The Heavenly Fugitive

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I never . . . I never realized it.”

  And then with a heartbroken tone, she said, “And so do I hate it. I’ve always hated it.”

  Tony stared at his wife, whom he loved dearly, but could not meet her gaze. Blindly, he turned and fled from her.

  ****

  Rosa improved dramatically. Each day home from the hospital brought more strength. Her parents rejoiced and so did Jamie, but after she had been home only a few days, Rosa became aware of the rift between her father and her brother. She could not speak to Tony, but she asked Jamie about it. He simply related the scene that had passed between them. When he finished, Rosa bit her lip. “I’m sorry you had to say those things to Daddy.”

  “But you feel the same way, Rosa,” Jamie insisted. “I know you do.”

  “Yes, I do. I think about it all the time,” Rosa whispered. “I love my father, but I don’t want to see you getting into what he does. I wish we could just move away and go where people don’t know us!”

  ****

  On her first outing, Rosa insisted on going to the hospital to visit Dom. He was still on the very edge of death, and when Tony said, “You’re too weak to go out, Rosa,” she had stood before him, pale but determined.

  “I’ve got to go see Dom. He’s going to die, Daddy. I think you ought to go too.”

  Tony swallowed hard. “All right. I’ll take you myself.”

  The two went, and when they reached Dom’s room they found, to Rosa’s surprise, that Phil was there. He was standing beside the bed, and Rosa swallowed hard. “Hello, Phil,” she said.

  “Hello, Rosa. How are you, Mr. Morino?”

  Tony stared down at the pale face of Dom Costello. “How . . . how is he?”

  Phil shook his head. “The doctors say he can’t last much longer.”

  Tony was startled that he would speak of death in front of Dom, and he whispered, “You shouldn’t talk like that. He’ll hear you.”

  “Dom knows he’s dying, Tony.”

  At that moment Dom opened his eyes. “Hello, Tony,” he whispered.

  “Hey, how are you, fella?” Tony turned to Dom, forcing a smile. He held his hand out, but Dom was too weak even to lift his own.

  “I’m glad . . . you came. Wanted to tell you good-bye.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Dom,” Tony said nervously, his voice rising. “Don’t ever talk like that.”

  “It’s . . . my time.”

  Fear gripped Rosa at his words. She had known that Dom could not live, but now that the moment was near, she felt light-headed and wanted to run from the room. She was standing beside Phil and now reached out and grasped his arm. She turned to face him and whispered, “I’m so afraid, Phil.”

  Phil put his arm around her. “It’s all right, Rosa. Dom knows where he’s going now.”

  Rosa felt the warmth of his body as his arm went around her. She was unaware that her father was staring at them, but she heard Phil speaking warmly to Dom.

  “Dom, you’re going to be in the presence of God soon. When we prayed together last night, you asked Jesus into your heart, and I believe He came in.”

  Dom Costello’s eyes were glazed, but life shone from them. “Yes, something happened. As soon as I called on Jesus, I knew . . . something had changed.”

  Rosa could not believe what she was hearing. Dom continued to speak, and despite his pallor, his eyes brightened. He reached over to Rosa and said, “It’s the real thing, Rosa. Jesus is real. He came and took away everything that was bad in me. I feel so clean, washed. . . .”

  Dom could not speak anymore, but Rosa reached out and took his hand. He held it firmly, and when she said, “I love you, Dom,” he whispered, “I love you too, kid.” His eyes went to Tony, and he said, “Tony . . . don’t leave God out. Trust in Jesus.”

  Those were the last words big Dom Costello spoke. His eyes closed, and the three stood around the bed watching his breath grow shallower. Phil sent for the doctor, but it was too late. Dom never spoke again, but he did open his eyes once and half lifted his hand. Rosa saw something in Dom’s eyes she had never seen before—and then he sighed and closed his eyes.

  “He’s gone!” Tony gasped. “He’s gone!”

  “He’s gone to be with the Lord, Tony,” Phil said. He turned to Rosa. “Don’t worry about him now. He went out to meet God trusting in Jesus.”

  Rosa could not answer. The death of the big man had shaken her as nothing ever had before, not even her own gunshot wound. She was in the presence of eternity, and she was frightened, but something about the going forth of Dom Costello made an impact on her she knew she would never forget.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  All for Love

  Sid Menkin stared at Amelia with disbelief written across his face. Something akin to shock rested on the short, round man who now stood in the middle of the room, and Amelia thought for a moment he was about to have a heart attack. Sid was always red-faced, and his eyes bulged out from his face, but now as she stood watching him, she became concerned. “Sid, what’s the matter with you? Here, sit down. You’re going to have a stroke.”

  “Sit down! I can’t sit down! I’m telling you it hit me like a ton of bricks, Amelia. I wasn’t expecting anything this great.”

  Amelia studied her rotund agent. He wore his thinning black hair combed over to one side, trying unsuccessfully to hide a bald spot. “Well, if it’s that great, don’t make it worse by dying of a seizure. What is it, Sid?”

  Sid took a deep breath and ran his hand over his hair, trying to calm himself. He pulled out a handkerchief, pausing to wipe it across his forehead. He finally smiled apologetically. “I let myself get too carried away, Amelia, but I’ve wanted this for a long time for you.”

  “You got me a good engagement, Sid?”

  “Engagement nothing! You’ve got a shot at working in Saul Meyer’s hit, the biggest thing on Broadway—All for Love.”

  “But Myrna Stockman’s got that role nailed down.”

  “Not anymore she hasn’t. She’s going to have a baby, and she’s leaving the show. Ain’t it great?”

  “Having the baby or her leaving the show?”

  Sid began to pace the floor of Amelia’s apartment. He had appeared without calling and had simply burst through the door, unable to contain his excitement. His bulging eyes flashed as he paced. He windmilled his arms around and continued to talk breathlessly in his high-pitched voice. “It’s the best break you could have had, Amelia. I don’t mean just good. I mean it’s terrific! The very best. It’s the top. You’re going straight up. You just needed one break like this, and now you’ve got it.” He came over and grabbed Amelia’s hands, squeezing them and pumping them up and down. “But what do you say, kid? What do you say?”

  Amelia endured Sid’s enthusiasm and smiled. “Well, it sounds great, but I’ve never done a musical comedy. All I’ve ever done is sing in nightclubs. Saul Meyer can have anybody he wants for that role. You know that.”

  Sid released her hands and once again patted his thinning strands into place. “Well, of course, you’ll have to audition, but there ain’t nobody that can sing like you, baby.”

  “But there are some who can act a lot better. What about Mabel Ramsey? Didn’t I read that she wanted to work for Saul Meyer?”

  “Yeah, but she’s too old. She’s over thirty. Over the hill.”

  Amelia smiled. “Well, I’m twenty-five. That’s practically getting around on crutches, isn’t it?”

  “Nah, you don’t look it. That lead’s a young role, and you can do it. Listen,” he said, “I’ve got an appointment for you to try out this afternoon at three o’clock down at the Crystal Theater. It’s a special audition. You’re right. They’re trying out two or three singers, but none of them’s got what you got.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly,” Sid grinned, “but they’re not as good as you, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not going to let myself get excited, Sid, and
you shouldn’t either. I’ll go down and try out, but you’d better hold on to yourself. It won’t do you any good to put yourself in the hospital with a heart attack.”

  Amelia eased Sid out the door, promising him she would be at the audition. He left her a list of the songs from the show, and she found she already knew two of them fairly well. They had become hit records and were not particularly difficult.

  As soon as Sid was gone, Amelia turned and walked back to the window of her apartment and stared outside. It was early June, and the sun was beating down on the streets below her window. She did not particularly notice the traffic on the street or the people walking along the sidewalk. She was thinking of what a long road she had traveled to get this far. Ever since she had left Africa, and even before, she had dreamed of being on stage and entertaining people, and now possibly that door was swinging open. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself acting on stage, but for some reason it was hard. Then she laughed and turned away. “I probably won’t get the part anyway, so why get all worked up?”

  ****

  Amelia finished dressing and paused to look at herself in the mirror. She had chosen an afternoon dress with a low décolletage and a chiffon fill-in. The hemline had a stylish uneven cut, and over the dress she wore a lightweight three-quarter-length jacket with lace trim. She carefully donned her decorated turban-style hat and fluffed her now shoulder-length hair. She had allowed the bob she used to wear to grow out and was glad for it now. She had never seen a woman she thought looked pretty with hair cut like a boy’s and wondered if her rather old-fashioned hairstyle would count against her.

  “If they’re going to choose stars for the way they cut their hair, I’ll never make it,” she said. “But who knows what they want?” She slipped on her shoes, which were open-toed with three button fastenings, and then left the apartment.

  On the cab ride there she became more and more nervous, but by the time she had reached the Crystal Theater she had calmed herself. She paid her cab, got out, and walked up to the entrance. There was no afternoon performance, and the door was open, so she walked in. The lobby was empty also, but she could hear a band tuning up as she stepped inside. The lights were up over the stage, and people were moving around talking loudly. She hesitated for a moment, then started down the aisle. She had not reached the front before she saw a tall, burly man arguing vehemently with a long, lean individual wearing a sweater and a pair of baggy pants.

  She stopped in the aisle until the burly man finally turned and caught her eye. His eyes lit up, and he came at once to say, “Well, it’s you, Amelia. Glad you could come.” He put out his hands, which swallowed up Amelia’s. “I’m Saul Meyer, and this is Dave Baxter. I suppose you know him.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Amelia smiled.

  “You don’t? Well, he’s the director. We’re having a little discussion right now. The trouble is both of us always think we’re right.”

  Amelia hardly knew what to say. She was startled that the famous producer Saul Meyer looked more like a stevedore than a wealthy producer of Broadway plays. Her agent had told her that he had made his fortune in shipping, but a lifelong affair with the theater had lured him to Broadway. She felt completely out of place.

  Saul Meyer took her arm and said, “Tell you what, you come and sit down. We can talk a little bit. They’re going to do a couple of the numbers, and then you can do your stuff.”

  Amelia was practically pulled back to the seats in the third row. She sat down next to Meyer and answered his questions as accurately as she could, but there was little time. “Here’s a number you’ll like,” Meyer said eagerly.

  Amelia sat up and gave her attention to the stage. A line of women came out, and Amelia gasped. She was shocked by their costumes. They all wore sheer, scanty dresses that left practically nothing to the imagination. Their movements also were suggestive, and the lyrics to the song were, to her mind, crude.

  “Ain’t that great?” Meyer said happily. “It knocks ’em dead every night. What d’ya think of it?”

  Amelia could not possibly find an answer to that, but she had no need.

  Meyer went on without a breath. “Tell you what, you go back and find Doris. You’ll need some time to get changed.”

  “You want me to get in costume?”

  “Oh, just to make you fit in and show us that pretty figure of yours. We already know it’s okay. Go on, sweetheart, you’ll knock us all dead.”

  Amelia went back with as much reservation as she had ever felt about anything. Backstage she found a matronly woman with a hard face and said, “I’m looking for Doris.”

  “That’s me. You Miss Winslow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Meyer told me you’d be trying out. Come on, we’ll get you fitted. I think I got just what you need in your size.”

  When Mabel brought her “just what you need,” Amelia gasped. The dress looked even more sheer and abbreviated than those she had seen on the dancers. She almost blurted out, Why, I can’t wear a thing like this in public, but Doris gave her no chance.

  “Just slip into it. I’ll find you some slippers.”

  Amelia stared with dismay at the dress. Her heart sank, and she thought of the numbers she had just seen with their blatantly sexual gyrations and lyrics. She had heard that All for Love was somewhat raw, but she had never imagined anything like this. For just one instant she was tempted to throw the dress down and leave—but she had come too far. Resolutely she stripped off her clothes and donned the costume. By the time she had it on, Doris was back with a pair of shoes. “Hey, you look great, Miss Winslow! Here, take a look at yourself.”

  Amelia turned to the mirror Doris indicated and stared at her image. Her heart sank, and she once again wondered how in the world she could wear a thing like this in public. She had no chance to think much, for Doris said urgently, “Look, they’re playing the song they want you to do. You’d better get out there, Miss Winslow.”

  Amelia put her mind as far as possible into neutral. I’ll sing this, and if I get the part, surely I’ll have something to say about my clothes. She went onstage, and Dave, the director, looked her up and down. “Hey, you look great, Miss Winslow. You know the song ‘All for Love’?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, we won’t do the whole number. You just sing it and let the dancers do a little dance around you, and Charlie here will come in for the final kiss. This is the closing number, the finale. You’ll have to learn to do a few steps, but it’ll be no problem for you, I’m sure.”

  Amelia had always liked the song. It had simple lyrics, saying that lovers ought to give everything to their love. But as she sang it and the chorus danced around her in their scanty costumes, she realized that to the audience the song was saying, Don’t stop at anything with your lover. After singing the first two verses, there was a flurry of dancing in which she was picked up and moved around by one of the male dancers. Then one of the men, apparently a stand-in for the star, stood with her and they sang the last verse. At the very end, he put his arms around her and kissed her for a long time. His hands roved all over her body, and she resisted his kiss. But when it was over, he merely laughed and said, “Might as well enjoy it, kid. It’s one of the benefits of this work.”

  Amelia had no time to think, for Saul Meyer was instantly on the stage. His face glowed with pleasure, and he came over and put his arms around her, kissing her on the cheek. “You did great, baby, great! Didn’t she do good, Dave?”

  “Very good,” the director said. “I think she can handle it.”

  “Why don’t you change your costume and we’ll see a few other numbers,” Saul urged.

  “I really need to get dressed. I have to work tonight, Mr. Meyer.”

  “Oh, sure. Well, I’ll get in touch with Sid. As far as I’m concerned, you’re in.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Meyer.”

  Amelia left the stage as quickly as she could and whipped off the skimpy dress. When she was fu
lly dressed in her own clothing, she looked at the miserable excuse for a costume and shook her head. “If I do this, I won’t wear that thing,” she muttered. She left the theater at once, and as soon as she stepped outside, she felt in need of a bath. Taking a cab, she went straight home, greatly disturbed and wondering how she would handle this situation.

  ****

  At the club that night Amelia performed mechanically and was sure that people noticed the difference. Audiences were sensitive, and she felt she had done very poorly.

  After changing, she left her dressing room to head for home but was intercepted by Ryan Kildare, who greeted her cheerfully. “Hello, Amelia.”

  “Hello, Ryan. What are you doing here?”

  “Why, I came to hear my favorite singer and maybe get her to go out and have a late supper. I’m starved. I’ve been running all day.”

  “I’m not very hungry, Ryan.”

  “Well, come along,” he smiled, “and you can listen to me eat.”

  She laughed and said, “Your manners aren’t that bad.”

  She almost refused, but the experience at the Crystal Theater had depressed her. She had gotten an excited phone call from her agent, Sid, who said that everything was going very well. It looked like she had the part. The news had not encouraged Amelia greatly. Now she said to Ryan impulsively, “I . . . I might eat a sandwich.”

  “Fine. Come on, we’ll go to Luigi’s.”

  They went to the Italian restaurant and found a table in the back. Ryan had spaghetti, as he nearly always did, but Amelia ate only a salad with her coffee.

  Ryan was aware that something was troubling her and finally asked, “Amelia, what’s wrong? Problems?”

  “Oh, not really.”

  Ryan said nothing more about her depressed manner, but later on as the two left the restaurant, he said, “It’s not far to your place. Do you want to walk or take a cab?”

  “Let’s walk.”

  As they walked along, Amelia found herself telling Ryan about her tryout at the Crystal. She had not intended to tell anyone her reservations, but Ryan Kildare was a good person to confide in. He was quiet and listened attentively, and before she knew it, she had laid the whole thing out in front of him.