Paris, Adrift Page 6

  “Can I say ‘no’ now?”

  “We have to expand your career. Cabaret is shrinking. This play, this musical, will show a huge audience what you can do. It could open up Hollywood to you, expand your radio and television careers beyond the gourmet cooking shows and the occasional talk show. I’m asking you to trust me here. Let me tell him yes, you’ll do it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t trust me?”

  “Can’t do it. I’m sorry I’m letting you down.”

  “You’re not. But I think you’re letting you down.”

  I limped over to where she stood and put my arms around her. She quickly slipped out of my grasp. “You should get more sleep,” she said, pushing the drawer in.

  “Juliana, are we splitting up?”

  She slid a few bangle bracelets onto her wrist. “Splitting up? How can we split up when we’ve never been together?”

  “We haven’t?”

  She sighed, not turning to me. “Dammit, Al, we’re not Shirl and Mercy and you know it. I never pretended to you that we were. I’m married.”

  “You’ve always been married, but still we’ve been close, loving. So why now?”

  “This.” She held her arms out wide. “This. All this.”

  “What?”

  “Richard’s supposed to be here. We are not Shirl and Mercy.” She took a breath. “I have to bring this tomato juice to Scott. There are aspirins in my purse for your headache.”

  She took the glass of tomato juice from the tray that lay on the vanity and walked out.

  * * *

  Despite the throbbing in my head—Juliana’s aspirins weren’t working—I got dressed in a business suit to meet Mr. Schuyler in the cocktail lounge.

  I passed by the chapel but backed up when I saw Juliana seated in a middle pew with a veil over her bowed head, her rosary threaded through her fingers. I stood near the door watching her for a few moments, my body filling with pain and rage. I wished she’d explain her faith to me and why it made it so easy for her to deny I had any part in her life. I headed for the lounge.

  “Miss Huffman,” Mr. Schuyler called from a corner table, standing. One couple sat at the bar laughing, a few others were scattered about, chatting at tables. A pianist played softly in the background.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Schuyler.”

  He helped me into my chair and returned to his seat. “Your drink is a sidecar, I believe?”

  “No. No, I never drink that,” I said nervously, wondering how he knew since I’d taken the precaution of not having one single sidecar on the ship. He must have been studying me closely in New York to know my preferred drink. More closely than I would expect from someone who merely wanted to “learn” from me. I took off my gloves and placed them in my purse. “I don’t think I’ll have any alcohol this afternoon. A ginger ale would be nice.”

  “Yes. Good for the stomach. I imagine after last night your stomach is a little raw.” He signaled for the waiter.

  “I’m so sorry about that. It’s not something I’m accustomed to doing.”

  “I know. I found you entertaining, though. You have a sweet voice.”

  “But we’re here to talk business.”

  “I’m eager to hear your response to the script, Miss Huffman. The writers are waiting with bated breath to hear that Miss Juliana will sing their songs.”

  “Then I’m indeed sad to have to disappoint them.”

  “She said no?”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s a beautiful script and I know you’ll find someone else who’ll—”

  “There is no one else, Miss Huffman. Go back and make her.”

  I laughed. “Oh, Mr. Schuyler, no one ‘makes’ Juliana do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

  The waiter placed our drinks in front of us.

  “You can. She simply must do this. There is an investor who insists—”

  “What investor?”

  “I can’t tell you, but you have to convince her. My career depends on it.”

  “There is no bigger fan of Juliana than myself, Mr. Schuyler, but even I know that there must be someone else who can—”

  “There isn’t. You have to change her mind.”

  “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “It was written for her.”

  “Why would you commission a script before you knew if she would be interested?”

  “I didn’t commission it. The gentleman who paid the writers did. Our major investor is in love with her. He will accept no one else. I told him I could get her for him. There must be something you and I can—”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have said that before you asked Juliana. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Schuyler.”

  I started to rise from my seat when he said “No!” and placed a firm hand around my wrist.

  “Mr. Schuyler, please, let go of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, still holding on. “Sit down, Miss Huffman. I’m not finished with you.”

  “Excuse me? Do I need to call for help?”

  He leaned close to me and whispered, “I know.”

  “You know what?”

  “You know what I know.”

  “You’re sounding needlessly mysterious, Mr. Schuyler. Thank you for the ginger ale.” I tried to pull my wrist from his firm grasp but couldn’t.

  “I know what you two are.”

  “What are you talking about?” My heart banged against my chest. I stood straighter, attempting to appear composed.

  “Sit and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  I sat down and he released my wrist.

  “I told you I’ve studied you. I don’t need to say out loud what I know about you two, do I?”

  “What is this about, Mr. Schuyler?”

  “I had hoped never to have to say this to you, but it’s simple. I have an opportunity to revive my career, my reputation, if I put up this musical with Juliana. I have a secret investor who will only support this project with her in it. If she doesn’t sign these papers . . .” He reached into his inside pocket and took out a fat envelope and pushed it across the table toward me. “I will publicly declare what I know about you two, and I have a witness who’ll back me up.”

  “A witness? A witness to what?”

  “Well, perhaps we should call this person a colleague. Could we go so far as to term this person a friend? It’s hard to say. Inevitable, I suppose, in your line of work—a maker of careers—to alienate someone without knowing it. I mean, they wouldn’t tell you and risk losing your goodwill. Would they? A terrible thought, though, to think there could be someone in your circle who has betrayed you. A colleague, a friend, someone who has put me wise to the ugly truth of you two. It would make such a scandal, don’t you think? And think of the headlines. The newspapers would love it.”

  “You’re talking blackmail, Mr. Schuyler.”

  “Well, I suppose you could go to the authorities and report me, but if you do, nothing will keep your secret out of the papers, Miss Huffman. And you know what that will mean to both of your careers. Not to mention the worldwide humiliation Juliana would be subjected to. He leaned toward me. “If you’re thinking Juliana can ride this out, wait till it blows over, recall what the public did to Ingrid Bergman when she tried to come back into our country.”

  “But she was pregnant with that Italian director’s baby, while she had an American husband at home. Juliana has never done anything remotely similar.”

  “No. She’s done something much worse.” He chuckled. “Remember that Senator Johnson from Texas yelling from the Senate floor that Bergman was an ‘influence for evil,’ ‘a terrible role model for women.’ I wonder what he’d say about Juliana?”

  “Please. You can
’t do this.” I knew I sounded as weak as I felt and that was not good with a guy like this.

  He sat back in his chair once more. “Look, I hate putting you under this strain. I do. I like you. I wish this could’ve remained simply a friendly business arrangement, but I see it can’t be that way. My numbers are on those papers. Call me in Paris when they’re signed. Don’t take too long.” He stood. “Enjoy your ginger ale, Miss Huffman. I shall settle the bill with the waiter. I am no cad.”

  Dazed, I left the cocktail lounge, walking through passageways and around corners without direction. I couldn’t bear to think. What am I going to do? I leaned on the railing looking out across the endless expanse of sea and sky. They were calm. A wisp of cloud feathered by. The sun’s rays cut through them like sharp spears. Ingrid Berman’s face from Casablanca popped into my mind. Such a beautiful film and she was spectacular in it. The critics and the public had been in love with her, but five years ago. . . In a day, she went from darling to slut. Hedda and Louella went after her like hungry wolves, the public boycotted her films. She’d never come back to the U.S. again, not unless she wanted a mob to tar and feather her. All of that was for heterosexual sins. What would they do to a—homosexual, a beloved cabaret singer who hid who she truly was by flirting with men? A married woman. It’d be bad for me, but for Juliana. . . She’d have nowhere in the world to go. Not even Italy. I imagine Richard would divorce her. My stomach ached.

  I pushed myself away from the railing to walk—to walk away the pain, to walk away the fear. I blindly bumped right into Juliana. “Oh. Excuse me,” I said as if she were a stranger.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to move past her.

  “Can we walk?”

  “Sure.”

  She’d changed into a short-sleeved blue-and-white striped dress made of crisp cotton; it was cinched around her waist with a blue belt.

  We walked in silence, the air warm, not sure how to reach across the chasm between us. Plus, I couldn’t stop worrying. —Who was this colleague, or “friend” who betrayed us. He specifically said it was my friend or colleague, not Juliana’s. I had brought us to this edge. My heart pounded like a demented kettledrum banging against my rib cage. I quickly flipped through my mental wheeldex of friends: Shirl? Never. Mercy? Why would she? Max? Ridiculous. He’d have as much to lose as me and nothing to gain. Scott? No. Marty? He’s my buddy. I backtracked to Scott. Could his fear of being gay have allowed Dan Schuyler to blackmail him? A pang of sadness. No. Maybe. Who else? Virginia? Absurd. She can barely carry on a conversation. Richard? He came under Juliana’s “friends,” plus I was sure he didn’t know; if he did, we wouldn’t be here. How did Dan know who my friends were? All right, yes, he observed me, but a person like that . . . Could he tell the difference between a friend, a colleague, an acquaintance, or even an . . . enemy? Did I have those? What could I have possibly done to this someone that would make him . . . her? . . . want to destroy us? How would I ever tell Juliana that she had to do the very thing she was most afraid of doing, because if she didn’t the worst thing she could imagine happening would happen? I had brought Juliana to the brink of some cliff and I was going to be the one to push her off. How could I tell her? Of course, Max would have no choice but to fire me. I’d lose all my clients. Who’d want to be represented by a mentally disturbed, potentially criminal, unnatural woman? A thing. I’d lose my gay clients too, like Marty. It would be too dangerous for him to be represented by me. I’d never work again, at least not in show business or government or civil service; Is there anything left? I’d be poor again. Maybe scraping by in low level jobs like my father. I’d hate that. I did have savings and stocks, so I could hang on for a while. But my work in cabaret. I must have that. It was my life. Still—I’d survive it. Somehow. But Juliana . . .? She was used to being adored. If it came out that she was . . . The worst for me would be that this would most likely be the end of us, and that I didn’t know how I would live through.

  “You know,” Juliana spoke into our silence. “You were pretty good last night.”

  “Oh, please,” I hid my eyes behind my hand. “Every time I think of it I cringe.”

  “You have a nice voice.”

  “For singing to babies and in the shower. That’s what Max told me a long time ago.”

  “Is that why you stopped singing? Because of Max? He can be cruel. I remember when you and I first met, singing was one of the things you wanted to do.”

  “It hurt when he said it, but I think he ultimately saved me a lot of heartache and wasted time steering my life in the wrong direction. And then, of course, there was you.”

  “Me?”

  “The first time I heard you sing, it was like the gods were playing their harps inside my body.”

  “That sounds more like sexual excitement than singing.”

  “It was both. They’re both tangled up together pretty tightly when it comes to you. And when I heard you sing up close without a band or orchestra. That first time in your apartment. Well, I didn’t know it then, but I guess that was my gift. To know brilliance when I heard it, singing that touches the divine.”

  “Except when I sing ballads.”

  “No. You’ve gotten way past that. You can sing anything now.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “I didn’t do anything but bring out what was already there. That’s what I do. And when I heard you sing, I knew my voice would never come close to yours.”

  “Well, I had a lot of training and advantages you didn’t. That doesn’t mean you can’t sing. You can, and you should. Let’s go in here.”

  She dipped down and slipped past a railing. I held back. Could Dan’s witness be on the ship? Scott? Could someone be watching us now? Dan? “Uh, Juliana, maybe we shouldn’t. It’s close to teatime.”

  “I want to show you something.” She headed down a set of wooden steps.

  I looked around before I went under the railing. All I saw was the sky and a few passengers standing on an upper deck talking. I followed Juliana down onto the lowest deck where they kept the cars that were being transported to Europe. It was packed with different kinds of expensive motor vehicles. We walked around them. “Look at this Rolls Royce,” Juliana said. “Richard wants one of these, but I keep telling him they’re too expensive. And too showy.” She bent to peer through the window. “Look, it has a red interior.”

  “And over there,” she pointed. “Another Rolls.” She ran over to it. “White and black interior.”

  Juliana leaned her back against the shiny black car. “When I was around three and Mother and I were coming back from the States to Paris, I played on a deck very much like this, running around and crawling under the cars.”

  “Only three and crawling under cars all by yourself? That sounds dangerous.”

  “No. Sometimes, Mother had ‘company’ if you know what I mean, and I couldn’t stay in the cabin when she was—you know, uh, ‘entertaining’ a guest.”

  “I’ve always wondered about your mother ‘you know-ing’ with different men. Didn’t that make your father mad?”

  “Quite a bit,” she laughed. “It led eventually to them separating permanently.” A sadness fell over her; she seemed suddenly alone. “I never should have left her there by herself,” she said, but not really to me.

  “What?” I asked.

  She smiled, washing the sadness away. “I was living with Shirl and she practically had to tie me down to keep me from getting into some real trouble. I would do anything in those days. I was wild. I wanted jazz, dancing, sex. I slept with two, three different girls a week. White girls, Negro girls, Caribbean girls, Spanish girls. I even smoked marijuana for a while.”

  “You smoked reefer and didn’t get addicted?”

  “No. I got high. You go to a lot of parties with m
usicians. Haven’t you ever indulged?”

  “No,” I said, defensively. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “You are so good.”

  “I am not.”

  “I didn’t mean that as an insult. You’re naturally good.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay, okay, you’re not. It was quite pleasant. The marijuana. How did you manage not to at least try it? You must’ve had plenty of opportunities.”

  “Sure. But I saw this movie about it way back when I was little. My church showed it. It scared me to death. After a while, I figured out that the movie was exaggerated. None of the musicians I knew got crazy like in the movie, but I can’t get past the fear.”

  “It made me eat a lot, so I decided to stick to bootleg hootch. I didn’t want to get fat. I’m no stranger to hangovers. Only when I woke up with them, I was sixteen, not thirty-two.”

  “See? I do know how to be bad.”

  “Yes, you do.” She had a big grin on her face. “Shall we go in? How about the one with the red upholstery?” She hurried over to that Rolls and pulled on the backdoor handle.

  “We can’t. Someone owns this.”

  “So? We’re not going to drive it. We’re only going to sit in it. “

  “Like Bette Davis and Paul Henreid in Now Voyager?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t know, Juliana.” I looked around the deck. Could someone be hiding somewhere, under a car, in a car, watching us?

  “Have you ever felt the interior of a Rolls Royce?” she asked.

  “No, but . . .”

  She crawled into the back seat. “Come on in. Close the door.”

  My eyes scanned the area again. I didn’t see anyone, so I tentatively crawled in beside her, leaving the door open. “Jeepers,” I exclaimed. “This leather is soft.”

  “Uh, huh.” She leaned over me to close the door.

  “No!” I squeaked. “It’s, uh, I mean, warm in here, don’t you think?”