Some Kind of Angel (3 page)

“But I like it when you lift me up.”

“I like it when I lift you up, too.  Okay, here we go.”

Before his mother could stop him, the little boy in her arms leaned over and touched Chloe’s shoulder.  “Excuse me.  Could you move over so I could see if they have the colored sprinkles donut?”

Chloe turned, thinking what a charming little boy he was…and went pale. 

The woman holding the boy said, “Chloe?  Chloe Marsden?  I haven’t seen you since college.”

“Hello, Susan.  It’s…nice to see you again.  You have a little boy.”

“Yes.  He’s our miracle child.  I tried for five years to become pregnant and it finally happened.  Alex and I couldn’t believe our good fortune.”

“I’m very happy for you.”

“What about you?  Do you work here in the city?”

“I did have a job, but I…lost it.”

“You lost it?”

“It’s a long story.  I…”

“Next,” the counter girl called out.

“Just coffee for me,” Chloe said.

As she turned to go, Susan caught her arm.  “Chloe, I work part time with my husband in his office and our nanny just quite to go to college.  I desperately need someone to help me with Johnny.  I hope you won’t be offended, but I’d like to offer you the job.  We knew each other all our college years and I know you are a person I can trust.  Would…would you consider it?”

Chloe looked at her friend and then at the little boy.  How could she tell her friend that she’d had an affair with her married boss and now was carrying his child, a child he didn’t want?  How could she confess that she planned to kill herself and her child to a woman who had waited five years to have a baby?  She couldn’t.  “I…can’t.”  She hurried out of the shop. 

“Go after her, Susan.”  Michael sent the mental message.

Susan whirled around to run after Chloe.

“Mommy, what about my sprinkles?”

“We’ll come back.  This is more important.”

Michael watched as Susan caught up to Chloe on the street and spoke to Chloe, her face earnest.  Chloe shook her head, but Susan wouldn’t let go of her arm.  After a very long moment, Chloe stepped into Susan’s arms and her tears flowed.  The three of them stood there, Susan holding both Johnny and Chloe.  They stood like that for several minutes when at last, they walked off together.  As they walked, Chloe slipped her hand into her pocket, pulled out the bottle of pills and tossed them in the trash can.

Michael smiled.  It was a good deed and he’d done it well.

Leslie slipped into a chair opposite him.  She looked so lovely.  She was also examining him far too closely.  “You’re looking very pleased about something.”

“I am just happy to be here,” he said.

“You have to walk sideways to get into the bathroom,” I said, apologetically.

“But once you get in here, it is rather nice.”  He had followed me into the tiny room.  “There is a shower and a tub and this rather odd looking appliance…”

I leaned against the vanity counter.  Why did I have to be the one to give this guy an explanation?   “It’s a bidet.”

“What is it used for?”

I am an adult woman.  I can do this.  “It’s used for…rinsing off your…bottom.”

“Why would I need to rinse off my bottom?”

I give up.  I’m just not going there.
“Ask your landlord.”

“You are so lovely when you get flustered.  I will wager not that many people in New York still blush like that.”

He stood so close to me.  I should not have followed him into the minuscule bathroom.  “I’m sure that’s not true, Michael.  In a city of eight million people, there must be a few more blushers like me.” 
Calm.  Be calm.  You cannot be attracted to a man you met this morning.  You are carrying another man’s child.
  If I wanted to escape the bathroom, I’d have to squeeze past him and brush every bit of his torso with my body. My brain said, not a good idea.  My body said, “yes.”  But while I stood still looking pointedly at him, inviting him to go out first, he seemed to have grown roots where he stood.

“Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Would you…” I nodded toward the doorway. 

“Oh, yes, yes, of course.” 

He seemed not to be aware of the sexual tension between us.  Was it all in my mind?

Out in the living room that was only slightly bigger than the bathroom, I braced myself to face his gorgeousness and said, “Do you need help bringing your things up?”

“My things?”

“Your suitcases.  You do have suitcases.”

“They are…in transit.”

“You’ll need furniture.”

“Yes.  Perhaps I can buy what I need from your shop.  That way, you will get the commission.”

“Michael.  Everything in my shop is overpriced.  I wouldn’t want you to buy anything there.  Wait a minute.  I remember hearing Bernard tell someone he had a warehouse with used furniture that was a lot less expensive.  I’ll ask him about that.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Leslie.”

Why did I feel like he’d handed me a prize blue ribbon at the fair?  How did he know my name?  Questions piled up by the dozens about Mr. Michael O’Malley.  There was certainly something strange about this man.  I probably should not have been so friendly with him.  It was going to be difficult ignoring him, though, now that he was living next door to Marian and me. 

He stood there studying me with such intense scrutiny that I could think of nothing but escape.  “Well, I should be going.  My shift at Moniker’s starts in an hour.”

“Oh, yes.  I must not keep you.”  He saw the look on my face. “Is something bothering you?”

“I was just wondering what you have against contractions?”

“Contractions?”

“You never use them.  Just now you said, ‘I must not keep you.’  Most people would say, ‘I mustn’t keep you.”

He got this look on his face as if he was going to tell me a lie.  “My native language is Gaelic.  I suppose that is the reason.”

I knew squat about Gaelic, but I didn’t see how it spilled over into English to keep Michael from using contractions.  But rather than question him on it, I said, “I really need to go.”

“Of course.  I will be seeing you later?”

“Yes,” she said, but I thought I should avoid him.  I was becoming too entangled with him. 

Still, thinking about Michael had a calming effect on me.  I didn’t even go into panic mode when I donned my waitress apron, went into the miniscule dining area and saw Harvey Melville sitting at his usual table.  But when he motioned me over, my calm state of mind vanished.

“Leslie, isn’t it?”

I nodded, wondering if he was going to blast me for coming to his cattle call.  Hadn’t he humiliated me enough?  “My assistant Helen,” he nodded at a young woman with her brown hair piled on top of her head and a pencil stuck through it, “told me the reason you dumped that tray on me was to avoid hitting an elderly woman.  She realized I was taking my temper out on you when it should have been directed elsewhere.  I’d like to apologize.”

To say I was flabbergasted was an understatement.  “No apology is necessary.  I understood perfectly…”

“I’m having a closed callback reading for the show tonight and I’d like you to come.”

I must be hallucinating.  Harvey Melville was asking me to come to a closed callback?

While I tried to get my mind around his one hundred and eighty degree change of heart, he said, “That is, if you’re available.”

I finally came out of my hallucinatory trance.  “Oh, I’m available, Mr. Melville.  I’m very available.”

At that faux pas, he smiled.  “I think you may have what I’m looking for in my second lead.  Come in comfortable clothes and shoes and we’ll see what you’ve got.”

I could feel tears gathering in the back of my eyes.  I couldn’t believe it would happen like this.  After five long years to have a closed callback drop into my lap…all because I’d dropped onion soup in his.  I gathered together what few of my wits were left and tried to act like a sophisticated actress.  “Thank you very much.  Of course I’ll be there.”

I started to walk away when he said, “Leslie?”

He’d changed his mind.  He was going to rescind his offer.  I turned around, my happy spirits flying away.  “Yes?”

“Don’t you want to know the time?” he asked, that quizzical smile still playing around his mouth.

“The time?  Yes, of course.”

“I’d like you there at eight o’clock, if you’re available.”

“I’m very available at eight o’clock.  Or nine o’clock.  Or ten o’clock.”

“Got it, Leslie.”

“Eight o’clock is perfect.  Thank you.”

In the kitchen, Jerome cornered me.  Like me, he was an aspiring actor, but unlike me, he was also a talented dancer.  I also liked him because I wasn’t his style.  His lovely blue eyes glowed with curiosity.  “Did you snag an audition with the great Melville?”

“I did, yes.  I think he felt sorry for me.”

“Melville hasn’t felt sorry for anyone since Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote
Oklahoma.
”

“I don’t think he was born then.”

“My point exactly.  If you get cast, could you mention my name?”

“I doubt very much if I’ll get cast.  And if by some miracle, I did, my mentioning your name would have about as much effect as a snowflake in July.”

“Will you try anyway?”

“Of course.”  It was amazing what one bit of good fortune could do for a person.  I made it through my shift without forgetting, or entering an order wrong, or spilling food on anyone.  Now all I had to do was make it through the audition without disgracing myself in some unknown way I hadn’t yet thought of. 

At the theater, the working lights above the stage were on, rather than the spots.  I was grateful for that, particularly when Melville didn’t give me a script.  Instead, he called me to the center of the stage, and asked me to tell him something about myself.  I supposed the other candidates sitting on chairs at the table behind me had already done this.

I tried to remember what my sister-in-law, Lynne told me about this part of the audition process.  ‘
Pretend they are your good friends.  Look above their heads.  And try to make it interesting or funny.’

“I grew up on a ranch in Florida.  I can ride a horse, rope a calf, and shoot a gun, talents which are of little use on Broadway.”  I waited, hoping to hear a little chuckle.  Nothing.  I could feel the perspiration gathering in my arm pits.  “I have two brothers and one sister.  My mother was a Native American princess until she married my father.  I have always been interested in musical theater, but when Lynne Cameron came to Florida and married my brother, my interest level went way up.  Lynne took over our community theater, and I was cast as Laurey in her production of Oklahoma.

I work at Monikers and make it a practice to spill food on people’s laps.  I also work at Antiques for Today and have not broken an expensive vase there yet.  It’s probably only a matter of time.”  At that point, I thought I had embarrassed myself enough.

I went to the table, sat down and looked out into the auditorium.  One of the women sitting next to Melville leaned over to say something in his ear. 

“Leslie, we’d like you to read from the top of page eighty eight to the bottom of ninety two.  You’ll be reading with John.  John, skip the kiss.”

A man rose from the other side of the table and came to center stage to stand next to me.  He was tall and dark haired and reminded me of Michael.  That thought helped me relax a bit and I scanned down the script pages.  It appeared I was playing the part of an innocent girl and John was trying to seduce me.  This scene followed the kiss Melville told him to skip. 

“
You liked it, didn’t you?  You liked me kissing you?”

“Yes, of course, but…”

“Sex is so much better than kissing.  Sex is…wonderful.”

I stared at him.  I’d heard these words before.  Maybe Adam hadn’t said it quite the same when he was convincing me to go to bed with him the first time, but it was close.  This poor girl was headed for the same predicament I was in.  Darn it, I should have been smarter.  This woman should be smarter.  “Sex makes babies.  Will you stay with me if I become pregnant?”

John stared at me and then directed his attention to the casting committee.  “She’s going off book.  I don’t know how to answer that.”

“It’s simple enough,” I said.  “Yes or no?”

“Harvey?”

I looked out into the auditorium and said, “I’m sorry.  No woman would look at a man and say “How wonderful is sex?  A woman would look at a man and say exactly what I said.  Or at least she should.”

Harvey Melville sat there, thinking she was expressing his own feeling about the script.  This scene in particular was unrealistic.  Even a girl as innocent as this character was purported to be would be wary of having sex and getting pregnant, even if the man did vow to protect himself. 

Harvey was known for his photographic memory when it came to faces.  He was also known for his ability to instantly shift gears in placing people where they would do his production the most good.   If he’d slated a woman for one role in an audition, and she delivered a line and got a laugh from his cast and crew, he’d shift her to another more comedic role.   “Leslie, would you come down here for a moment?”

I’d blown it.  He was going to toss me out on my ear.  Who did I think I was, rewriting the script?  Reluctantly, carefully, I descended the stairs into the auditorium.

“Leslie, I’d like you to do me a favor.  I’d like to bring you on my staff as an assistant writer.”

“Charlie will blow his top,” Helen said.

“Let him.  I had the feeling this script was off from the get go. If you would be willing to take this puppy home and give me suggestions on how we could tighten it up and make it more realistic, I’ll pay you five hundred dollars a week.  If you’d rather be on stage, I understand and you can continue through the audition process, but if my offer interests you, I think you could be of much more use to me in the assistant writer capacity.”

Assistant writer.  Five hundred dollars a week.  Steady income.  No more working at Monikers.  No more worrying about auditioning while I was pregnant.

“Do you really think I could be of some use to you?”

“No question about it.  Do you accept?”

“I do.”

“Good.  We’ve just said our vows, and now we’re married.  Here’s the script.  Can you work on it tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll expect some suggestions by Friday.  Maybe not for the whole script, but at least for Act I.”

“You’ll have them.”

“A woman I can trust.  I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.  See you on Friday here at eight o’clock so I can look at what you would change.”

“Eight o’clock in the morning?”

“Oh, my dear girl.  I didn’t even know there was an eight o’clock in the morning.  No, Friday evening.”

“I’ll be here.”

“I’m sure you will.”

He watched her scurry out of the auditorium, the script clutched tightly under her arm.  He felt better than he had in a long, long time.

He turned to his assistant.  “How did you spot the fact that she was pregnant?”

Helen smiled at him.  “I wasn’t sure at first.  But when she turned around, I could see the mask of pregnancy.  She tried to hide it with makeup, but these working stage lights are brutal.  They show everything.”

“I’ve had three wives and I’ve never heard of the mask of pregnancy.  What the hell is it?”

“Not all women have it.  It’s a slight discoloration around the mouth, forehead or cheeks.  Pregnancy causes a steep rise in estrogen and that in turn stimulates excess melanin.  The clinical name for it is chlosma.  It goes away after delivery.”