Three Roads to Kismet

Three strangers meet when they are cast in a movie. Their Kismet, or fate, puts them with the immortals such as Marilyn Monroe and James Dean

 

I remember when the embryo of the idea first came to our minds. My husband and I were returning to Hollywood after viewing a cabin in the California Sierra that we hoped to buy as a retreat. My husband is a very successful Hollywood producer and I am a screenwriter. From time to time we had felt the need to get away from the glitz and glitter of Hollywood, and we had been looking for a place in a rural setting. As we drove down Highway 99, we listened to the radio. An announcer was reporting on the latest troubles of a young actress. This time she had been arrested for shoplifting. He went on to list a series of incidents that had gotten her into trouble with the law. Not wanting to hear anymore of her and other celebrities’ problems, I turned the radio off.

“Remember when Hollywood stars had glamour and a sort of mystery about them?” I asked my husband.

“I do, Millicent,” said my husband, Sheldon Davis. “There was an actress in the silent film era named Theda Bara. Her real name was Theodosia Goodman. People believed that her screen name was an anagram for Arab Death. Doesn’t that conjure up some sort of mystery to you? Back then lots of stars had their brushes with the law, but except for a few notorious cases, the press didn’t report them.”

“Yes, “ I replied. “Like the story of Fatty Arbuckle, who was accused in the death of a girl in a San Francisco hotel room?”

“And more recently the death of Lana Turner’s lover who was killed by Lana’s daughter.”

“Yes, “ I said. “But back then the stars had a bit of mystery about them. People like Greta Garbo and Valentino. And who cared then whether a star was gay or lesbian or what?”

“We’re living in a different time now. We have 24-hour news channels and others devoted almost entirely to celebrity news. They have to have a lot of dirt to fill those hours,” my husband reminded me.

“Even so,” I complained, “I would like to see some actor or actress who didn’t get his or her name in the newspapers for all of the wrong reasons.”

“Well, keep hoping,” said Sheldon as his mouth opened widely in a deep yawn.

“You’re getting sleepy,” I said. “Let’s stay overnight in Bakersfield, and we can get an early start in the morning.”

……………….

After getting settled in our hotel room, we asked the desk clerk to recommend a nearby restaurant. “There is a good one right next door,” he said.

Soon after we were seated in the restaurant, our server arrived. “My name is CeCe, and I’ll be your server,” she informed us as she handed us our menus. “And how are you guys this evening?”

I looked up to see a startling beautiful face. The nose and mouth were absolutely perfect. The smile was disarming. Although I could not immediately see the length of her light-brown hair because she had pulled it back into a short ponytail, I could see that it was shiny and luxurious.

“We’re hungry,” I answered. “What do you recommend?”

I had detected a slight accent that I could not quite place. “Well. It’s all good, but a lot of people really like our beef pot pie.” My husband and I are very fond of food as can be witnessed by our, shall I say, “ample figures.”

“I haven’t had that for a long time,” I said. “I think I’ll try it. And what is your soup du jour?”

“Well, “ said CeCe, “I don’t know. I’ve been here for a week and they keep changing it every day.”

My husband and I were speechless. Did she not know what du jour meant?

“Sorry,” said CeCe, “that’s my little Okie joke. It’s potato leek soup.” And we all broke into laughter. We liked this girl.

After our food was delivered, CeCe stopped by from time to time and asked if we needed anything else.

“What did you mean by Okie joke?” I asked. “Are you from Oklahoma?”

“No,” said CeCe, “My parents are. They’re like ‘Okies from Muskogee,’ and I think I must’ve picked up parts of their accent and humor.”

Because she was so friendly and open, we began asking more question of her. Was CeCe her real name? No, it was Cecelia. How old was she? Twenty.  Was she born in Bakersfield? Yes. Was she married?  No. And was she going to school? Yes.

CeCe stopped us for a minute, “I’m going to a local junior college. I was going to go to Oklahoma State but somebody told me that graduates from there are just like tornadoes, “They both end up in trailer parks.”

This was Sheldon’s kind of humor and he roared so loudly that other patrons turned to see what was so funny.

CeCe was an open book, and she answered all of our questions, throwing in lots of likes as in “I’m like going to a junior college, but we’re like on semester break right now.”  Sometimes she explained her answers with anecdotes and jokes. (Show--don't tell)I marveled at how completely what was once called Valley Girl talk had completely saturated every state in the Union and was even prevalent in other countries.

“And what about you guys? Are you locals?” CeCe asked.

Because she had been so open with us, I held out my hand, “I’m Millicent Stein. My friends call me Millie.”

“Well, my grandpa used to say after he’d seen someone before but had never been formally introduced, ‘We’ve howdyed, but we ain’t shook.”

Sheldon reached out his hand. “And I’m Sheldon,” he said.

 I did not hesitate to tell her that we were from the Los Angeles area and that my husband was a movie producer and that I was a screenwriter.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, and turning to me she asked, “What movies have you done?”

I listed a couple of screenplays I had written and told her of three of the movies my husband had produced. Sheldon retrieved his wallet from his rear pocket and handed her one of our business cards. I could imagine that CeCe would have a story to tell her fellow servers about us after we left.

As we ate I continued to watch CeCe move about the restaurant. I watched to see if the other servers showed any deference to her because of her good looks. As far as I could tell, they treated everyone equally. However, it was very evident that male diners found reasons to make her linger at their tables. CeCe handled the men well with just a hint of flirtatious laugher, but she moved on as quickly as she could.

Not having been a beauty myself, I had thought a great deal about the advantages of being pretty. I had read that people whom others considered attractive earned something like 15 percent more than others who were thought to be unattractive. I had learned that to be considered beautiful such people also need to have some inner warmth. People who were seen to be only physically beautiful were sometimes considered to be cold and conceited.

“You know,” I said to Sheldon, “On a scale of one to ten how would you rate CeCe?  I mean considering some of the following: her skin, her complexion, her youth, her body and her facial symmetry? ”Sheldon knew that as a writer I was very observant and very thorough.

“What about the waist to hip ratio that you mentioned in that screenplay you wrote about the Miss America pageant? Doesn’t that enter into it?” asked Sheldon. ”She’s pretty near a ten in my book.”

“All of these factors enter into it, but isn’t it amazing how we just say someone is beautiful without toting up all of those factors?” I asked. ‘

“And isn’t it interesting how our emotions enter into our judgment?” asked Sheldon. “Because in my book you are the most beautiful creature on God’s green earth.”

I blinked back tears and took Sheldon’s hand.

“On a given day, I’ll bet you that, because of her looks, CeCe earns more in tips than the other servers,” I proposed.

“I think that in some eateries the servers pool their tips and divide them at the end of a shift,” offered Sheldon.

“I don’t think that would be fair,” I countered. “If a server is extra efficient, friendly, and so forth, I think that he or she deserves the tips he or she earns.”

“So, then,” asked Sheldon, “Is it fair that someone like CeCe should get a bigger tip just because she is pretty?”

“Point well-taken,” I said.

We paid our bill and left CeCe a generous tip.

As we walked back to the hotel, I said to Sheldon, “What a waste! Such a beautiful girl. She’ll probably marry some yokel who won’t appreciate her, have a bunch of kids, and never realize her potential.”

“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desert air,” said Sheldon, quoting from “Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Church-Yard.”

“I know,” I sighed. “What a shame! Is it just us? Or do you think other people see what we see?”

“Well,” said Sheldon, “We certainly see a lot of attractive women in Hollywood. But some of them are as vacuous and insipid as a discarded Coke can. I think what you are seeing is something that glows from within. Not many people have that quality.”

“Yes, that’s true,” I replied,” like Nelson Mandela or Pope John and a few actors and actresses.   And maybe some of the saints.”

“I sensed a bit of the imp in CeCe, so maybe devils also have that glow,” said Sheldon laughing.

Back at the hotel, I busied myself editing a script I was working on, but I found my thoughts were not on the pages I was reading. I thought about what Sheldon had said about a flower being unseen. Sheldon was half-heartedly watching a Hollywood reality show. Almost in unison we turned to one another and asked “What if…?”

 

We both began to laugh. “Shel,” I said. “You know almost everyone in Hollywood. What do you think we could do for CeCe?”

“What if,” he said, “she could be that star, that mysterious actress we were talking about?”

“Well,” I replied, “She certainly has the looks.”

“What if,” I asked, “We took this flower, and nurtured it so that it would no longer be unseen?”

Both of our minds were racing. We had visions of Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews galloping like stampeding horses through our minds. Rex Harrison was Professor Henry Higgins, a phoneticist in My Fair Lady, who changed a cockney flower girl into a lady. I remembered the story of Pygmalion and Galatea from my college class in mythology. Pygmalion was a sculptor who carved an ivory figure named Galatea, which, when he kissed it, was turned into a woman. Was part of our concern and affection for CeCe due to the fact that we were childless?  (Needs work)

We talked late into the night and made plans of what we could do for CeCe. We giggled as we thought of how she might be molded into another Garbo. But then I stopped laughing and put my hand on Sheldon’s chest. “I don’t know what we were thinking. This is a human being we are talking about. Remember Svengali? He seduced, dominated and exploited poor Trilby even as he made her famous.”

Sheldon was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. “Do you think we could do the things we were talking about and do them in the same way that we give money to a beggar. When we hand a dollar to some poor creature on the street, we don’t know if he is going to buy a Burger King Whopper or a bottle of wine with the money. Once the gift is made, the recipient is free to do what he or she wants.”

“Do you remember the Chinese proverb, ‘Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime’? As a producer, I could probably be able to CeCe cast in a movie next week. But that would be giving her a fish. What if we could see that she receives the tools, acting lessons and all that goes with them?”

We are a very wealthy couple and we have given many thousands of dollars to charity and to candidates of our choice. Would this not be another charitable donation?

“And that doesn’t mean that we couldn’t stand in the shadows and enjoy what we see as the beggar savors the Whopper,” I reasoned. We were up late that night making plans for the day to follow.

 The next day we filled the hours with activities around Bakersfield so that we could talk to CeCe after her shift ended. She had told us that she worked from 8 a.m. until 4 a.m. on weekends, and today was Sunday.

At 3:45 we entered the restaurant and asked to be seated in CeCe’s section. Soon she appeared at our table. “I thought I got rid of you all yesterday,” she said laughing. “and here you are back again like two bad pennies.” We joined in the laughter.

“You’re off in a few minutes, aren’t you?” Sheldon asked. “If so, could you join us for a cup of coffee? We would like to talk to you about something.”

At 4:05 CeCe appeared at our table. She had changed from her uniform and was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.

“You remember, don’t you, that we told you what we do in Hollywood? I also remember that you told us that you still live at home with your parents. Well, we have a proposal to make to you, but we would rather tell you about it in your parents’ presence so that you will feel safe,” offered Sheldon.

“Do you think that maybe you could call your folks and ask if we could meet with them?” I asked.

CeCe looked completely puzzled. Were they maybe looking for a secretary or someone to do some sort of work for them?

After calling her mother on her cell phone, CeCe spoke. “ Mom asked us to give her a few minutes so that she can neaten up the place. What in the world is going on? Can you give me a clue?”

“Well,” I explained, “We could not help noticing what a completely beautiful girl you are. Do you remember that you once had a dream of being in the movies?”

“Oh, that was a long time ago,” said CeCe.

“We think that just maybe, with our help and advice, you could be an actress. Now, hold all of your questions until we meet with your mother.”

We arrived a few minutes later at CeCe’s modest, but spotless, home. CeCe’s mother greeted us with a smile and told us to have a seat in the living room, a space that looked as if it was reserved for company only. CeCe introduced us to her mother, Mrs. Shelby Barrows. We could see traces of CeCe in her mother’s eyes and in her luxurious head of hair.

“Well, Mrs. Barrows, first off, I would like for CeCe to Google us on her cell phone and show you what it says about us. First Google Sheldon Davis.”

CeCe quickly complied. “It says that you are a Hollywood movie producer, married to Millicent Crawford, a screenwriter, and then it lists a bunch of movies you have produced.”

“I did not ask you to do that to show off,” said Sheldon. “I only wanted to make it plain to you that we are legitimate because we want to make a proposal. Mrs. Barrows, we know that you have a very pretty daughter. We think that it’s a shame that only people around Bakersfield get to see that beauty. We think that she has the potential to be an actress in the movies. We would like for her, first of all, to have a screen test in Hollywood. Some of the most beautiful people in the world don’t necessarily photograph well.”

I could tell that Mrs. Barrows and her daughter could not believe what they were hearing.

“We would like for you to think about a day next week when the two of you, or the three of you if your husband can come, to drive down to Hollywood. We’ll pay all of your expenses, put you up in a nice hotel, and send you to Disneyland or one of the other parks if you’d like. If the screen test is as good as we hope it will be, we would like to put CeCe under our personal contract, the details of which we can explain to you next week. We would then provide her with a safe place to live and with an automobile that would be necessary to get around in LA. We would set up a series of classes, etc. that would prepare her for a possible career in motion pictures.”

“I just don’t know what to say,” said Mrs. Barrows. “This is so much out of the blue. Of course, I will have to tell my husband about it. I doubt that he will believe me,” she said with a smile. “Can I give you a call later tonight?”

“Of course,” I said, “Here’s our number at the hotel. We will be leaving in the morning, so be sure to call us after seven this evening.” Sheldon handed her a card on which he had written the hotel telephone number.

The following week the Barrows family, Sheldon, and I were seated in our Hollywood office. CeCe's mother and father had spent the previous day at Disneyland while CeCe was having a screen test.

Sheldon spoke first. “I am happy to announce that the screen test was a resounding success. CeCe was photographed from many angles and in several different costumes. The cinematographer was very impressed. Of course CeCe was nervous, but that was to be expected.”

All five of us were smiling.

Sheldon continued. “What we plan to do is to put CeCe under contract but only for six months. After that she will be on her own. I have here a group of classes that our secretary has scheduled for CeCe over the next six months. The list may sound a bit overwhelming at first, but we want CeCe to be well prepared before she goes into the lion’s den that can be the fight for parts in the movie industry.”

I handed each member of the family a copy of the itinerary as Sheldon summarized what was on their papers.

“First of all, we want CeCe to have a complete physical examination so that we know that she is healthy. We also want her to have a complete dental checkup. We want to be sure that those beautiful teeth are sound. Later today we will take you to see the apartment we have provided for CeCe. It is in a safe neighborhood, and there are lots of people around CeCe’s age living there.” We owned this apartment complex so we knew well the place where she would be staying.

“Now, here are some of the classes we propose for CeCe to take. We may add some later. We want her to be physically healthy, so we have signed her up to go to a gym three days a week. She will also be taking acting lessons from a really nice lady a couple of days a week. She will meet weekly with what you may call an elocutionist. While we love the trace of Oklahoma in her speech, we would like to see her speak in a more, what we call, Middle-America way. In addition, we want CeCe to take dance classes a couple of times a week. We are not expecting her to be Cyd Charisse or anything like that. We just want to be sure that she knows how to move in a graceful manner if a part calls for it. We also want her to take singing lessons. Again, we are not expecting her to be a Taylor Swift, but we want her to learn how to breathe and to use her voice in different ways.

“As I said, this schedule may sound overwhelming, but she will have time off during the day, and most of her evenings will be free. We would like for her to see as many movies as she is comfortable seeing. We want her now to begin to see the actors in a different way. We would like for her to study them as if they were textbooks, how they move and speak. We are going to ask her not to do anything with her hair for the next six months until we see what color we feel will serve her best in what we hope will be her new career. CeCe is free to go to Bakersfield or anywhere she wants on weekends and holidays. Since she is only 20, she will be restricted as to places she can go in the evenings. We plan to have her at our house for dinner from time to time, and we will check with her teachers on her progress. Of course, we are always available to her either here in the office or by telephone.”

“Last of all,” concluded Sheldon, “we would like to talk about the rest of the contract. “She will be paid one thousand dollars a week. Out of that she will pay for her personal items, gasoline, clothes, etc. We will pay for her car, examinations, classes, etc. At the end of six months she will be more or less on her own. We will give her some ideas about how to go about getting into the movie industry, but she will be on independent and on her own.”

“I would like to ask another favor of you. It will be very difficult for you, as I know it would be for me if I were in your place. I would like to ask the three of you not to tell any of your friends and relatives what CeCe is doing in Los Angeles. It would not be a lie to tell them that she is going to school because she is. Should things not work out for CeCe, you will not have a lot of explaining to do.”

Most of the rest of CeCe’s story I learned from CeCe. She was completely guileless, and I could tell that hers was not a family who kept secrets from one another.

She loved being on her own, but she was lonely at first and called her mother often. She loved her apartment and spent much of her free time buying decorative items to make it feel like home. The doctor pronounced her very fit. The dentist found two small cavities, which he quickly repaired and suggested that she buy an electric toothbrush. If she didn’t call me every couple of days, I called her and we chatted for several minutes.

Most of the classes she found frustrating for the first few weeks. She became annoyed when the elocution teacher imitated the way she dropped the g’s on words such as going and helping. After a few lessons, she found that she liked her voice teacher. She learned a new way to breathe, and the teacher complimented her on the quality of her voice. The teacher even let her sing the country and western songs that CeCe preferred.

Except for the walking she did on her job, CeCe had not been one to exercise regularly. We approached one subject very carefully. We knew from our own battles with our weight that it could be a touchy problem. We explained that the camera can sometimes add weight to a person, and that, although we thought she had a very lovely body, she should lose about ten pounds in the next six months. CeCe knew that losing weight would be tough. Being on her own and with money to spend, she was often tempted by snacks and fast food. Soon we added a nutritionist to the people she would be seeing.

As we regularly consulted with CeCe's teachers, we found that she had been religious in attending all of her classes. They loved her attitude and the way she took criticism. She began to make fewer trips to Bakersfield as she made friends with fellow students and with the young people in her apartment complex.

 

   As the weeks passed, I learned more and more about CeCe. I was glad that when we were talking on the phone, she could not see me blush when she related some of her past life to me. She told me that she had lost her virginity when she was a junior in high school. I had been the fat girl when I was in school, and it was not until I was thirty-two that I met Sheldon and then only on our wedding night had I been de-flowered. She spoke of the inexperienced boys that she had been intimate with, and she made me laugh when she told of their fumbling in the dark and their haste to get it over with.

Try as I might, some days as I thought about CeCe I found myself planning her career. I thought, “I hope she chooses Cecelia for her movie name. It’s kind of an old fashioned name, but it has some elegance about it. Another day I would think, “I think she would look good as a blonde, not too blonde, but a few shades lighter that her natural color.” When these thought crossed my mind, I would give myself a lecture. Remember, you are teaching her how to fish. Don’t be giving her fish.

I was aware that a beautiful girl like CeCe would be the object of many men’s attention. At first she spoke of going out with a group of people who lived near her in the apartment we provided. She told me about parties around the pool on weekends and in the evenings when people were home from work. I warned her about not getting too much sun and that many days when it was hazy that the sun could still do damage to her lovely skin. And then over a period of weeks she began to speak of Joseph, a sometime-actor who lived in her building. He was twenty-eight and was working as a waiter while he waited to be discovered or, at least, to find some kind of work in the movies or TV. I did not like the age difference between them, but since I had not met Joseph, I did not want to pass judgment.

Thinking it was time that we had a face-to-face talk, I asked CeCe if it would be all right if we dropped by for a talk. The next day when we visited her, she met us at the door and kissed and hugged us. We were delighted to see what she had done to her small apartment. It was clean and neat and decorated with cheap but tasteful pictures and tchotchkes. She told us that she was becoming very comfortable with all of her classes, and then she took us to her refrigerator to show us that it was full of the healthy foods the nutritionist recommended.

“And when are we going to meet Joseph?” I asked after we had chatted for a while.

“Funny you should mention that,” said CeCe. “I told him that you were friends of mine and that I wanted him to meet you. I did not tell him what you do for a living, only that you were friends. He thinks that I am taking business courses. Stay right here and I’ll go get him.”

Joseph was much as I had expected. He was darkly handsome with two days’ worth of whiskers, and he smelled of cheap wine. We were grateful that CeCe had not told him of our movie connections because we did not want to be asked for any favors from him. I had learned from married friends who had children not to try to discourage young people about the choices they were making. Too often denigrating people they thought they loved only made them dig in their heels in defiance.

In the third month of CeCe’s training, I was very busy working on a new screenplay. I had been given the job of converting a popular novel of the day into a screenplay. I was especially interested in this project because I thought I might have discovered a small role that CeCe could play for her introduction to acting in the movies. Here I might note that in Hollywood I am known as “Modest Millie.” The reason for this is that I refuse to include, except for an occasional hell or dam, any expletives in my screenplays. I think that so many of the so-called F-bombs are completely unnecessary to advance the plot or to add realism. People who know me are aware that I leave any addition of expletives to my editor or to the director.

During this period I completely forgot that I had not had a call from CeCe in over two weeks. When I called her and invited her to go out to dinner with me, she said that she had a lot to tell me, and seemed to be in a very good mood

The next evening after dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, we ordered dessert and coffee. “Now, young lady,” I said. “Tell me why I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks.”

CeCe added cream to her coffee, stirred it, and took a bite of the Black Forest cake she had ordered. Finally, she spoke. “I don’t know where to begin, but I guess I might as well get the worst out first.”

I braced myself for what was coming.

“I had a real scare a couple of weeks ago. My period was two weeks late. I was in a panic and I did not know where to turn. I knew that I was letting you and Sheldon down in the most horrible way. I felt that I couldn’t tell my parents. And, although I know many people in the apartment complex, I didn’t feel close enough to any of them to confide such a dilemma. For some reason I did not think of going to the drug store and buying one those pregnancy test kits. I just was not thinking straight.”

CeCe hesitated and took a bite of her cake. “And then I did a dumb thing. Well, it was a dumb thing that turned out well. I decided to tell Joseph. I certainly wasn’t prepared for his reaction. He said that if I were pregnant that he certainly could not be the father, and that he had always used protection. He said, ‘What about all of those guys you hang out at the pool with?’ And he said a lot of other mean things. Like accusing me of trying to trap him. And he grabbed my shoulder and screamed that he wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of what he hoped was to be his break in the movies that was going to happen any day.”

“I left his apartment humiliated and in tears,” she continued and now her voice was shaking. I told her to slow down and take a drink of water.

“I don’t know if it was the trauma of finding out what Joseph really felt about me or the fear of completely being alone with my problem, but that evening my period began. I actually got down on my knees and thanked God “A smile lit up her face and she reached out and touched my hand.

We sat in silence for a while, and then I spoke. “I’ve never had any children so I don’t know what it’s like to be a mother. I can only say that I hope you have learned a valuable lesson. You dodged a bullet this time. You are correct in believing that you would have let down a lot of people, and Sheldon and I are the least of them. But I would like to ask you a question. How much do you want to be an actress?”

CeCe thought for a moment. “In the beginning, I thought it would be exciting, maybe even fun. But after taking the classes you arranged for me, I’m like…, I feel that I want it more than anything. The events of the past week have shown me that, rather than following a man, I want to follow my ambitions and my dreams.”

“There have been days,” I said, “When I have wondered if we had forced something upon you. We have, you know, altered your life a great deal. I need to be reassured that what we are doing for you will bring you, not troubles and sorrow, but joy and fulfillment.”

“If, as a poem I read in high school said, life is a journey, then I just ran into a detour. It was like a bumpy road, but I’m back on the smooth asphalt now. I cannot tell you how much I love you guys, and how much I appreciate the opportunity you have given me.” Tears were glistening on her lovely face, reflections of the near miss she had experienced. “I have my ducks in a row now.”

With CeCe back on the right track, I returned to work on my current project. Sheldon and I were nearly ready to pitch a screenplay that I was writing. It was the result of an idea that had been churning in my mind for years. Most of what I had written before had not come from personal experience. For some reason, I had not been able to delve into such areas as my feelings of inferiority about being the fat girl from the time I was in first grade. The memories were too painful. Sheldon and I shared our bitter memories of being the last ones chosen when our playmates picked sides for a game. We spoke of going to the Prom alone or of staying at home rather than appearing as wallflowers in front of our classmates

 

But so much of the hurtful memories had been assuaged by my marriage to Sheldon. He shared with me the shame that he felt for being overweight, feelings that were much the same as those that I remembered. And he loved me, just as I loved him, unreservedly.

In addition to being the fat kid, Sheldon told me what it had been like to be a member of the only Jewish family in a small southern town where his father owned a small department store. He told me of being at one of his high school football games and feeling so great as everyone cheered for the football team. He felt a kinship to all of those people in the grandstands when as a community they rooted for their hometown boys. During a quiet period as he sat with friends, he heard a conversation behind him. “I think Sheldon is kinda cute don’t you? He’s so much fun, too.”

“Oh, no,” whispered her friend. “Don’t you know he’s a Jew? My dad said that the Jews killed Jesus.”

As he recalled this story, I could see in his soft brown eyes that he was reliving the experience. Despite all of the fame and fortune he had achieved, the pain remained.

I thought about what a great screenplay that I could write that would expose the awful pain that bullying could cause. We pitched several ideas to one another.

And then I stopped, looked at Sheldon defiantly and said, “No, By God! I will not write a tragedy. I will write a comedy, combining our two stories that would show our fictional characters figuratively thumbing our noses at those who would hurt us.”

Sheldon threw back his head and began laughing. It was the heartiest laugh I had heard from him in a long time. “Yes! Yes!” he shouted. “Mark Twain said it a long time ago, ‘The human race has only one really effective weapon and that is laughter.’”

Sheldon and I were proof that I, raised as a Catholic, and he, a Jew, could have a wonderful marriage. Neither of us had much to do with our religions except when friends invited us to christenings or bar mitzvahs.

I had been working on a screenplay about our experiences for several weeks. Deep into concentrating, I looked at my telephone as my enemy that interrupted me from time to time. When it rang one Wednesday afternoon, I did not answer it and it went to voicemail. But then it began ringing again, and I gave up and looked for it in the clutter of my desk. Rather angrily  I said “hello.”

“This is CeCe,” I heard. “Can I come over? I mean right away. I don’t want to stay on the phone too long. I’ll tell you why when I get there.”

“Hold on,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you, I’ll be there in a few minutes.

Another call and another crisis I thought. Surely she wasn’t pregnant.

It was an unkempt and unfamiliar CeCe who pulled into my driveway and ran up the steps.  I opened the door for her and she rushed in.

“Sit down. Sit down,” I repeated. “What in the world is going on?”

CeCe sat for a minute and jumped to her feet again. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Well, begin somewhere, ”I said, “and stop moving around.”

“Okay,” she began, “As you know, I go to the gym three times a week. I had seen this guy there several times, and I thought I saw him looking at me strangely, but I just passed it off. A lot of men look at me at the gym. But this guy was different, he was chubby and he had eyebrows that grew across his forehead with no break in between them.

“One day when he was lifting weights, he asked if I would spot for him. This is a common thing at the gym. We stand by the person to be there in case they try to lift too much weight and it might fall back on them. As I stood there and looked down at him he said , ‘You sure are pretty’ or something like that. I thanked him and when he had finished lifting I returned to what I was doing.

“The next time I went to the gym he was waiting for me outside. ‘I was afraid you were not going to show up,’ he said.

“’Why?’ I asked him.

“’Because your so pretty,’ he said. I had a funny feeling about him. I couldn’t tell if he was retarded or just plain weird.” I decided to change the days and time I went to the gym, but when I got there he was waiting outside. ‘My name is Jimmie,’ he whined. ‘Will you be my friend?’

“’I’m a very busy person,’ I told him, ‘I really don’t have time for any more friends.’

“He wandered off, and I went about my business. That afternoon my cellphone rang and when I answered a voice said, ‘This is Jimmie. Can I talk to you?’

“How’d you get this phone number? “ I shouted at him.

“’Oh, there are ways’ he said.

“I hung up but he called back several more times. I was really creeped out. A young policeman lives in our building, and I watched to see if he would come out by the pool after he got off work. When I saw him, I rushed out and told him about this guy and the phone calls. He told me that I could block calls from him and I did that immediately. Not long afterward he called again from a different number.

“I’m sure both you and I have read lots of stories about stalkers. I think there was a young actress here who was killed by her stalker. I was getting really freaked out. But that was just the beginning. The next day I found notes on my door. I asked neighbors if they had seen anybody skulking about and they said that they had and they described Jimmie to me.

“And then, as if things were not bad enough, I began seeing him sitting by our swimming pool. I learned that he told people that he was a friend of mine and that he was waiting for me to come home. I thought about Chapman who shot John Lennon and Hinckley who tried to kill President Reagan. I was really scared. That evening he called from yet a different phone number. ‘You’re studying to be a movie star, aren’t you?’ he asked.

“Now as far as I knew only you and Sheldon, my parents, and my instructors knew that. How on earth could he know all of these things about me? I talked to my policeman friend again. He said that probably as long as he did not make physical contact with me that law enforcement probably would not do anything about this stalking idiot. However, he said that, on his own, he would talk to Jimmie if he saw him hanging around and try to put the fear of God in him.

“He told me that stalkers will not take no for an answer. He said that this guy is totally obsessed with me and not for anything I had done. He said that these people are not embarrassed when they are caught  following other people or going through their trash. And he said that someone like this Jimmie doesn’t believe that society’s rules apply to him, and they don’t see that their actions are  hurting other people. This policeman said that he would see what he could do but that stalkers are almost impossible to discourage.

“Last weekend I drove to Bakersfield. I hadn’t seen Mom and Dad for a while, and I wanted to get away from that crazy guy. You are not going to believe this, but the day after I arrived in Bakersfield I saw him outside my folks’ home. I told my dad and he went looking for Jimmie, but he was gone. It was as though he was telling me that he could find me anyplace I went.

I interrupted her, “CeCe,” I said, trying to comfort her and calm her down. “We promised your parents that we would keep you safe. We can hire you a bodyguard. And we know a few people in high places. We can see that this guy gets locked up or whatever it takes to get him out of your life.”

I knew something more about stalkers that the policeman had not mentioned to CeCe. Stalkers can be very mean to the point of becoming violent. And I knew of more than one case in which their violence had become deadly.

“I want you to stay with us for a couple of days. I won’t be able to spend much time with you because I’m right in the middle of a project, but you will be safe here.” I held her shivering body next to mine and I could tell that she was completely terrified. As I held her and looked over her shoulder, I saw a strange young man in the yard. And we lived in a gated community.

As quickly as I could I asked CeCe to sit down and I made an excuse to go into the kitchen. Once there I used the land line and called 911. I quickly explained the situation to the operator and asked him to send the police as quickly as possible. At least  the police might arrest this man for trespassing.

When I returned to the living room, I found CeCe cowering behind a chair. “He’s out there,” she said. And then we heard glass breaking in another part of the house.

“Oh, God,” CeCe  whispered. “He’s coming in here.”

“Quick,” I said. “Let’s go to my office. It has a good, strong door and we can lock it.”

Safe in the office, we listened for noises. I told CeCe that I had called the police. “Why  don’t they hurry?” I asked myself.

Then we heard footsteps coming down the hallway to the office.

“I know you’re in there, CeCe. I know that you love me, and you think that playing hard to get will make me love you more. But time is up. I’m finished with playing around,” the voice outside the door said.

I could not believe what I next heard CeCe say to the intruder.

“You’re right, Jimmie. I do love you. Go out by the front gate and I will meet you there. I want to comb my hair and put on some makeup so I’ll look nice for you.”

“Are you sure, CeCe? Because if I have to come back and get you, I’m not sure what I will do.” The last few words were uttered as a menacing growl that made us both shudder.

“You stay here,” CeCe ordered. “I can handle him. I’ve brought danger with me and I’m responsible for getting him away from you. I’m going out, Millie. I don’t want anything happening to you. You have been so good to me. And I love you and Sheldon. I think I can handle him.” We looked out the window and saw Jimmie walking out the front door and down the driveway toward the front gate.

“I’d better go quickly,” CeCe said.

I surprised myself with the force that I used when I shoved her into a chair. “I’m bigger than you are,” I screamed at her. “You are staying right here.” CeCe tried to rise, but I held her in the chair.

After two or three minutes, true to his threat, Jimmie started back toward the house. Just as he neared the front door we heard the sirens. The police car careened through the front gate and screeched to a stop. We watched as Jimmie ran behind a juniper tree in the front yard, and we could see that he had a gun in his right hand. The police had seen him as well. They called for him to come out with his hands raised. In an instant he ran from behind the tree firing his gun wildly in the direction of the policemen. And then we heard a fusillade of bullets and we watched as the sick young man crumple to the pavement.

For some crazy reason, my thoughts returned to the conversation I had had with Sheldon several months earlier. I had told him that I would like to see some movie stars who didn’t get their names in the paper for all the wrong reasons. I knew that the police would want to interview CeCe and me. I was determined that her name would not appear in what I knew would be a big story for the media. I had faith that CeCe was going to be a star.

When the police had taken care of their business outside, they rang the doorbell, and I invited them in. “Before you ask any questions and before we give any answers, I want to warn you. We will not give you this young lady’s name. She has suffered enough trauma to last a lifetime. Unless you promise not to use her name, we will stand mute and the police can try without us as witnesses to prove why they shot an innocent man.”

The policeman knew that he was in a predicament. I had him by the …well, you know the saying.

Although some weeks later CeCe had to give testimony, true to the policeman’s promise her name never appeared in the newspapers or on television.

CeCe stayed with us for a few days. The time together and the frightening adventure we shared had drawn us ever closer. Sheldon cautioned me that CeCe had a mother and that I must not overstep the boundary beyond being a friend. She loved our home and by the second night with us, she was sleeping through the night with no bad dreams. I set aside my work as much as I could. I hoped that I had been some solace to her, but when she went back to her apartment it occurred to me that she had also taught me a lesson. I was going to try to be more open with my friends and with Sheldon. Her complete honesty and lack of inhibition had begun to rub off on me. I was going to take more chances, tell people how I felt and how I became the person I am. If they don’t like it, as CeCe wouls say, “Screw them.” Only CeCe didn’t say screw.

CeCe had not been concentrating solely on her classes. Because of her “never meets a stranger” personality, she had spent a great deal of her free time meeting people, concentrating most of her efforts on people in the motion picture industry. They told her about publications called BackStage and Variety that carried a list of auditions for films, TV, stage, etc. In the fifth month of her schooling, she saw a notice for an audition. It was a amall part for a young woman to play the manager of a hamburger restaurant.

 

She had contacted a photographer and had posed for a variety of headshots; From over 100 poses she had selected two that were made into eight by ten inches photos. Following the advice of friends she had multiple copies of the photos made and attached her scanty resume to the back of the photos. Pretending confidence that she did not really feel, she went to the audition.

 

I will never forget the day that my phone rang and I saw that it was CeCe calling.

 

“Well,” she said, making three syllables of the word, “Ahm goin’ to go back to workin’ in a restaurant. Ah hope you all are not gonna be too disappointed in me.”

 

I grabbed the arm of a chair for support. “Oh, CeCe, what happened? After all of your hard work. Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” she screamed. “I’ve got a part in a film. I’m going to play the part of a waitress. The movie is set in Oklahoma, and I’m to go back tuh talkin’ like an Okie.”

 

“Be still my heart,” I said. “Don’t scare me like that. Tell me more.”

 

“The upshot is that I went to an audition and I got the part. Life is funny. I spend five months or so trying to get rid of my Okie accent and learning not to drop my g’s, and then in the first part I audition for, they want me to talk like my grandma.”

 

“Sheldon is going to be over the moon with happiness for you. I can’t wait to tell him.”

 

“There is one more thing,” said CeCe. “What about my being under contract to the two of you?”

 

“Not to worry,” I told her. “We’ll have that taken care of soon. And we’ll also take care of your SAG-AFTRA business and see that you get you an agent. Then, Honey, we are going to back off. Of course, we will still be friends and we will see you from time to time. But aside from that you are on your own.”

 

SAG-AFTRA is the combination of two labor unions: Screen Actors Guild and the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists. They were formed to stand up for the protection of media artists and to preserve the rights they had won throughout the years.

 

“Oh,” sobbed CeCe, “I hope I am going to make you proud. It has been like a fairy tale. I don’t know how I can possibly thank you.”

 

“I will tell you the best way in the world to thank us. When you are rich and famous, do what you can either financially or as a mentor to help other young people who want movie careers. Would you do that?”

 

“That’s a wonderful idea,” said CeCe, “And I will do just that if I am given the opportunity.”

 

Once again she would be back in a restaurant uniform. It was not a femme fatale or woman of mystery part that we had imagined for CeCe, but it required a variety of emotions. When CeCe told us the name of the director we realized that he was a friend of ours. However, he did not know of our connection with CeCe so we knew that he had not hired her as a favor to us. Months later when were at last able to see her performance, we knew that she had gained the role solely on her own talent. Our fledging had flown the nest and she had taken to the sky on her own.

 

The name of the movie was “Trigger Happy.” In recent years a series of incidents throughout the United States had involved police shootings of unarmed suspects. The theme of the movie was, that in an age of Taser guns, rubber bullets, and hostage negotiators, too many police were shooting recklessly. These shootings had resulted, not only in senseless deaths, but were resulting in expensive lawsuits for states and cities.  The principal characters in the movie were a man and wife, former police officers who were investigating similar  shootings.

 

CeCe’s role lasted only five minutes in the final cut of the movie. But in that short time, she was able to express various emotions, and the director, Hal Benson, had been pleased with her work.

 

In the scene CeCe, whose name in the movie is Valerie, is a young manager of a hamburger restaurant in a city in Oklahoma. Just before closing time, a woman with a gun walks into the restaurant and confronts her. The woman tells her to clear out the restaurant and to do exactly what she tells her. The woman holds the gun to Valerie’s back and tells her to get rid of all of the employees and to call the police. One of the employees who escaped calls 911 and soon a police SWAT team surrounds the restaurant.

 

The part calls for CeCe (Valerie) to expresses a panoply of emotions. After her original fear of being killed, she begins to wonder what is the best way to defuse the situation. The police call Valerie on her cell phone. She asks the woman with the gun what her name is and then relays the information to the police, who begin checking the name, Loretta Barker, in their computers. Then Valerie asks Loretta what her grievances are so that she can relay them to the police. Loretta replies that the police have been listening to her through her dog’s collar. She also states that they have put listening devices on her microwave oven, and on her coffee maker Valerie covers the phone with her hand and speaks directly to woman. She expresses her belief in the woman’s irrational ranting.

“I know what you mean,” she says to the Loretta.

 

Valerie’s mind delves deeply into movies and TV shows she has seen. Suddenly an idea comes to her, “The same thing happened to me, but I found a way to stop them from listening. I wrap everything they might use for a listening device in aluminum foil.”

 

“Really?” asks the woman.

 

“Really,” CeCe replies.

 

CeCe feels the point of the gun is less noticeable on her back. “Now, let’s tell them that this has all been a mistake, and that you are ready to come out. Are you ready for that?”

 

“Not yet. You’ve got to understand me. I’ve had a battle with mental illness for years, and sometimes I’m able to handle it,” the woman confides to Valerie as the police listen on their cell phone outside. “I’m really not a bad person. Some days I just get a bit paranoid, and I can’t figure out how people know what I’m doing.”

 

Loretta hears a noise in the back of the restaurant, and CeCe once again feels the gun being pushed against her back. “Tell them to back off if they want to see you come out of here alive.”

 

Once again the feeling of panic clouds CeCe’s face. But then the fear disappears and a look of concentration appears as she tries to conjure up a different approach to her dilemma.

 

“Do you have a counselor, someone you like to talk to when these feelings come over you?

 

“Yes,” answers the woman, “I tried to call him today, but he didn’t return my call.”

 

“Let’s try again,” offers Valerie. “What’s his number?”

 

Soon after dialing the number CeCe speaks as she recognizes a man’s voice. “Please listen carefully. I have someone here who desperately needs to talk to you. It is a matter of life and death.” She hands the phone to Loretta.

 

Valerie can hear the man’s voice as he speaks calmly to Loretta. “I’ve been worried about you” he says, “You missed your appointment this week.”

 

“Well,” says Loretta,” they put listening devices in that medicine you gave me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” consoles the man, “That was supposed to have gone to one of my clients who is a CIA agent. Don’t take anymore of them. Come in and let me give you a new prescription and I’ll go to the pharmacy and see that they fill your prescription properly.”

 

Satisfied that the medicine has been her problem, Loretta hands the phone back to Valerie who explains Loretta’s predicament to the counselor. He promises to call the police and to explain Loretta’s mental state.

 

Hoping to bring the conversation back to something like a normal chat between tow women Valerie says, “I like your glasses. Did you buy them here in town.”

 

At first Loretta smiles at the compliment, but then her expression changes. “You’re with them, aren’t you? You know that these glasses have super power, don’t you? You know that with them I can see right through you, don’t you? I can see your heart beating and your liver working and everything.” Now she is standing in front of Valerie and pointing the gun in her direction.

 

“How could I know that,” Valerie asks. “Only people with special powers like you have that knowledge. I’m just plain old Okie me. I don’t have a single friend in the world. Oh, Loretta! Would you be my friend?” Filled with emotion, Valerie feels a tear running down her cheek and tastes the salty liquid running from her nose.

 

Valerie has tapped into the one spot in Loretta that is not distorted by her illness Loretta drops the gun to her side and falls sobbing into Valerie’s arms. “I’m ready to surrender now.”

 

Again Loretta hears a noise as the police rush into the front of the restaurant. She moves away from Valerie and Instinctively raises the hand holding the gun. “Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!” Valerie sees the flash coming from the guns and watches as Loretta, mortally wounded drops to the floor. Valerie screams a long blood-curdling lament, and drops to the floor, cradling Loretta’s crimson covered head against her white uniform.

 

As soon as I finished talking to CeCe, I called Sheldon. “The beggar bought a Whopper with the money we gave him and then got a job at Burger King.”

 

“What in the hell are you talking about?” asked my husband. “I think you’ve been working too hard.”

 

I reminded him of our conversation in Bakersfield several months before, and then I told him about CeCe.

 

“Bingo! Hurrah! Shazam!” he shouted. “Call her right back and tell her that the three of us are going to the most expensive restaurant in the whole Los Angeles area tonight.”

 

NEAL

 

Eight people sat in a room above a Broadway theater, awaiting the arrival of the man who was to be the ninth member of the cast of a new play that was in its initial phase of production. The missing member was Brick Harding, who was to be the star and who the producers of the play hoped would be the drawing card for the production. The play was called Collision, the title of which referred to the violent clash between a father and a son.

   Brick Harding had been a teen idol in the movies thirty years or so ago. He had been “discovered” by a man named Bruce Hollingsworth who was known to find young, good-looking men and groom them for the movies. He often gave them catchy names like “Dink” or “Hap.” By the time he was thirty-five, Brick. who was born Clarence Middendorf, knew that his career had begun to wane. Recently he had been seen only occasionally in small parts in various television shows. Even so, he had name recognition among the people the producers hoped would attend the play.

   In the intervening years, Harding had garnered some stage experience at various dinner venues and regional theaters. In recent years he had made the news when he was divorced by his second and third wives, both of whom spoke of his indifference and downright cruelty during their marriages.

   Among those waiting for Harding was Neal Sanford, a man of twenty-six who was looking forward to his first on-Broadway acting job. He was just short of six feet tall, with dark-brown spiked hair. His face was like a sculpture, composed of planes along his cheekbones and along the bottom of his chin. His nose was straight and its nostrils flared when he was angry or upset. Women thought of his looks as interesting more than handsome. Rick had been a drama major in college, moved to New York, and had found little work except for small parts on television and in off-Broadway productions. Neal knew that one of the reasons that he was chosen for the part was that, as well as being an actor, he was an accomplished pianist. The director of the play had seen Neal performing at a piano bar in the Village, and when Neal showed up at auditions for the play, he knew that he had found his Carson, the son in the play.

   Somewhere along the line Neal had developed a swagger and toughness to hide what he saw as his sensitive side. Those who watched the almost angelic expressions on his face as he played the piano were surprised that this was the same man who could express so strongly his opinions in conversations. Although he was a whiz at sight-reading, he also had a talent for being able to play almost any melody once he had heard it.

   During the twenty minutes the cast sat waiting, Neal spent the time going over his lines. Other cast members spoke of where they had gone to school, productions they had appeared in, and where they were from. They seemed to sense something in Neal that told them to leave him alone when he was intent on the job at hand. 

   Neal’s concentration was interrupted when the director Liam O’Malley, an Irishman who had been trained at the Abbey Theater in Dublin. stood and spoke, “Let’s begin. I like to begin each rehearsal with some vocal warm-ups. The most important part of any stage [presentation is the spoken word. Therefore, it is of utmost importance to prepare out voices. It is necessary to control your voices so that you know exactly where your breaths begin and end. Let’s all start by humming an m sound.” The cast members complied and then followed the director as he proposed other sounds to work on their breathing, larynx, and resonance.

   “I know most of you have introduced yourselves to one another, but let me go over the parts for which you have been cast,” said the director, I would like each of you to come up one by one, tell us the part that you are playing, how you connect with that person, his or her motivations, and the part that you role plays in the wider production that is the drama. Do I have a volunteer?”

   After a few seconds of silence, the woman who was to play the mother in the play raised her hand.

   “Good. Deborah,” said Liam, “Yours is certainly an important role,” Deborah Fisher, a veteran Broadway actress walked to he front of the room.

   “The mother,” she began, “ does not appear to be a twenty-first century woman. Whatever independence she may have once had, has been beaten out of her, figuratively, that is, by the constant denigration of her husband. She has been forced to work in the shadows, to be secretive about what she does. Her son is her work of art, so to speak. While her husband is trying to mold the son in his image, Sarah is providing him with the means to be a pianist. She has to do a lot of faking, pretending that she is obeying her husband’s every command while behind the scene she is forging her own path. The playwright gives us just enough examples of her cunning so that, although she seems vulnerable and mousey when in her husband’s presence, she has enough fortitude that it is believable in the last act of the play when she boldly defies her husband.”

   “Great job,” said Liam. “As all of you can see, Deborah has her work cut out for her because, in a way, she is playing two characters in one.”

   Neal raised his hand to volunteer to speak next.

   “Playing Carson is going to be a real stretch for me and I’ll tell you why. Unlike Carson, whose father hates the fact that his son is a musician, my father, a church organist, started me playing the piano when I was four years old. He encouraged my musical talent all of my life, and he is still behind me one hundred percent. Unlike a lot of children I did not have to be forced to practice the piano. I liked to play and I experimented with all sorts of styles as I was growing up. But back to Carson. I have enough of the rebel in me to know what I would feel if my father were trying to force me into being a stuffy business man like himself rather than a freedom loving jazz musician. I like a good argument, and as Carson, I know how to stand up to those who would infringe upon my rights. On the other hand, Carson must show his softer, more loving side when he interacts with him mother. Sometimes he finds himself being in a ping-pong match, acting tough and obdurate with his father and then gentle and loving with his mother. His motivation is more than just his wanting to be a pianist; he feels the need to escape from is father’s domination forever.”

   “Well done,” said Liam.

   As the director looked at his notes, the door opened and Brick Harding walked in. “Sorry to keep you folks waiting,” he apologized. “I was tied up with a phone call to my agent.

Neal surveyed the newcomer. He had seen some of Harding’s early films on Turner Classic Movies, and now he was here and Neal was to play the part of his son in the play they were to begin rehearsing. This was the closest Neal had ever been to a real movie star. There was no aura surrounding him. His hair was thinning, he had terrific bags under his eyes, and his belly protruded from his thin frame. “Well,” thought Neal, “He certainly looks old enough to play my father.”

   “Welcome, welcome,” said the director. “I want you to meet your fellow actors.” With that he introduced each person and told what characters they would be playing. “Finally,” he said, “I want you to meet Neal Sanford, who will be playing your son. Neal is fine actor and also an accomplished pianist.”

   “It is great to be with all of you, and to be here in New York,” offered Harding. Wanting to establish his bona fides early, he continued. “As you may or may not know, I have quite a bit of stage experience on the West Coast for which, I say in all modesty, I have received some pretty good reviews.”

   Neal made a mental note to Google Harding’s stage experience that evening.

   “We were just going over, one by one, presentations by each of the cast members of who they are in the drama and how they see that character, his or her motivations, and the character role in the overall production”

   One by one, the other members of the cast made their presentations.

   “It looks as if it is your turn now, Brick,” said Liam.

   Brick Harding walked to the front of the room. Neal had to admit to himself that Harding did have a certain presence about him. “Mr. Jamison may appear to many of you as a purely despicable tyrant, but I hope to portray him in such a way that from time to time the audience will be on his side. I think that Mr. Harris Baldwin, the wonderful playwright was really writing about the two-party system in our country. I, as Jamison, represent the Republican Party, and Carson, his son, is the Democrat. The father represents those who would keep what is good about the country. And Carson represents change, change that too often throws out the baby with the bathwater. In their epic battle father and son will determine not just what happens in the family, but in a larger sense what will happen to the country.”

When Harding had finished with his presentation, Liam sat silently. “Did Harding read the same play that I am holding in my hand,” Neal asked himself.

The cast members looked at Liam for confirmation or denial of Harding’s interpretation of his part, but he did not comment about Harding’s presentation. Instead, after a few seconds he stood and said, “Well, we’ll begin reading, I will read the stage directions.” As the curtain opens, a young man is seated at the piano playing a jazz rendition of a

   The main plot of the play revolved around the father’s desire to have his son go into his business. He maintained that he had paid for his son’s business degree, and that the son owed him at least that much.

   The son, on the other hand, wants to find career as a jazz pianist. The mother sides with the son because she is the one who saw that he practice piano for many years, and her investment was in his piano career.

“Pardon my interruption,” Liam apologized but notice in the opening line how the author starts the action off with a bang. This gets the audience’s attention from the beginning and they quickly settle down.”

Brick Harding reads from the script. “”Stop playing that goddamned music. Can’t a man have a little peace in his own home?”

   Neal recites the next line, not looking at the script.

   Harding reads another line.

   Neal recites his next line from memory.

   Departing from the script Harding says, “Well, I see that young Mr. Stanford, has already memorized his part. Sort of makes the rest of u look lazy.”

   “My name is Sanford, and I memorized the first three pages while we were waiting for you,” Neal shot back.

 

The other cast members, still in awe of the movie star, stirred uneasily in their chairs. The director frowned. “Let’s try to just get through the reading today without interruptions.”

   The exchange of words between Harding and Neal was to be the first of many sparring sessions that would take place during the next two weeks. Harding accused Neal of stepping on his lines by coming in too quickly before the movie star had completed what he was saying. Neal insisted that in an argument, which is what they were portraying, that people do not wait for the other person to finish.

   At other times during the second week of rehearsal when all of the cast were supposed to have learned their lines, Harding would stop in the middle of his speech and either consult his script or look to one of the assistants for help. Neal would turn and walk away, showing his impatience with Harding.

 Neal had a ready army of allies in the three young men with whom he was sharing an apartment. The ones who were not working awaited his arrival each day to be entertained by Neal’s stories of his confrontations with Harding. He shared with them that not a day, not even an hour, went by in which the director did not have to intervene in a disagreement between himself and Harding. Although they enjoyed his stories, his roommates cautioned Neal about crossing swords with Harding. They reminded him that the producers would probably side with their star in the event of a showdown. “Maybe so,” defended Neal, “but where are they going to get a good actor like me who can also play the ivories off a piano?”

   Neal had been dating Tara Wilkins, a successful woman who earned a six-figure salary. Despite the disparity in their earnings, Tara had been content to be with him and to eat at cheap restaurants and to enjoy inexpensive entertainments. Neal did not tell Tara of his contra temps with Harding. He preferred to speak to her of humorous incidents during rehearsal and to see her laugh. Tara was immensely pleased that Neal was to be on Broadway. She had seen him struggle for the year she had known him, subsisting on money he earned playing piano, working for temp agencies, and doing voice-over work on commercials.

   Neal admitted that he was a bit cocky, being steeped in theatrical technique from his college professors. Harding, on the other hand was insecure in his new endeavor. He knew that Neal was an accomplished actor, and his youth and stamina were reminders of his own salad days in Hollywood. Added to Harding’s worries about succeeding was the fact that he sorely needed the money from this job.

   In the third week of rehearsal the director asked Neal to remain behind as they concluded their day’s work.

“Neal,” he began. “You are doing the great job that I hoped you would do. I have agreed with you in most of the confrontations you have had with Mr. Harding. However, I must caution you that you are on shaky ground. Rumor has it that he has been talking to the producers and he is not happy.”

   “I know that we’ve had many disagreements,” Neal said, “but I think the play will be better for my having spoken up about my interpretation of the lines and so forth.”

   “Be that as it may, the higher-ups are adamant that Harding is their star, and if push comes to shove and one of you has to go, it won’t be Harding,” cautioned the director.

   “Why hasn’t he come to me and told me that he is unhappy? I mean, I’ve seen him get angry, but I have gotten angry and lost my temper just as he has. I think he’s doing a pretty good job, and I think that my standing up to him has caused him to be a better actor.”

   “Neal,” the director answered, “I agree with all that you are saying. I love your confidence, and your acting ability, but maybe you are too good. Maybe that is Harding’s problem. He is imagining opening night and who will receive the greater ovation during curtain calls--him or you?  Frankly, I think he wants to replace you. If it comes to that, I don’t know what I can do to change the producers’ minds.”

   Neal thanked the director and left. As he walked the streets, he felt a gigantic wave of fear overwhelm him. This was not the first time that his ego and temper had caused him trouble. He had had confrontations with professors and with people in his social circle before. It seemed to be in his nature. Why had he not left it up to the director to offer Harding suggestions or correct him when he was interpreting the lines incorrectly? Neal’s desire for perfection, which made him the actor that he was, was a double-edged sword. This time the sharp edge was directed toward him, and it might be coming down right on his neck. But wasn’t it too far along to bring in a replacement? Neal tried to comfort himself, but fear seemed to be winning.

   That evening as he and Tara were eating at a small Italian restaurant, he told her of his conversation with the director. For the first time, Tara heard his voice tremble. Although she was deeply concerned at the prospect of Neal’s losing the position he had worked so long and hard for, her feminine heart was more moved by the tender, vulnerable side that she was witnessing for the first time. She knew that he would not take kindly if she advised him to “cool his jets,” nor would he listen to consoling words from her. She reached across the table and held his hand.

 

Two days later the blade of the guillotine dropped. Neal was to be replaced. Liam O’Malley had called Neal and asked him to meet at the rehearsal room early the following morning. Harding had won out and the producers had found a replacement.  Neal knew that this might not be the end. He had the right to file a grievance and ask for immediate arbitration. O’Malley assured him that the decision was out of his hands and that he would do anything to help Neal find future employment. Neal ceased to listen. He thought of all the people who knew of his good fortune in landing a role on Broadway: his professors, his family, his friends, his fellow actors, and Tara. What would he tell them? Would he be forever tainted as being hard to work with and become unemployable?

   As was so often his wont, Neal was defiant. Screw them he thought. They knew what they could do with their job. And lots of luck in finding someone as good as he to fill the role. He had to stop himself from thinking of all the things that he wished might happen to Harding. His resentment was a boiling cauldron and he could not find a lid to put on it. And then he remembered some advice he had been given many years before. “Just think of it,” he reminded himself, “ while I am angry and filled with resentment, the person, or in this case, persons I am resenting are out dancing. I’m only hurting myself. Resentment, he reminded himself is a re-feeling. Every time you resent something you are re-living and re-feeling the emotion.

   And then, while he was recalling old advice, he was reminded of what his grandmother had told him, “When one door closes, another door opens.” “Fat chance,” he said.

   After a fitful night’s sleep, he decided that he would tell everyone what happened. He would hold his head high, and get on with his life. His sensitive side would have to go into hiding. His cocky, resilient being would be the side that the world would see.

   Neal loved living in New York, and he especially liked Greenwich Village or the Village as the New Yorkers called it. Rents were exorbitant and it was only because he had three roommates that he was able to live in his small apartment. He shared a two-bedroom apartment with three other men. Each bedroom had two bunk beds. A small living room and a bath and kitchen completed the living quarters.

   Even with four men living there, it was not always easy to come up with the rent each month. If one of the roommates had lost his job or did not make enough money to pay his share of the rent, the other three were forced to make up the difference. The most solvent among them, Tim Wilson, had a trust fund from which he could draw money. He was very frugal and he always insisted that his roommates repay him as soon as they were able.

   Two weeks after being dismissed from his acting role, Neal had not found a job. Jerry, one of the roommates invited him to go out for dinner. Jerry seemed to be even more down in the dumps than Neal. Even with all of his troubles, Neal was glad to listen to Jerry and to console him as best he could.

   After eating dinner, the two men lingered over their coffee. Jerry’s tale of woe was not an uncommon one among the young people in the Village. His girlfriend, Nancy, had lost her job and had been unemployed for three weeks. She had depleted what little savings she had been able to accumulate, and the only financial aid her parents in Kentucky were able to offer was a bus ticket that would bring her back home. Jerry was lost. His earnings were not sufficient for him and Nancy to set up housekeeping on their own. “Should I leave New York and go to Kentucky to be with her? I just have no idea what to do. I am doing well at my job, and I think in a couple of years I will be making enough money so that we can be together. But the way I feel right now is that I can’t bear being away from her.”

   “I know,” said Neal. “I’m very near to being in the same position as Nancy. If I don’t find a job soon, it will be back to Keokuk, Iowa, for me. Hang in there for a while. Maybe something will happen.”

Neal knew that his words were inadequate, and Jerry got little consolation from them.

By now the sun had set and the streets were less busy. As they walked along, Jerry continued talking about possible solutions to his predicament. “Nancy is very good at what she does as a book editor, but there are hundreds of English majors in New York that are looking for work. It’s just damned hard for her with all of the competition.”’

As Neal put his arm around Jerry’s shoulder to console him, three tattooed men in hoodies approached them from the opposite directions. “So what are you two f*****s up to?” one of   them asked.

Before they could reply the three hooded strangers were upon them. Jerry was the first to fall to the sidewalk after being struck in the chin. Neal began to fight back, but one of the men jumped on his back and took him to the ground. Both Neal and Jerry covered their faces as the attackers kicked them in the back, legs, and sides.  The sound of approaching pedestrians echoed against the brick walls and the three hoodlums escaped down an alley.

Both Neal and Jerry were badly hurt. Jerry was bleeding from a kick to the forehead, and both men were in excruciating pain from damage to their ribs and legs. As strangers helped them to their feet, others called for an ambulance. “What happened?” someone asked. “Did they rob you?” asked another.

Both Jerry and Neal were examined and treated in the hospital. No bones were broken but they were badly bruised and they would be sore for many days. Doctors closed the cut on Jerry’s head with stitches but he was left him with a permanent scar. Before they were dismissed from the hospital, two policemen interviewed them. Neal told them what had happened, how he had put his arm around Jerry’s shoulder and how they had been accused of being gay, as if that were enough reason to be battered and bloodied.

“Now you know what some of the gays in the Village are subjected to on a regular basis,” said one of the officers.

Jerry was unable to look for work for two weeks, and Jerry missed work for the same amount of time. Once again Tim dug into his trust money to see his roommates through the months.

A few days after he was injured, Neal began to have cabin fever. He decided that, although I was painful, that he would go for a short walk. He went slowly, looking in the various shop windows that lined the streets. It was good to be out and he felt safe during the daylight hours.

As he passed by a small bar that he had not noticed before, he heard piano music. At first he could not tell if it was recorded or live music. Curious, he stepped into the bar, and as his eyes became adjusted to the semi-darkness, he saw a man sitting at an upright piano. He approached the man, who continued playing. The man looked at him but said nothing. He saw that the pianist was a Black man with the most beautiful café-au-lait colored skin that he had ever seen. The man was very thin, and the skin on his face was stretched tightly over prominent cheekbones.

Neal stood by the piano and listened for several minutes. There was no sound except the extraordinary notes that the man was coaxing from the old piano. Finally Neal spoke, “What would you call that kind of music? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything quite like it.”

“Well, it’s kind of a cross between rock and roll and country,” he answered. “Some folks down in West Virginia call it rockabilly. Billy for hillbilly,” he said.

“Can you play some more? I’d like to get the hang of it.”

“You play the piano?” asked the man.

“Yes, I play a bit.” Neal was trying to be modest.

“I’ll tell you what. You play something for me, and I’ll show you how to play rockabilly.”

The man scooted over on the piano bench and Neal seated himself beside him.

Neal thought for a minute and then began playing the jazz version of the Gershwin song that he had been going to play in the opening moments of Collision.

When Neal had finished playing, the man poked Neal in the rib with his elbow and chuckled, “Yeah, I’d say you played a bit, lots of bits. You son of a gun.”

When he saw that Neal had winced when he elbowed him, the man said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to poke you so hard.”

“You didn’t,” assured Neal. “I got beat up a few nights ago, and I’m still kind of sore. Please, think nothing of it. Now show me how you play rockabilly. By the way, I’m Neal.”

The man took his outstretched hand, “I’m Clifton,” he said. “I’ve lined up a few night’s work here. Come in tonight and listen to me play some more.”

Neal told him that he would try. “So how’d you get beat up? Some angry husband catch you with his wife?” Clifton laughed and flashed his shiny white teeth.

“I wish that had been the case,” explained Neal, and he told Clifton what had happened.

“You see what we’ve been putting up with for years. Try being a gay black man if you want to see what trouble is.”

Clifton told Neal about the double discrimination he had undergone while growing up in a coal-mining town in West Virginia. “You might even call it triple discrimination. You see my folks kicked me out of the house when I was fifteen when they heard about me and a neighbor boy. I’ve been on my own ever since then. I met an older white man and I lived with him for eighteen years until he died. He had a concert grand piano, and he paid for me to have a few lessons. But after that I’ve just been playing the way I feel.” Neal listened intently. Having been around theaters for the past several years, he knew a lot of gay people. Had he been completely blind all of those years as to what some of them were going through?

“You know as I think about it,” added Clifton, “I was discriminated against in a fourth way. A lot of dark skinned people think lighter colored people like me have an advantage over them. And I think it is true when it comes to hiring and in other areas. I find a certain resentment coming from some darker skinned people but we are the way we are and there’s not much we can do about it.”

As he walked home, Neal, for the first time in his life, thought how, through nothing he had done to deserve it, he had been born as a white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant in the United States of America. It was as though his mother had given birth to him on third base and that scoring was so much easier for him than for so many other people like Clifton. He must make the most of the advantage he had been given.

Two nights later when he was feeling better, Neal called Tara and invited her to go to the little bar to hear Clifton play. When they entered, they were pleased to see that Clifton had drawn a sizable crowd. Seeing Neal and Tara enter the bar, he waved to them. While others in the bar listened to Clifton’s unique way of playing, Neal was hearing it in a different way. For him listening to Clifton play in a variety of styles was like going to school. He watched Clifton’s hands move up and down the keys. He surveyed the bar patrons moving up and down and back and forth to the syncopation of the notes. Tara looked at Neal tenderly. She loved the look he took on when he was carried away by something. Even though they were on two different planes as they listened, Tara was content to be with Neal and to know that he had not been more badly beaten a few nights earlier.

Taking a break, Clifton joined Neal and Tara at their table. Tara was enchanted by Clifton’s courtly manner as he took her hand and kissed it. “Well, Boy,” he said. “You think you can learn to play rockabilly?”

“Never like you. You’re the master. But I’ve been having fun with it. And my roommates like it.”

During the following week when Neal was still too sore to look for work, he spent more time with Clifton. Neal told him about his aborted Broadway career and Brick Harding. “I’ve known people like that Brick guy,” agreed Clifton. “Some people just got that old devil in them and there ain’t no gettin’ around them.”

Unbeknownst to Neal, in an office near an off-Broadway theater, a theater production was being given the go-ahead to begin auditions and casting actors for a new play. It was a drama loosely based on a Nashville rockabilly pianist, his troubles with drugs, other performers and the law. Another door was about to open.

   A few weeks later Neal was a hands-down winner for the part over eight or ten others who auditioned for the role. After first reading about the audition and discussing the person the play was based upon with friends in the village. he had planned what he would do for an audition. He thought about his days as a  Boy Scout. “Be prepared,” he repeated over and over. Had it been some sort of a miracle that just a few weeks before that he had met Clifton. What kind of a coincidence was it that he had met someone who played the same kind of music that the hero of the play preferred? He knew that he would never master the style as well as Clifton, but he felt good about what he had learned. He read biographies of the piano player he was about to portray. He learned that he would also need to learn to play piano in a manner suitable for singing country songs after the man moved to Nashville. “Piece of cake,” he told himself. Off-Broadway did not pay nearly as well as the job he had had on Broadway, but at least he was working. And Tara was beside herself to once again see the cheerful, optimistic man she had fallen in love with.

   Three weeks after rehearsal began for the new play, he and Tara celebrated with dinner at an upscale restaurant. “And why that smirk on your face, Neal?” asked Tara, who sensed a new jauntiness in the way he walked that seemed unrelated to his landing a new acting role. “Guess what,” replied Neal. “Collision closed yesterday. It seems that the great Brick Harding was drunk and fell and broke his pelvis. Pardon me if my smirk is a bit of schandenfreaud. My grandma told me it isn’t nice to take pleasure in another person’s misfortune. And I do feel terrible that the others in the cast have lost their jobs.”

“Maybe I need a shrink,” confided Neal. “My ego that tells me that Harding got rid of me because I was too good, and I’m almost feeling giddy about his getting hurt, and then I profess that I feel sorry for the other actors.”

Tara looked at him and laughingly said, “I don’t think so you need a psychiatrist. You’re the sanest person I know.”

   Neal was silent for a moment, and then he smiled and said,“But I do have this terrible phobia.”

   “What kind of phobia is that?” asked Tara.

   “It’s arachibutyrophobia,”

   “What’s that? Spell it.”

   “I can’t spell it, but it’s a fear of getting peanut butter stuck on the roof of your mouth,” explained Neal. “I read about it in Readers’ Digest.”

   “I take back what I said,” said Tara laughing. “You’re insane!”

   Afterward, not wanting the evening to end, they went to a small club to see an act they had been hearing about. Two characters, an awesomely beautiful girl and a tall, gangly dancer, were wowing Village audiences with their show. Those who attended loved the fresh way in which they presented songs from old MGM musicals to a mostly gay audience. After finding seats as a table with two other couples, they relaxed and waited to be entertained. The tall man came out from behind a makeshift curtain and introduced an angelic looking girl whom he referred to as “Cye.” After getting a cue from the pianist the girl began singing an old-time song called I Want To Be Loved By You, and she was looking right at Neal.

   “I think she’s flirting with you,” Tara teased.

As Neal listened to the girl on the small stage and admired her beautiful face, he had no way of knowing that in the not-too-distant future they would share their destinies.

After appearing in the off-Broadway production for two months, Neal was put on hiatus. The producers began planning to expand “Rockin’ the Keys” into a full-length musical, with dancers and production numbers. They were keeping Neal in the lead when they moved to “The Great White Way.” Meanwhile, Neal had more time on his hands. As he was hanging out in his apartment, the phone rang. It was is newly-acquired agent, Bill Spencer. “How would you like to make a movie?” he asked.

 

 

CYNTHIA

Most of the pedestrians on a blustery Manhattan street paid little heed to the two conspirators as they braved the February wind. The more observant ones would have perhaps wondered about the handsome man in his forties with the beautiful girl of twenty on his arm. The conspiracy involved only the man, his wife, and his daughter, the beautiful girl he walked with. The secret the two conspirators shared concerned the reason that they had left their home in New Rochelle that morning to drive to New York.

For reasons of their own, they had told the man’s wife, who was also the girl’s mother, that they were going to New York City to select music for classes the man was teaching at a local junior college. That part was true, and they had indeed bought sheet music at the Colony Music Store on Times Square. However they had intentionally neglected to tell her that they were also going to an audition for replacements in a long-running Broadway Show, Try, Try Again.

Because her mother had made it abundantly clear that her daughter should continue her college studies before deciding on a career, their daughter, Cynthia, had conspired with her father to take a chance now after two years of college and at the age of twenty. Her father believed that, whether or not she was successful, that it would be a good experience to test the water with an audition. Not that she had not auditioned before. She had successfully tried out for several local and summer stock shows, including ensemble, feature, and leading roles.

“I think this is it,” said her father in front of a door next to one of the Broadway theaters. The two of them walked up one flight of stairs and entered one of two doors on the second-floor landing. There a man half-heartedly greeted them, asked the girl’s name and pointed the two of them to another door. “Wait in there until you’re called.”

Cynthia counted six women and two men in the room, fewer than she had thought might be there. “Maybe it’s because of the weather,” she thought. A woman appeared through a door and one by one called the people ahead of her. “They must have exited through another door,” she said to her father because none of them had reappeared. Cynthia was left to wonder how successful her predecessors had been. Finally her turn came.

“Cynthia Bridwell?” the woman questioned, and Cynthia rose to her feet.

“Don’t forget your music. I’ll be right here,” her father said.

When Cynthia entered the audition room she saw five people sitting in chairs scattered in the back of the room and a young man, who seemed to be constantly brushing his blond hair back from his forehead, seated at a baby grand piano.

“Name?” asked one of the men in the back.

“Cynthia Bridwell,” she answered.

“And where are you from?

“Well,” and then Cynthia began to sing, “Only forty-five minutes from Broadway.”

“Ah,” said one of the men, “New Rochelle.” The others, steeped in the music of the theater began to laugh, knowing that New Rochelle was the place Cohan referred to in the song, Only Forty-five Minutes from Broadway.

“Off to a good start,” Cynthia said to herself, and then she asked, “Would it be all right if my father plays for me. He’s right outside.”

“What do you say, Steve?” asked the woman in the back of the room.

The pianist nodded and said, “Fine with me. Bring him in.”

Cynthia opened the door and motioned for her father to come in. “This is my dad, Robert Bridwell; he is professor of music at Finwell College.”

Robert seated himself at the piano, played a few notes, and nodded for his daughter to begin.

“When I marry Mister Snow,” she began. The five people in the back looked up from their notes and listened intently. When she had sung about six lines of the Rodgers and Hammerstein song from Carousel, one of the men motioned for her to stop.

“That’s an interesting choice of songs. Why did you choose that particular one?” he asked her.

“Last year I played the part of Miss Pepperidge in a local production of Carousal, and my father and I thought it suited my voice quite well.”

“Okay,” said the man, “Start where you began.”

Cynthia felt her nervousness slip away and she found herself enjoying the experience.

“Tell us a little about yourself,” said the woman in the group after Cynthia finished the song.

“Well, as I said, my father teaches music, and he has been my inspiration. My mother was a dancer with American Ballet Theater and she now owns a dance studio. I have been dancing and singing for as long as I can remember. I think my first role was in Annie, and I think I have been in ten or twelve musicals since then.”

“So, you can dance as well as sing?” asked one of the men.

Cynthia was beginning to lose all of her inhibitions. She did a few tap-dance steps, performed a series of cartwheels across the room, and then struck several ballet poses.

The five people sat wide-eyed, turned their back to her and huddled in the back of the room. “Maybe I’ve overdone it,” Cynthia worried. After what seemed an eternity to Cynthia and her father, they turned around and faced her.

’There is no doubt that you have a lovely voice. Your pitch is darned near perfect. Mr. Bridwell, I think you can take a lot of credit for that. Your answers and impromptu dance show that you have a lot of moxie. We are looking for someone to replace a girl who is taking a maternity leave. Mostly it is a dancing role, but the part also calls for some singing. We are also looking for later in the month for someone to fill in a feature part with the traveling show in Chicago. We think you might be the one to do that.”

Cynthia turned to her beaming father who turned the palms of his hands upward and outward as if he meant, “What can I say?”

“If you are offered a part, how soon do you think you could be ready?”

“Well, nowadays New Rochelle is still about forty-five minutes from here, depending upon the traffic, so I would say in a couple of days. There is one small thing. Dad and I have a little hurdle in convincing my mother that I am ready to leave the nest. I certainly plan to remind her that she was dancing in New York when she was only eighteen.”

“Report here next Friday, and be prepared to stay for a while,” said one of the men, pointing to an address on the piece of paper he handed her.

As her father rose and walked toward her, the displaced blond accompanist smiled and winked at her and returned to the piano bench.

“You are something else,” her father remarked as they headed for their car. “What made you decide to give that dance recital?”

“Well, I figured it was all or nothing. And it seemed to have worked,” replied Cynthia, laughing.

“You rascal,” said her father.

They broke the news to Cynthia’s mother, Jackie, pretending that they had gone to the audition on the spur of the moment. “I don’t believe that at all,” said the mother. “Oh, Honey, I am so happy for you, but I don’t want to lose my little girl.”

 

She closed her blue eyes to hold back the tears. Then she straightened her shoulders and spoke. “Since I’m outnumbered two to one, I guess I have to approve.” The three of them hugged and kissed and began making plans for Cynthia’s new career. As she moved about their home, Jackie thought of a line she had heard in a movie: “Sorrow is born in the hasty heart.” Not being psychic, the mother could not have known that her consent would be the first step in deciding the fate that would overtake her only child.

 

The director of Try, Try Again had scheduled a dance rehearsal for new replacements with two members of the cast. The dance teacher scowled at the new recruits and checked the knot of hair on top of her head. Almost immediately Cynthia discovered something in the moves the teacher was showing them. The instructor was a devotee of the late dance innovator Bob Fosse. What a piece of luck that her mother also loved Fosse and that she had taught Cynthia several of his dances! She saw that as much emphasis was put on the position of the body as on the dance steps. She followed the instructor as she raised one shoulder, arched a leg, and tilted her head.

 

As the choreographer guided them through the routine, Cynthia found that she was always off stride on one of the turns. “Oh, God,” she thought, “They are going to think they’ve picked a real klutz. Embarrassed, she tried to repeat the turn each time there was a break.

 

One of the regular cast members, a tall, dark haired man, pulled her aside, “Watch,” he said, “Notice how I put my right foot out to the side just a bit more than you are doing. That makes the turn much easier”

 

Cynthia followed his directions and found that she could make the turn with great ease. “Thanks so much,” said Cynthia. “You’re a life saver.”

 

She reached out her hand, “I’m Cynthia Bridwell. The young man took her hand and introduced himself. “I’m Jay Stein. So nice to meet you.”

 

Their serendipitous meeting would turn out to be one of Cynthia’s dearest and most enduring friendships. After she joined the dance ensemble, Cynthia often sought out Jay for information and advice.

 

“Hey, girlfriend, as the bartender said to Sarah Jessica Parker, ‘Why the long face?’” Jay joked, stopping Cynthia in a backstage hallway.

 

“That was cold,” said Cynthia, frowning at Jay.

 

“ Not really. I like Sara Jessica. After all she taught me everything I know about sex in this city.”

 

“I’ll bet,” laughed Cynthia. “She is probably a regular reader of your filthy blog.”

 

“How do you know I have a filthy blog, Miss New Rochelle? Have you been reading it?”

She blushed again. “Hey, I have a question for you. I was up in the lobby and I saw Whtshisname sweeping out the place. I thought he was the doorman.”

 

“That is a brilliant question. You would be a good detective. I have the answer for you. The guy you saw in the lobby is Iraj. The doorman is Tooraj. They are identical twins from Iran. They were granted political immunity some years ago beause they had supported some political party that was out of favor. Ask Tooraj about it. He’ll tell you more.”

 

Cynthia had guessed from the first day that Jay was probably gay. After all, she had been around show people most of her life and many of her parents’ friends were gay.  And Jay made no attempt to hide it.

 

“Back to my original question,” Jay continued. “Why are you looking so worried?”

 

“I’m having my first rehearsal for the part of young Paulette tomorrow. I’ve been in the show, how long, a couple of weeks and I’ve watched Carrie Carter do it every night, but I’m still not sure how to get the full meaning into the song.”

 

 

 

Try, Try Again, the musical in which they were appearing, told the story of an older woman as she reminisces about former lovers. Cynthia was referring to a vignette that presented the older woman as a young girl. Vexed by her lover’s infidelity, she casts him out and then is immediately sorry for her hasty action.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll do great, Cye.” He had begun calling her Cye shortly after they met, instead of Cynthia, a name her mother had given her in honor of a famous ballet dancer. “Of course, Miss Goody Two Shoes, it would help if you had ever had a great love affair.” Jay was very open about his own sex life, often to Cynthia’s embarrassment. Jay enjoyed watching the crimson come to Cynthia’s face after he said something scandalous.

Cynthia told Jay that she had been given an address and was told that “Steve” would be playing for the rehearsal.

The next day she arrived at the address, an upstairs music studio. To her surprise and pleasure “Steve” turned out to be the accompanist whom her father had replaced.

“So,” he said, “You’re the girl who didn’t think I was good enough to play for her.”

Cynthia closed her eyes and lowered her head in mock shame.

“That’s okay. Your father did great and so did you,” he said, kissing her on each cheek.

Steve played a few notes and helped Cynthia exercise her vocal chords.

“Okay, let’s try it,” he said. Cynthia was to sing the first verse in a very strident and angry voice. Then, realizing what she had done, she was to repeat the words in a slightly different way and in a lovely, sad voice, falling into sobs at the end.

Steve seated himself at the piano, played a brief introduction and Cynthia began.

“Just go, I’m tired of all your games

Just go, and see some other dames

Just go, and take your hat with you.

Just go, and find somebody new.

Steve stopped playing. His boyish infectious smile had become a sneer, and his soft voice turned into an almost ferocious growl. “Who in hell suggested you for this part? You are singing this song like a lullaby when it is supposed to be delivered like a woman so angry that she is almost demented.”

Cynthia jumped back, stricken. No one had ever talked to her like this. She picked up her hat and coat and prepared to leave.

“So, you’re a quitter as well. Stay here and try again.”

Cynthia threw down her purse and coat and faced Steve., as he began to play once more.

“Just go, I’m tired of all your games.” This time she came down hard on the word go. She placed her feet farther apart to give herself balance as she put emphasis on other words, almost screaming, but staying on the melody.

At the end of the diatribe, she sat in a chair and sang,

“Don’t go, oh, please come back to me.

Don’t go, we’ll work it out, you’ll see.

Don’t go, I want you always near

Don’t go, come back and stay right here.

Unable to continue, she stood, crying and picked up her coat, preparing to leave. Steve rose from the piano and took her in his arms. “Don’t cry,” he comforted. “I knew that you could do it. I just said those things to get you angry enough to put that feeling into the song. Settle down and we’ll rehearse some more.”

Cynthia felt safe and warm in his arms and her sobs began to subside. Then, realizing where she was, she stepped back, embarrassed by what she had done and also by the new feeling that overcame her as she was enveloped in his embrace.

“Will you forgive me?” Steve asked.

Cynthia sang the song several more times. She found Steve to be a wonderful voice teacher as he showed her what notes to hold, what words he felt needed extra emphasis, and how to sing while pretending to cry.

Steve hugged her and kissed her on the cheek as she prepared to leave. “You are going to be absolutely great,” he said.

The next day she reported to Jay about the rehearsal. “Who was this guy who played for you?”

“Steve Somebody,” said Cynthia. “I didn’t get his last name.”

“You silly goose,” said Jay. “Don’t you know who that was? It was Steve Jones, the Boy Wonder of Broadway and the composer/lyricist of this show. He’s only twenty-six and he has a long-running Broadway musical and another in the works.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure. You really got the special treatment for some reason.”

“What do you know about him? Is he married?” asked Cynthia.

“Oh, Missy wants to know if he’s married. Well, the answer is no, but the word is that he’s dating a singer who plays Fantine in Les Miz.”

“I see,” said Cynthia wistfully.

After Cynthia appeared in the role of the young Paulette for two nights while the other singer was having minor surgery, the director asked her to stay after the performance. “Go home for a couple of days,” he said. “Pack your bags and head for Chicago. We want you to fil in as Paulette for two weeks and then come back here as standby for Carrie.

 

 

”

 

 

Robert and Jackie Bridwell were at the airport to meet their daughter on her return from Chicago. As they were waiting, Robert saw what he thought was a familiar face. Jackie studied the man’s blond good looks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before,” she said. Before Robert could remember where he had seen him, the man approached him. “You’re the guy who kicked me off the piano bench, aren’t you?” So this was the man I replaced when I played for Cynthia at her audition.

“I’m Steve Jones, the composer of Try, Try Again. Since I was partly responsible for sending Cynthia to Chicago, I thought I’d be here to welcome her back and give her some good news. I’ll share it with all three of you when she arrives.’ The two men shook hands and Steve kissed Jackie on the cheek. “That’s quite a daughter you have�"so beautiful and so talented.”

When Cynthia departed the plane and arrived in the airport she saw her parents and rushed to meet them. After kisses and hugs she noticed Steve Jones standing off to the side. “What are you doing here?” she blurted out and then turned red as she thought of what she had said.

“Oh, I saw your dad and I thought I’d stop and say hello.”

“Mind your manners, Child,” said Jackie. “Mr. Jones wants to tell us something.”

Cynthia covered her face with her hands. “I’m so embarrassed,” she said. “Please go ahead.”

“Well,” reports of your performance in Chicago have been awesome, as I hoped they would be. So, congratulatios on that. But I have further news. Carrie Carson is leaving the show and you are set to replace her. Go home and spend a couple of days with your folks and then report for duty on Wednesday.”

Not sure how to thank him, Cynthia paused for a moment and then threw her arms around him. “Thank you, Steve. Oh, thank you so much.” Steve held her in his arms for a moment longer. Cynthia once again felt safe and comfortable in his embrace.

After she returned to the show in her new role, Jay showed her Playbill. It contained her biography for the first time. Her parents were coming to see her in the show soon.

Cynthia continued to hang out with Jay. Sometimes both of them would go dancing with the other “gypsies,” the dancers in the show. Sometimes they would go to Jay’s apartment where she met Jay’s “partner.” He and Jay had been together for nearly two years. He seemed to be a constant annoyance for Jay because of his slovenly habits around their apartment and his seeming lack of ability to hold a steady job. But Cynthia knew that they loved one another and it was just Jay being Jay.

 

 

 

A few weeks after Cynthia returned from Chicago, Jay asked Cynthia to join him for a drink after the show. As Jan had a beer and Cynthia sipped a Coke, “Well, are you beginning to see that being in a show can get boring after awhile.

 

Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “I’ve got a great idea for the two of us. I know this guy who has a small bar in the Village. It’s not a gay bar, but a lot of gays and others to there. The place has a small stage. I pitched this idea to the owner, and he said we could give it a try. The place fills up about midnight, and I was thinking that you and I could do a little show there on Saturday night.”

 

Cynthia looked doubtful, but she asked, “What kind of show?”

 

“Well,” continued Jay. “Do you remember those old MGM musicals? For example in one of them Debbie Reynolds and a guy named Carleton Carpenter sang a novelty song called ‘Abba Dabba Honeymoon,’ and in another movie Jane Powell and Fred Astaire sang one about ‘How Could You Believe Me When I Said I Love You When You Know I’ve Been a Liar All My life?’ I was thinking we could go to a thrift store and get some funny old clothes. I could do a tap dance while you are changing and then you could sing a song and so forth. We would just need to do fifteen or twenty minutes. I have a friend who could play piano for us. What do you say?”

 

“Mmmmmmmm!” was all Cynthia could muster.

 

“Come on, Cye,” urged Jay. “It will be a lot of fun, and to be truthful, lately you look as if you could use some fun.”

 

“Let’s talk some more tomorrow,” Cynthia said.

 

Two weeks later on a Saturday night, the two of them performed for the first time as a duo, billing themselves as “Cye and Jay.” Luckily, they had prepared two encores because the crowd went wild when they tried to walk off the stage. The following week as many people as were allowed by regulations packed the bar.

 

As Cynthia was singing and surveying the crowd, she saw Steve Jones standing in the rear of the crowd. “Why is he here?” she wondered. “Was he going to stop them from doing their little show?”

 

When she and Jay had changed into their street clothes, Steve was still there. “I heard about you two moonlighting so I thought I’d stop and check you out. I love those old musicals. You are doing a great job. Keep it up.” And with that said he left the club.

 

Steve Jones was a hands-on composer. Cynthia saw him from time to time, standing backstage. She had heard that he corrected some of the performers if they slightly changed the words of one of his songs or did not sing it well.

 On a Friday night in April after Cynthia had sung her song and joined the dancers in a number, she heard loud voices back stage and two men in camouflage uniforms and carrying rifles rushed onto the stage. She joined other cast members in screaming as they wondered what was going on. Then the doors at the back of the thea looked at the

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hal Benson was ready to take on a new project. Despite the fact that the last movie he directed had not been the success of his three previous projects, he was given a script that had him excited for the first time in several months. Benson had begun his career as a New York director where he had been thrice nominated for a Tony and had won one of the awards. So it was not unusual that he should look to Broadway in casting actors for his latest venture.

With shooting on the new movie a couple of months away, he decided to catch up on New York productions since it had bee two years since he had been in New York. On the eastbound plane he pondered the casting of the movie. The producers had secured the services of Philip Novak who was one of the hottest leading men of the day. He would play CIA agent, Tom Barrows.

The other main characters would be young people, two women and a man, all in their twenties. The plot revolved around this trio. In the story one of the women is a well-to-do freelance photographer. She is traveling in Europe when she meets the other two, a brother and sister duo. Known as The Metcalfes, they were super successful recording artists, who, even in an age of rap and hip-hop, sold album after album of their smooth love songs and ballads. The brother, Casey, plays piano and harmonizes with his sister, known for her good looks and flawless vocal renditions.

The three meet in sidewalk cafe in Paris, where the brother and sister have gone to rest after a month of personal appearances throughout Europe. The photographer tells them that she is planning a trip to photograph conditions along the border of Kalantiskan, a Muslim country near Russia. She describes the beauty of the area and convinces the Metcalfes that they should come with her for a change of scenery in a place where they can enjoy anonymity.

Needing to get away from crowds and feeling adventuresome, they agree to accompany the photographer. As they are hiking near the border, they lose their way and stray into Kalantiskan. They are captured as potential spies because of the photographic equipment they are carrying. Despite the fact that the Metcalfes are famous throughout the world as entertainiers, their captors discover that their father had been a CIA officer when they were growing up. The remainder of the movie graphically depicts how they are tortured in the prison, their attempts to escape and the CIA agent’s plans to rescue them after diplomatic talks do not result in their release.

The first few days of his stay in New York, Hal Benson saw several productions, among them one new and one long-running production. The latter was a musical, Try, Try Again. A young singer in a small part in which she angrily sends her lover away and then mourns her hasty action intrigues him.

One of his New York friends to whom he had described the characters in his new project suggests that he see an off-Broadway production, which featured a sensational new actor who could also play the piano.

He had been mulling for several weeks whether to cast the young actress who played the restaurant manager in his last film. Seeing the physical features of the two New York players he hoped to employ his mind was made up. CeCe would be the third member of the trio. Now he had to synchronize the schedule when they would all be free to appear in his movie.

And thus the die was cast that the three of them should meet.

 

The director’s scouts had located a site along the border of Romania that would be used for location shots. CeCe boarded a plane in Los Angeles and flew to New York where she was introduced to Cynthia and Neal. Not knowing anything about New York actors, CeCe was, at first, not her usual open self. But it wasn’t long before she had them intrigued  with the story of her unlikely discovery in Bakersfield.

 

Cynthia was soon confiding to CeCe about how she had met Steve Jones and how difficult it was going to be for them to be separated for a few weeks. Neal told them both about being sacked from his first Broadway show.

 

Because CeCe was the only one among them with movie experience, Neal and Cynthia had dozens of questions for her. If she had felt any inferiority to the New York actors, it soon disappeared as she explained about camera angles, retakes, and ways of speaking.

 

Outdoor shooting began shortly after they arrived in Romania. The three of them spent several long, arduous days climbing mountain trails. CeCe especially was affected by the cold weather. As the characters in the roles became more acquainted, the three of them in real life got to know one another better. They complained to one another about the way they were being asked to climb the mountain again and again so that the lighting or some other aspect of filming the movie could be perfected.

 

In the story, Neals’s character and the photographer, played by CeCe, fall in love. CeCe’s hair was now blonde and very short, and Neal found that it would not be difficult for any man to fall in love with her. Although the character CeCe played was somewhat of a rich, spoiled girl, she proved her mettle as she climbed the hills and helped the others along the mountain trails.

 

If they thought filming in the mountains has been tough, they soon found that filming of the torture scene at a studio in London, England was even more arduous. With much talk about torture methods at Guantanamo being in the news, Hal Benson was determined to show exactly how some of these methods were carried out. Former members of the military and spy agencies were hired to oversee the filming.

 

In the first weeks of their confinement all three were subject to what was called “White Torture “ They were placed in separate cells that had no windows and everything around them was snowy white. They were served meals of white rice on a white paper plate. When they needed to use the bathroom, they had to place a white piece of paper under the door of their cells to tell the guards. The guards wore shoes designed to muffle any sound. They lived in a completely silent, white world, which soon drove them to the brink of insanity.

Neal’s character was placed on a device call “The Tiger Bench,” a torture used in China He was placed on a long bench with a board against his back and head. He was then tied down so that his back was secured to the board and his feet and legs were secured to the bench. Bricks were then placed under his feet until all of the straps holding the legs in place break. This

 

Cynthias character is subjected to what is called the “Palestinian Hanging.” She was hung by her arms, which were tied behind her head. Kept this way for any length of time, a prisoner’s arms would be slowly wrenched from the shoulder sockets, the prisoner would fall forward and soon be unable to breathe.

 

Because they thought that CeCe’s character might be most likely to confess, CeCe received the most intense verbal grilling from the captors. Again and again she told them of how the three had met, how they had decided to go hiking, and that they were somewhat ignorant about geography and, therefore, did not know that they had crossed the border.

 

Their captors were convinced that the trio had been sent to spy on their clandestine nuclear program, something that members of the United Nations were determined to quash in its infancy.

 

Cynthia’s and Neal’s characters were also subjected to unspeakable horrors. Beyond being taken to the edge of his human endurance, Neal’s character knows that the two women are also being horribly tortured. He tells his captors that he is ready to confess if they will stop torturing the women. He concocts an elaborate story of how he and his sister had been groomed for years to be spies. He tells then that their being entertainers was part of the scheme. He also tells them that CeCe’s character is a spy with special training in photography. With this confession the captors had received the results they were seeking They display a long, detailed confession that Neal’s character had written in longhand, and they announce that the captured trio will soon be put on trial, and, if found guilty, killed by a firing squad. The three Americans are displayed to the members of the world’s press, but they are not allowed to speak.

 

Meanwhile, in Washington the CIA is working on a plan to rescue the three young people. With their work completed in the London studio, CeCe, Neal, and Cynthia go on a marathon viewing of as many West End theatrical productions as they can take in. The theater life is new to CeCe, and guided by the other two, she is having the time of her life. One of the productions they see is the London version of Steve Jones’ Try, Try Again. Cynthia is especially interested in seeing the woman who plays the part she has been playing in the Broadway production.

 

After a week of fun, they are called back to the studio. The director has decided that the rescue scenes can be filmed indoors. The three of them undergo an elaborate make-up session which will make evident the unspeakable treatment they had received. When the three of them scarred and hollow eyed, Neal jokes, “So this is what you two look like without your makeup.” The cast and crew join him in laughter.

 

 

 

Following the opening of “Dangerous Crossing,” Cynthia, Amber, and Neal were reunited. They met in Los Angeles for a six-city tour to promote the picture. Each of them had much to share about their current and future projects. They were obligated according to their contracts for the promotional tour, but each of them was eager to get on with both their personal and professional lives.

Cynthia filled her companions in on the progress of Steve Jones’ newest musical in which she was to star. Both she and Steve hoped to be married after the opening of this latest opus. “Collision” was to be remounted with a Broadway actor in the role of Neal’s father, and Neal was again to play the piano-playing son. CeCe was considering two movie roles, in each of which her name would be listed among the top players.

They had not particularly enjoyed the round of interviews and personal appearances, but they were gratified to know that the movies had received such great reviews and that the box office receipts were outstanding.

Their eastern leg of their tour ended in Manhattan. The morning after interviews and a Q&A at a movie theater, each of them received a text message telling them that the studio was sending its corporate jet to take them back for a final appearance in Los Angeles. But on the way they would have a two-hour stop in Chicago for an appearance on a TV show. On the tour, each of them had come to the realization that they were on the verge of being famous. The hotels where they had stayed had been more than first class. Their rooms had been opulent and filled with flowers, candy, and other goodies. Still not used to the luxurious life they had been living as they toured, the three settled down in the limousine that was taking them to the airport.

“I don’t know why Cynthia and I have to fly back to LA when we both have to get back to New York,” complained Neal.

“That is kinda strange,” said CeCe, “but I’m sure glad to have your company for the last time for a while.”

“Oh, my dear, sweet CeCe,” said Cynthia. “As soon as we open, I want you to come to New York and see another side of us. Plan to stay with me, and you’ll have tickets to see both of us work.”

As the Learjet lifted off the runway, the controller from Dulles Airport instructed the pilot to climb and maintain a flight level of 39,000 feet. The pilot acknowledged the clearance and stated his registration number. This was the last radio transmission from the jet.

In subsequent attempts to contact the airplane, the message from the controller went unacknowledged.

Someone in the control room or another airport employee notified a friend of his who was a reporter. The newsman did some checking and found that the passengers were stars of a recently released movie blockbuster. And that the only occupants of the plane included the two pilots and Cynthia, Neal, and CeCe.

Soon word was out about the unresponsive Learjet. The first assumptions were that the plane had been hijacked and that the passengers would be taken somewhere and held for ransom.

Very quickly all of the major TV and radio stations were on the air with the news. Airplane experts, specialists in terrorism, and law enforcement officers were being called into the stations to speculate on what was happening. Hollywood and New York reporters quickly gathered whatever information was available on the three young actors.

In one way or another, friends and relatives of the three actors were finding out about the news. Soon most of the population of the United States was watching the drama unfold on their TVs and computers or listening on car radios as they drove from place to place. Not since the verdict in the O. J. Simpson trial had so many people been glued to their various media. Those who had seen the three in their new movie were incredulous that such beautiful people could be in jeopardy.

Meanwhile, a U.S. Air Force jet that was already in the air was ordered to intercept the Learjet. The Air Force pilot made calls to the silent plane and, after receiving no answer, made a visual inspection. He reported that the plane’s two engines were running. When he tried to see inside the plane, he saw nothing. It appeared that that condensation or ice covered the windows. The pilot then returned to his base.

Hearing this news, speculation on the various media was rampant about the ghostly Learjet.

A pilot from another Air Force base was sent to inspect the plane, which had ascended to nearly 49,000 feet. His report was nearly identical to that of the other pilot.

On CNN civilian aeronautical engineers and military officers announced that The conditions of the windows were consistent with a loss of pressurization and a subsequent rapid drop of temperature and that it was probable that all occupants had lost consciousness due to hypoxia, or a lack of oxygen

Eventually four Air Force jets were ordered to escort the civilian jet. All reported that the cockpit windows were completely iced over. Some of the experts on CNN speculated that military jets were prepared to shoot down the Lear if it threatened to crash in a heavily populated area, but the Air Force was quick to deny this.  People who had seen the space ships piggy-backed on a 747, called in, wondering if it was possible for a large plane to fly under the Learjet and change its course or to somehow bring it down safely. Others questioned there was some way to feed oxygen into the plane of to somehow get another pilot onto the aircraft. One thing that the military and civilians agreed on was for some reason the airplane had become depressurized and that all on board were now dead.

The next few hours were agonizing, not just for friends and relatives of the occupants of the jet, but bay everyone around the world who realized that the airplane was now a flying coffin.

The escorting Air Force pilots watched the ghost plane pass over California, and, after running out of fuel, to crash into the Pacific Ocean. It had taken with it the black box that might have revealed what had happened inside the plane. In the following years posters and memorabilia of the three actors would sell at almost the same rate as those of Marilyn Monroe, James Dean and Elvis Presley.

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 foreland