by Joachim Jean
Trying to avoid the growing throng, she slipped out the side door and walked East, tucking a beautifully wrapped bottle of Fran’s favorite perfume into her bag while gazing into more shop windows. She came to a halt when she spied a stunning violin in a small music store. It was made by Fein, and the price was one-thousand dollars, crossed out, with eight-hundred fifty dollars substituted.
“Who can resist a bargain?” Nina said aloud to no one as she pushed open the door to the tiny shop.
****
Clint didn’t ever remember feeling this jittery, not since Cory was born. His hands were sweating, and his mouth felt dry, as he rounded the corner and faced into the wind on 105th Street blowing off the Hudson River.
He didn’t remember much of the décor of Norman’s place when he had dropped off the play, as he had been too nervous, but now that he was even more anxious, he had to keep consulting a piece of paper to remember which number building housed Mr. Fallon’s lair. What if they were right? My parents. My ex. What if it’s a stupid idea? I gotta have faith Nina wouldn’t take it this far if it was that bad.
The savvy producer had a duplex apartment, the first two floors of a posh brownstone. Clint later recalled the highly polished floors and the big windows facing a garden in the back.
He stepped up to the door and rang the bell. Although it was only a few seconds, Clint was sure his heart was beating so fast he’d have a heart attack before he could get inside. When the buzzer sounded, releasing the lock, he pushed open the heavy black, wrought iron and glass door and went in.
Norman, dressed in expensive designer jeans and a raw silk T-shirt, came out to greet him, offering his hand. Clint raised his eyebrows as he went to meet the producer and return the handshake.
“A drink? You look like you could use one,” Norman offered as Clint handed him his coat.
“Good idea.”
“Scotch? Vodka?
“Vodka, on ice?”
“Ah, good choice. Me, too.”
Norman poured the drinks and motioned Clint to a comfortable-looking club chair. “I don’t want to keep you in suspense much longer,” he said, raising his glass. “So, let’s toast to the next Broadway hit show, ‘Happy Family’!”
Clint felt faint. Did I hear right? A small smile managed to creep across his lips as he stared at Norman.
“Relax, man! I just said your show is going to be a hit!”
Clint raised his glass, clinked it with Norman’s, and took a healthy swallow.
“I have a few suggestions. Nothing major, except maybe changing the name.”
“The name?”
“I thought maybe ‘The Carsons Plus One’ might be more interesting, but we can discuss that.”
Clint continued to stare at Norman, still trying to take it in that he wanted to produce the play.
“You should have Ashley call me.”
His brain had stopped working. “Ashley?”
“Your agent?”
“Oh, yes, yes, Ashley.” Clint brought his palm to his forehead.
“You’re working now, right?”
“I’m teaching school. But I can be free for evening rehearsals and script changes.”
“Terrific. Do you have time to go over the play now? I wanted to discuss some ideas I had for casting.”
“Nina. I have to call Nina.”
“Why not wait until I’ve spoken to Ashley?”
“But she’ll want to know. Since, she’s going to play the mother, I want to tell her right away.” He started to rise out of his chair.
Norman put his hand on Clint’s arm, easing him back into the plump down cushion. “That’s one thing I wanted to discuss with you.”
“What? Nina already knows the part. She’s read every line dozens of times.”
Norman cleared his throat and gazed at the floor before making eye contact. “Clint, we can’t use Nina.”
Silence fell on the room. Clint’s pulse jumped, and his head swam, his breathing became rapid. He cocked his head. Maybe I didn’t hear right. “What?” He put his glass down, then picked it up, swirled the ice, and put it down again.
“That’s right. We can’t use Nina. She won’t be cast as the mother.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I said, Clint. No Nina.”
“But she wrote the play with me. We’ve always assumed, always talked about…I want to do it with her. She’s perfect for the role.”
“Then, find yourself another producer,” Norman said, sitting back in his chair, his eyes hooded.
“But you like it…you said it was a hit.”
“Sure, it’s a hit. It’s a fine play…with someone else playing the mother. We need a name to play the mother. Someone famous. A movie star. No one is going to come to see Nina Wells. She hasn’t been in the theater for fifteen years. No one knows who she is anymore.”
“She’s not a has-been. She’s a fine actress.”
“She is, probably a better actress than whoever we hire, but we need to get backers, money, lots of money. And no one is going to put money behind Nina Wells, an actress no one knows. Now, Cara Brewster, that’s another story. Her name alone can keep us sold out for six months. I need you to go out to Hollywood with me and meet with agents. We need to get the play in front of some movie stars.”
“But Nina…what am I going to say to her?”
“She’ll understand. She’s theater. Look, when we meet these ladies…put on the charm a little. You’re a good looking guy, seduce ’em a bit. Get my drift?”
Clint didn’t hear what Norman was saying for the next ten minutes. Nina, the love of his life. How could he tell her? What could he say? She’d be crushed. And did he have the right to give the play to someone else when she had done so much to shape it? Oh, God, Nina, I love you so much, and this is going to kill you.
“Okay, Clint. Go and think about what I’ve said. Have Ashley call me, and we’ll work out the details. I look forward to working with you and making you the next Neil Simon.” Norman stuck out his hand.
They shook, and Norman handed Clint his coat. Still in a daze, he nodded muttered “thank you” several times. The cold, winter air on the street revived him a bit, but it did nothing to make him feel better or resolve his dilemma. If Norman had kicked out his guts, he couldn’t have felt worse.
All he could think of were her words—“I thought you knew that you’ve given me something Henry never had and never could.” Now, he’d be taking that away. Was Norman right? Would she understand because she was ‘theater’? Would she still love him if the play went to Broadway without her?
Clint headed uptown, walking. His mind wouldn’t rest. She’d never stand in my way, but would our love survive my going to Broadway without her? When he arrived home, he dug out Ashley’s number and called her.
She was thrilled. He swore he could hear her jumping up and down over the phone. She babbled on about hotel reservations and plane tickets, but all Clint could hear was the breaking apart of his heart.
****
With Christmas only two weeks away, Nina hurried to finish her menu planning and begin wrapping presents. This was her favorite part. She opened a bottle of wine, put on Nat King Cole’s Christmas album, and pulled out the beautiful, new paper she had bought at Saks.
The violin was big and hard to wrap, but the other gifts were smaller and easier. She got the instrument out of the way then wrapped the fancy, red ink pen and the cashmere jacket she had bought for Clint. Next was the spa certificate for Helen and the autobiography of Darcy’s favorite sports hero.
She put aside the presents from FAO Schwarz to receive the special children’s paper she had also bought there and hummed along with “Holly Jolly Christmas.”
When she was done, she picked up the phone and called Clint. She got his voicemail and left a message. “So thrilled Norman loved the play. When do we start rehearsals?”
She knew that with revisions, final exams, and final grades on top of preparing stud
ents for the English Regents, a state exam each student must pass, Clint was completely preoccupied. True, they hadn’t seen each other in the days since Clint had met with Norman, but Nina wasn’t worried. Well, maybe a little.
Clint had called her to tell her that Norman loved the play, but that he couldn’t chat. That had been four days ago. She knew he loved her, and she trusted him. Still, a slight doubt crept into the back of her mind that something wasn’t right. She brushed it away with the excuse that he was still adjusting to the fantastic news.
But as the week wore on, she became worried when she still didn’t hear from him. It was so unlike Clint not to call. She used to speak to him every day. Now, when she called, it always went to voicemail. And Fran hadn’t called, either. But Fran was getting ready for her party and would be too busy. She didn’t need to call Nina about the contract for “Happy Family.” Nina knew it was all in the works.
One week became two, and still Nina had not heard from Clint. Now, she was calling daily and going right to voicemail with no return call. The thought that Clint had broken off with her nagged at the back of her mind, but she shook it off. He’d call, he’d say something, do something. Clint would never just disappear. Dump me. He’s not like that.
Nina continued her plans for Darcy and Helen, though a heavy feeling settled around her heart.
Chapter Eleven
Across town, the phone rang in Clint’s apartment. It was Cory, so he picked it up.
“Hey, Dad.”
“What’s up?”
“We’re going skiing, so you and I’ll have to do Christmas later.”
Clint was silent. He had hoped to be with Cory during the holiday, especially since he wouldn’t be with Nina. Now, he’d be alone.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No.”
“You still haven’t told her?”
“Why do you care? You’re going skiing, anyway. What’s it to you about Nina?”
“Nothing, Dad. Forget it. Never thought I’d see the day when I called you a coward.”
“That’s enough, Cory! You don’t talk to me that way.”
“I call ’em as I see ’em,” Cory said and hung up.
Clint cursed to himself and shut off his cell. He continued packing for his trip to the West Coast with Norman. He folded his dorky jeans and T-shirts and placed them in the suitcase. He’d look like a nerd next to suave Norman Fallon. So what? Nerd is what I am, why hide it? He didn’t deserve to feel comfortable or enjoy this trip. He was the rat of all rats and should suffer.
Cory was right—his father was a coward. Every time he worked up the courage to call her, he got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. For an accomplished wordsmith, he was dumbfounded that he couldn’t find the right words.
How could he tell her she was a has-been? He knew Nina was sensitive about their age difference. Though he didn’t care, it meant something to her. Now, he’d be moving on in the theater, leaving her behind. He wracked his brain, but still the words didn’t come.
“Norman said we need to use a bigger name.” But he knew that wouldn’t work. She’d understand it meant she couldn’t draw an audience.
“I wanted to use you for the mother, but Norman said we couldn’t. So, we’re going to find another actress for the role.” That’s passing the buck. And why didn’t he stand up to Norman? Because he wanted his play on Broadway so bad he could taste it.
“I wanted you for the play, but Norman had other ideas.” Same spiel. She’d see right through it. Maybe he could lie.
“Norman said you were too young for the part.” He sank down in a chair. That was the dumbest one he’d come up with yet. No lies. He couldn’t do that. It was too disrespectful. But not telling her? That was as bad, and he was ashamed.
Nina was right. When the Dracula that was the theater sank his fangs in you, you’d do anything. So, here he was, selling out, turning his back on the woman he loved to get his name in lights. He felt cheap, low-down, and rotten.
He kept telling himself that Nina would understand. She wouldn’t be crushed, her hopes and plans ripped from her by the heartless Norman and the skunky Clint. Nina was a mature woman, had dealt with life, disappointments, hell, even the death of her husband. This would be simply one more letdown. Except for the fact that her beloved was dealing the fatal blow.
And the worst part was, while he figured Nina might forgive him someday, Cory never would. Was Clint any better than his own father? Maybe not.
He waited on the sidewalk as the limousine taking him and Norman Fallon to the airport pulled up. Inside, Norman poured them each a drink.
“Some of these Hollywood women… Well, hope you brought some protection, buddy.”
“What?”
“Oh, hell. Sometimes, they’ll do anything, absolutely anything, for a great part. And there’s none greater than this one. You’re a lucky man. You’ll have your pick.”
Clint crossed then uncrossed his legs. “I’m not going there to get laid. I’m going there to find a lead for my play.”
“Consider it a bonus, then.” Norman chuckled.
“You’ve got it all wrong. I don’t know how your relationship with Nina went, but I’m not looking for another woman.”
“Not even a gorgeous, sexy, movie star?” Norman finished his vodka.
“I have a gorgeous, sexy, Broadway star. She’s more than enough for me.”
“Too bad. Still. You might change your mind.”
“Don’t count on it.” Clint poured another drink at the producer’s request, but left his own glass empty.
“It’s just one night, man. Don’t be so provincial.”
“I don’t call it provincial. I call it faithful.”
“Call it whatever you want. It sounds boring to me.”
“Obviously, you don’t know Nina as well as you think.” Clint smirked.
****
Feeling immensely guilty about not calling Nina back, Clint boarded the plane for Los Angeles. He flew first class with Norman Fallon. They toasted the play then the producer recounted stories of his seductions during casting sessions. The more he drank, the raunchier the stories got. Clint shifted in his seat, searching, unsuccessfully, for a way to shut the man up. Finally, Norman fell asleep.
Clint tried to sleep, but his emotions seesawed between guilt and elation. The thought of being on Broadway and proving his naysayers wrong grabbed him like a powerful drug. But an emptiness settled in his heart when he realized he’d be doing it without Nina.
The war inside him raged, keeping him from anything but fitful naps during the long flight. Unable to read, he flicked on a movie and scrounged up enough control to watch most of it.
A limousine met them at the airport and ferried them to a tony hotel. Norman had reserved a suite with a bedroom for each man and a living room for auditions. He spent an hour on the phone with his assistant getting their schedule set. Being tired from the trip and the time change, they had dinner sent up and went to bed early. Clint passed out from exhaustion and slept dreamlessly until sunrise.
Breakfast was delivered. He showered and dressed. With a copy of the play under his arm, he headed for the living room, where he met the first actress to audition. Norman made the introductions.
It was a long day, as a dozen actresses paraded through their suite, reading lines, giving opinions on the play, and making flirtatious overtures to both Norman and Clint. One even intimated she’d sleep with both of them at the same time for the part.
At the end of the day, Norman licked his chops. “Which one do you want? I’ll let you pick first.”
“What?”
“Go ahead. There were three chicks who made it plain they’d sleep with us.”
“To get the part? I’m not casting that way.”
“Who said anything about giving them the part?” Norman sniggered.
Clint made a noise of disgust and went to the bar. He needed a
drink.
“Okay. I’ll pick. Hmm. It’s a hard choice. Patty does it for me. Been a while since I made it with a redhead. I’m always curious if they are natural.”
Clint wanted to throw up. He took a slug of his vodka on the rocks and sat back, searching for a response to Norman.
“You can be a prude, but I’m not going to miss this opportunity.” Norman picked up his cell and dialed the young woman’s number.
Clint stood at the window and looked at the view, trying not to hear the man’s nauseating conversation. When he was off the phone, Clint turned. “What’s our schedule for auditions tomorrow?”
He and the producer went over the list of actresses for the next day.
“I’m beat. You go out. I’m gonna eat here and watch TV.”
“You’ll be sorry. These chances don’t come up every day.”
“Yeah, yeah. Do your thing. I’m fine.”
The next day was more of the same. After they bid the girls goodbye, Norman again picked a woman. The men had dinner together in the hotel and discussed the auditions. After dinner, Norman showered and left the suite. Clint stripped down to his boxers and turned on the tube. He poured himself another drink and stretched out on the sofa.
After an hour of an action movie he wasn’t paying much attention to, there was a knock on the door. Must be someone who’s got the wrong room. He slipped into a pair of jeans and went to answer. A woman who had auditioned earlier that day was standing outside. She wore a revealing dress that showed serious cleavage. She smiled at him, and he could tell she’d been drinking.
“I’m here to show you how much I want this part.”
“Hey, Mitzi, it’s okay. Really. You gave a great audition today.You don’t need to do this.”
“But I want to,” she said, flattening her hand and running it up his chest. She stepped closer, and he smelled the alcohol on her breath.
Clint grasped her upper arms. “I think that’s far enough.”
