Heaven Is to Your Left Read online

  “You’re a pretty tough girl, aren’t you?” he said. “You can do anything.”

  “I can get Lili. She’s my client. Just rip up Juliana’s contract and give me the pieces and I’ll—”

  “You’ll make everything all right. Won’t you? All I have to do is rip up this contract.” He held up some bulky folded papers. That must be it—the contract. If I could only reach out and grab it . . . “Oh, yes, I’ll just do that. I’ll rip this right up.” He tore the folded piece to bits. “My main investor will only do the show with Juliana.”

  “Who is he? I’ll convince him to do it with Lili.”

  “You really are something, missy, aren’t you? My investor only wants Juliana. I told you that on the ship.”

  “Then dump him. You’ll be able to raise the money with Lili.”

  “Hmm? Now, that’s an interesting proposition. You want me to take the best deal I’ve ever had, one that’s guaranteed, and throw it in the toilet on your say so.” He started to laugh as he tore up more paper and threw it around the room. He fell out of his seat with laughter. His laughter turned ugly; it was the growl of a wild animal. He rolled around on the floor, his joy sounding more like agony.

  I stood over him. “Schuyler!” I shouted. “Stop this and listen to me.” His body jackknifed, almost knocking me to the ground. I jumped out of the way in time. His laughter and jerky movements grew wilder and wilder. It seemed like he was having some kind of fit. He wouldn’t stop, so I ran from the place.

  “We’re going to have to be more careful than we ever have,” Juliana said softly. “We can’t afford even the slightest slipup or Schuyler will ruin both our lives.”

  “I know,” I said. Her perfume surrounded me with the faint scent of lemons, and I wanted to reach out and . . . I couldn’t do that. The most innocent touch would now be more suspect than ever. But what if she really couldn’t do it? What if she got so scared she froze and really did flop? What would Schuyler do to us then? No, don’t think like that. She can do it. She will do it. She’ll make his show a hit; he’ll get the big reputation he wants, outdo his father, and then leave us alone.

  The pilot made a fairly smooth landing with only a few more bumps and knocks before we were down and coasting toward the area where we’d exit. My legs were stiff from sitting there for nine hours.

  Standing at the top of the steps near the stewardess, watching the people below gripping their winter coats as they pushed through the glass doors eager to meet their loved ones, was like watching a silent black-and-white movie in slow motion. A steady flurry of white flakes hit the black pavement and melted, no sound; people dressed in gray moved their mouths, no sound. My terror was shutting out all sound, all color, and even normal movement. Then I saw Max in his London Fog and fedora looking as dapper as ever, and the world’s color rushed back in.

  “There he is,” I said to Juliana as we started down the steps.

  “Where?” she asked, holding onto her wide-brimmed hat so it didn’t fly into the wind. I thought I heard excitement in her voice. Or was that relief?

  “There. Leaning against the building where all those people are waiting behind the rope, waving and yelling.”

  “No, I don’t . . . Oh, yes. Yes. There he is.”

  Yes, I thought, there he is. He’ll save us from Schuyler.

  Workmen in blue shirts and pants bumped into each other trying to get a good look at her. Who could blame them? She was breathtaking in her Jacques Fath double-breasted green suit and mink jacket. I held my fox stole tighter around my shoulders; it was cold. Daylight was fading fast into January’s early darkness. Snow drifted down onto our heads.

  We stepped onto the macadam and pushed past the crowds grabbing for loved ones as they hurried away from snow and cold into the reception area. Max, who’d been leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette in his holder, straightened up as we approached. I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. He pulled me close. “You’re home, kid. You’re finally home.” His Clark Gable mustache wiggled up and down like maybe he was trying not to cry.

  “So, you missed me, huh? You really missed me?”

  “Of course, I did. You left me with two—two clubs to run all by myself.”

  “And that’s the only reason?”

  “What other reason could there be?” He grinned, tapping me on the head. He gently swept snow from the top of my flat hat with the side of his hand. Then, looking closer, he said, “Did you get your hair cut?”

  “Yup!” I said, ripping my hat off. “Jule got it for me.”

  “She did?”

  He looked over my head at Juliana. “Well, if she approves, it must be all right.”

  “And how exactly do you mean that, Max?” Juliana said stiffly.

  Walking past me toward Juliana, he said, “Only in the best possible way, dear. Welcome home.”

  “Hello, Max.” I heard a slight quiver in her voice as she hurried to slide her black gloves off; she placed them in her handbag and took out a match to light a Galois. The snow immediately dampened the match.

  “Allow me,” Max said, pulling a lighter from his coat pocket and flicking it at her cigarette.

  “Thank you.” She took a puff. She only smoked when she was nervous or upset.

  “It’s good to see you,” Max said.

  “Is it?” she said, still withholding any warm feelings.

  “Yes, Juliana. It is,” Max said.

  They sighed simultaneously, a sigh that perhaps signaled the end of sixteen years of exhausting animosity. The two of them had hardly spoken to each other in all that time. Despite the different rumors about why, no one knew for sure. Some said it was because Juliana chose Richard over Max to manage her career; others said it was because they’d fallen in love but couldn’t do much about it, both being gay. Still others insisted that Max got mad because Juliana married Richard, making her life a lie and forcing Richard to unknowingly participate in it.

  From a distance, I saw Richard pushing his way through the crowds to get to us. For a chubby little guy, he certainly could weave his way through a crowd. And always polite. That’s one thing you could say about Richard. He was always polite. He wore a thick gray overcoat, which made him look chubbier than he really was, and a fedora pressed way down on his head. He reached us and threw his arms around his wife. “Julie, my girl, you’re home, you’re home.” Juliana extended her cheek and Richard kissed it. “It’s only a little bit of snow,” Richard said. “You would’ve thought it was a big storm the way everything is gummed up on the highway. The traffic just wouldn’t move. Sorry I’m late.” He put another kiss on her cheek.

  “You’re not late, honey,” Juliana assured him. “We just got here.”

  She called him honey. I’d never heard her do that before.

  “Max,” Juliana began, “I believe you’ve met my husband, Richard.”

  “Yes.” Max extended his hand. “It’s been a long time. Good to see you, Richard.”

  I wondered how hard that was for Max.

  “Who expected this snow?” Richard said, taking Max’s hand.

  “Well, it is January,” Max said.

  “Julie, you must be frozen,” Richard said.

  “A little cold around the legs, yes,” she said. “But this jacket keeps the rest of me warm.”

  “Always like to dress my girl in the warmest. Max, let’s get the girls inside.”

  Max and Richard guided Juliana and I toward the door. Max stopped, looking closely at Juliana, so we all stopped. “Did you cut off your hair too?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I did.” She took off her hat.

  “Julie!” Richard gasped.

  “What? It’s very French. All the rage in Paris.”

  “Yes, but . . . Your beautiful long hair . . .”

  “Old-fashioned, Richard. I need to keep up-to-date.”

  “Well, I-I suppose, but . . .” He looked like he might cry.

  “Well, I like it,” Max announced. “
Very modern.”

  “Thank you.” Jule nodded at Max.

  “Very attractive, dear,” Richard choked out.

  As we moved closer to the door, Richard grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. “What do you think, Al?”

  “Me? I love it. Don’t worry, Richard, you’ll get used to it.” I couldn’t blame Richard for being shocked. I was ready to kill her the first time I saw she’d had her signature black tresses cut off. But after I got over the shock, I had to admit the style looked great. “Richard, it’s working like gangbusters for Ava Garner, so why not Jule? It’s very French. Perfect for her.”

  “Okay. If you say so, Al. You’re the one who knows.”

  Max helped Juliana put her hat back on. As we entered into the airport lounge, flash cameras instantly blinked in Juliana’s face. She squinted and covered her eyes. Max took her arm, guiding her through a pressing crowd. “Okay, easy boys.”

  “Did you set this up?” Juliana asked Max.

  “Not me. I had a quiet homecoming planned at my place.”

  “Al?” Max asked.

  “No.”

  I looked at Richard.

  “Don’t jump on me,” Richard said. “I didn’t plan it.”

  I looked around the crowded room of autograph seekers trying to get close to her. A couple of reporters from small unimportant TV stations like channel five and nine were pressing toward her with microphones. Juliana was known in the nightclub circuit, but she wasn’t Frank Sinatra or Jimmy Durante so why were they flocking around her? Something was wrong. Ordinarily, this would thrill me, but . . . Then I saw . . . Way in the back. Schuyler.

  “Oh, Miss Juliana, I just love you,” a pimply-faced teenage girl gushed as she pushed her autograph book into Juliana’s stomach. She wore one of those popular poodle skirts with a raised flamingo on the front. “I have all of your records, and when I heard you were going to be starring on Broadway I thought I’d perish. Just perish. Could you make it out to ‘Candy’?”

  “All right, Candy,” Juliana said with her well-practiced smile of patience for clumsy young people. As she handed Candy back her book, she gave me a look that I read as, “What is this?”

  I turned to Richard. “You didn’t plan it, but you knew about it, didn’t you?”

  “Well, uh, Dan said this would be good for the show and Julie’s career and as her manager—”

  “Why didn’t you at least wire me?”

  “Dan wanted to keep it a secret.

  “Oh, did Dan? You and Dan wanted to keep it a secret from me? Thanks, Richard, thanks a lot. And where was Dan when your mother got sick and you couldn’t go to Paris. I just got back from a grueling trip, running the whole show, doing your job, Mr. Manager and you—”

  “You’re right. You are completely right. I should’ve told you. I wasn’t thinking, but you’re completely right.”

  “I sure the hell am, and it better not happen again. I want to know everything that’s happening or is about to happen with Juliana’s career. That’s our deal. I run the show.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

  “Okay.” I reined in my anger, some of it very real, but some of it put on to make sure Richard didn’t think he would ever really be in control of Jule’s career. Schuyler was manipulating us already and we hadn’t even been home five minutes.

  “It’s okay,” I said again to Richard, who was looking upset. I couldn’t take this out on him. He only wanted what was best for Juliana. He didn’t know the kind of strain she was under. He must never know that. I sidled over to Max, who stood against the wall, smoking.

  “Max?”

  “Yes?”

  “Aren’t you going to do something?”

  “About what? Disperse a crowd that’s nuts for her? Really, Al, you’re a better businesswoman than that.”

  “She’s exhausted. And this is just another one of Schuyler’s tricks to own her. I bet more than half these people don’t even know who she is.”

  “But tomorrow morning they will; everyone will.”

  “It’s a publicity stunt.”

  “A damn good one.” He left me to stand by Juliana’s side, making sure he was in some of those pictures. He was always doing what was good for business.

  Furious, I pushed through the crowds, ducking the flashbulbs popping all around, trying to get to Schuyler. This sort of thing could raise the public’s expectations of her sky high, which would make it all that much harder to please them. He was setting her up for a gigantic fall.

  I was charging through the bottleneck of people when I tripped over the leg of someone’s home-movie-camera tripod and almost fell into Schuyler’s arms.

  “What is this?” I yelled over the din.

  He tightened his tie and brushed back a clump of black hair from his forehead. “PR for the show, of course.” He held both of his hands in the air, forming an invisible newspaper headline: “BROADWAY STAR RETURNS TO THE GOOD OL’ US OF A. Or “JULIANA CONQUERS PARIS.” You didn’t think I’d miss this opportunity, did you? The Herald and Daily Mirror are going to have something on it tomorrow.”

  “She isn’t a Broadway star.”

  “Yet.”

  “Yet. Do you have any idea what incredible stress you are putting on her?”

  “I’m merely putting an idea into the minds of her future fans. This’ll make it easier for her to soar once she’s actually on Broadway.”

  “Or give her a greater fall. The New York critics are going to be hungry for a second fall after a hullaballoo like this. They’ll be chomping at the bit to humiliate her for even having the audacity to attempt a second Broadway show after her last flop. You should’ve consulted me first.”

  “I consulted her manager.” He bent close to me and whispered with an ugly grin, “You’re just her bull dyke.” He straightened up. “She looks lovely, doesn’t she? Signing those autographs. A glamorous Broadway star. That’s what I’m doing for her.”

  She did look lovely. And he was the one doing it for her, not me. My heart was slowly sliding into my stomach. I watched as Juliana signed another young girl’s autograph book and then a teenaged boy’s. I remembered the young girl I’d been the first time I met her in person. It was in her dressing room after a show. She sat at her vanity, sliding a stocking down one of her legs. I stood there foolishly holding out my program toward her, strange, unfamiliar feelings jumping up and down inside me.

  “Did you want me to sign that?” she asked

  “Oh, yes, would you?” I gushed.

  “No,” she said, sliding down the second stocking. I wanted to run out of that room and hide. “I have a feeling,” she continued, padding across the floor to her Japanese screen, “you and I are going to know each other for a long time. I’ll sign that when we know each other better, when it will mean something.” That was almost sixteen years ago.

  I saved and protected that program through all the passing years, waiting for the day when it would be signed. When that day finally arrived—her opening at the Copa—she couldn’t sign it. It was too hard for her to express her feelings to me on a program. I guess we got to know each other too well. I’d carefully preserved that unsigned program in saran wrap and kept it in my night table drawer next to my bed. But the memories—the memories of that unsigned program—those I would keep inside me forever.

  Chapter Two

  The snow that started the previous night at the airport continued. It wasn’t putting any brakes on New York City traffic, but it sure was slowing things down a bit. I entered the Haven. The orchestra was playing the pre-show music; I stomped my feet on the “Welcome to the Haven” doormat and hopped to the lobby wall. I tore off my too-tight galoshes. Luckily, the cab driver had pulled right up to the curb, so my dark green Madeleine de Rauch gown made with honest-to-goodness Robert Perrier silk from Paris didn’t get dragged through the slush. My fox stole was falling off one shoulder, and my hat was a little dented from a snowball some brat threw at me from a
cross the street. I felt a little bedraggled, but when I checked my parts, everything seemed to be in the right place. I took my heels out of the felt bag I carried and dumped my galoshes inside.

  I straightened up when I heard Marty’s soft baritone drifting into the lobby. I thought he was still in Hollywood learning to ride a horse. He was singing “Dancing in the Dark,” and I pictured the dance floor crowded with couples in each other’s arms. I was home. I had a momentary imagining of Juliana and me dancing under the Haven’s blue dome like we had at Chez Moune in Paris.

  I stood at the entrance to our main dining room. It looked a little empty for the hour; only a few sat at the round tables on the edge having a pre-show dinner. The snow, I guessed.

  A couple—he in a tux, she in a gown and stole—rushed past me heading to the coat check booth. He helped her slip out of her wrap. I stopped short, only able to see Bertha’s hands reaching for their things from the coat check booth. I took a deep breath and hurried toward my office. “Hi,” Bertha said cheerfully as I walked past her booth. I kept walking. “Welcome home,” she yelled after me. “We missed you.” I needed to make it into my office before she found some reason to follow me and do some ridiculous…

  She stepped in front of me and started dusting the rug in front of my office door. “Uh, Bertha, please. That isn’t necessary.” She had to be the one who was in cahoots with Schuyler. The one who told him about Juliana and me. But how would she know? She was always in my office dusting or straightening something, even when I told her not to. Was there anything in there that would give us away?

  “Please, Bertha! Stop sweeping. I want to get into my office.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she said, backing up. She slid the broom across the rug past my feet, bowing all the way back to her coat check booth.

  Disgusted, I unlocked my door, shoved it open, threw my wrap and my navy blue hat onto my office chair without bothering with the light, and headed toward the dining room, wondering if Juliana had arrived yet.

  Max, in his tuxedo, dashed about giving orders to the waiters and busboys; he frantically straightened ashtrays that didn’t need straightening and poked at the yellow roses in the crystal vases in the center of the tables. He sure was going all out for Juliana’s first visit to his Swing Street club. It was like he was expecting the new queen of England. I imagined he considered Juliana in the same vein and, well, she did have a lord for a father. I suppose that meant technically she was Lady Juliana. She would’ve hit me in the head if I ever called her that.