? You can forget that. Tam married that baller and has had her ass up her throat ever since. She’ll view the teaching profession as beneath her now.”

  “Beneath her? Oh, please. It’s not beneath you, and you’re richer and more successful than she’ll ever be. She married some second-string football player. You married rich and gorgeous upon rich and gorgeous Mick Sinatra. Hello?”

  Roz smiled.

  “Can I at least call and run the idea by her?” Zina asked.

  “You can call her. But I still say you’re wasting your time.”

  “Then it’ll be my time to waste,” Zina said with a smile.

  Roz smiled too. It would be nice to have her two girls with her again. But she was Mick’s woman now. And Mick had certain standards he expected her to uphold. And not falling for anybody’s bullshit was chief among them.

  “Start tomorrow,” Roz told Zina, pleased that she at least, even if only temporarily, had a teacher replacement. “But right now, I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Thanks, again, Roz,” Zina said, walking back to the front of the desk and grabbing her purse. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  When she walked out, Roz stopped gathering up her purse, and picked up her phone. She called Carmine DiMaggio, Mick’s chief of security.

  “I want you to run a name for me, Carmine,” Roz said.

  “Is this person of interest a threat, or a just-in-case?” he asked.

  Roz understood what he meant. A threat meant the chief would immediately notify Mick. A just-in-case meant that Carmine would notify Mick only if he uncovered something disturbing.

  “A just-in-case,” Roz said.

  “Okay, shoot,” Carmine said.

  “Zina Klein. A Philly residence who just came back from California. Run a full background on her, will you?”

  “I certainly will,” Carmine said, and Roz, satisfied, ended the call.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As soon as Roz made it outside, prepared to get in her Bentley and take a slow drive to New York, she, instead, saw her husband’s car parked in front of her building. She was surprised. She walked across the sidewalk as he pressed down his tinted window. “Mick?” she asked.

  “Hey. Get in.”

  Roz, confused, got in. “What’s wrong? I told you I had an audition.”

  “I remember what you told me. That’s why I’m here. I’m driving you. Thought you could use the moral support.”

  Roz couldn’t believe how thoughtful he was! Considerate Mick was her favorite Mick. She gladly buckled up, and Mick pulled off.

  It wasn’t until they were on the interstate did Roz, her head leaned back against the headrest, speak. “I still can’t believe I’m putting myself through this again. But it’s the role of a lifetime.”

  “What are your true chances of getting this role? I know you said it’s yours to lose. But what I hear when you say that is that it’s not yours yet.” He glanced at her. She could see how worried he was about her.

  “Ethan said I’m perfect for the role, and he’s the casting director. That’s all I can go by.”

  “If you’re perfect for the role, why are they forcing you to audition?”

  “Because I’m not an A-lister. I mean, I’m a major talent agent. But they aren’t hiring a talent agent. They’re hiring talent. I don’t have the kind of resume that makes me a major player yet. Ethan has to see if I still can deliver. If I can, and I believe I can, I’m in.”

  Mick would never verbalize these feelings to Rosalind, but he didn’t like this at all. She could be hurt. He knew how brutal show business could be. She stopped auditioning for parts she never seemed to get and became a talent agent because of the brutality. Now she wanted back in? The acting bug was in her blood. He knew that when he first met her. But he thought she’d had enough.

  “What I do not want,” he said as he drove, “is for you to build your hopes up, only to be crushed again.”

  Roz looked straight ahead. She knew exactly what he meant. “I don’t want that either,” she admitted.

  But when they arrived at the Broadway theater, and many actresses were auditioning, it felt like déjà vu to Mick. He sat in the very back of the Ames Theater and watched actress after actress, all younger than Roz, and all of them white, go onstage and audition. Roz just sat there, reviewing her lines with the others waiting to read, as if it was no big deal. But it smelled bad to Mick. It felt as if she was being set up, only to be knocked down.

  It could not have been more true to him when Roz went onstage and read her lines from Streetcar. She was brilliant, Mick thought, and better than everybody else, but Wyatt Grien, the producer, some short, fat guy, seemed unimpressed. He was even having some whispered, heated exchange with Ethan Cohen, the casting director, to the point where the actual director turned around in his seat and asked them to take it outside.

  Roz was still in the middle of her performance as the casting director and the producer rose from their seats and went outside. Roz, totally in character, didn’t even notice.

  After they walked out of the theater, Mick stood up, buttoned his suitcoat, and walked out behind them. They were nearby, in the corridor, and the producer was taking his casting director to task. Mick leaned his back against a sidewall with his cellphone in his hand as if he was reading a text, and listened.

  “It’s the heartbeat of the entire production,” the producer said. “Not the male role. The female role, the role of Blanche Dubois, is the heartbeat. And you gave inside track to Roz Graham? Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s a complicated role, Wyatt. We need an actress with those kinds of chops. Roz has it. She has it in spades.”

  “I don’t care what she has,” Wyatt responded. “No nigger is getting the plum role in any play that I produce! Is that clear enough for you?”

  Ethan seemed shocked. “So she’s a nigger now? She was ‘hey, Roz, how you doing Roz’ when she was in your face. But behind her back she’s a nigger? Nice, Wyatt. Very nice.”

  “This is my production! My money. My blood, sweat, and tears. And she won’t do.”

  “Even though she’s the best actress we’ve auditioned?” Ethan asked.

  “Yes!” Wyatt shot back.

  “Even though she’s perfect for the role?”

  “Hell, yes! Give her another role. A minor role. But she will not play Blanche. Blanche will be played by a blonde, blue-eyed bombshell the way the play was intended.”

  “What about diversity? The whole point of this revival is to have a diverse cast.”

  “There can be diversity. Just not with the title role. I don’t want no niggers, no spics, no chanks. Nobody but a Swedish type.”

  “A Swedish type? Yeah, I’m sure Tennessee Williams had Sweden in mind when he wrote that play.”

  “Well he certainly didn’t have Africa in mind!”

  “But I promised Roz, Wyatt!” Ethan protested.

  “Tough,” Wyatt responded. “You un-promise her. Tell her she’s just the wrong one for the part. I want young and I want white. And I’m not talking about some pinch-face cracker either. Or some ugly trailer park trash. I’m talking beauty queen. I’m talking somebody with enough sex appeal to put butts in those seats. Because that’s the bottom line for me.”

  “Wyatt, be reasonable man!”

  “You heard me. Roz Graham? You must be joking! She’s not even a has-been. She’s a never-was! Either give her a minor role,” Wyatt said, “or get rid of her altogether. If you ask me, I’d vote to keep her out of it altogether. And that’s final.” Wyatt began leaving.

  “Wyatt!” Ethan called after him.

  “It’s final,” Wyatt said without turning around. He went into the men’s room.

  Ethan rammed his fist into the wall angrily, and then headed back into the theater. Mick looked up from his cellphone, leaned his head back, and then, placing his phone back into his pocket, headed for the men’s room too.

  Wyatt was at the urinal when Mick walked in. Mi
ck stood there, with his hands in his pockets, and looked at the producer. Wyatt was so full of himself, Mick decided, that he didn’t even realize the danger. He even finished peeing, shook his penis of any excess, zipped his trousers, and then walked over to the sink.

  It was only as he washed his hands, that he noticed Mick standing there. And in his arrogance, he responded rudely. “What are you staring at?” he asked.

  If Mick was not so pissed, he would have smiled. Who did this little person think he was? But Mick was pissed. And whenever he had business to handle, he couldn’t find any room for amusement.

  He began walking toward the sink. “I’m staring at you,” he said. “You have a problem with that?”

  “I might,” Wyatt said, drying his hands. “And I’m sure you will, too, if you knew who I was. Because apparently, you don’t know who I am.”

  Mick grabbed Wyatt and flung him across the room, causing his lip to split as it slammed violently against the open door of one of the stalls. And Mick hurried to him. “Apparently, you don’t know who I am,” he said, and flung Wyatt again.

  “Okay!” Wyatt had terror in his voice as he fell to the filthy floor. “I apologize! I didn’t mean anything by it, Mister. Alright?” He had his hands in front of him, as if to protect himself.

  But he was too late for that. Mick grabbed him up again, and shoved him against the wall. “You want me to know who you are? Let me explain who I am. And then, if you find it necessary, I will hear about you.”

  Wyatt was swallowing hard. His lip was bleeding, his ass was hurting from the hard fall to the floor. He was not, in normal circumstances, a healthy man.

  “My name is Mick Sinatra. They call me Mick the Tick, as in a ticking time bomb, because of my bad temper. I am the husband of the woman you referred to as a never-was. As a nigger. As wrong for your little play.”

  It was worse than Wyatt thought. He’d heard Roz had ties to some mobster. He’d heard her husband was bad news. But Wyatt, in his arrogance, had calculated that no mobster could ever reach the rarified air he traveled in. He calculated wrong.