Canby spoke up. “I don’t know, maybe we should interview some other possibilities first, just to be safe.”
“Since she’s green, you won’t have to pay her as much,” I volunteered.
Mr. Canby’s eyebrows lifted. I’d found his weak spot. No doubt he was thinking of the savings in salary compared with a pricey veteran like Mr. Williams. Less overhead, more profit for him. “That’s true, I can’t pay Hazel as much. On top of her being a girl.”
Hazel’s eyes flashed. Now she really wanted the job. “I’m certainly not the first woman director on Broadway, by a long shot.”
“That’s true.” He snapped his fingers. “Let’s do it. As long as Maxine Mead plays Lina.”
I could have sworn Hazel winced, but it was too late. After some back-and-forth, Hazel and Mr. Canby shook hands. The deal was done. She was a director, and I had my first Broadway leading role.
Hazel was quiet during the cab ride. We passed the front of the hotel, where a few photographers lingered. “Take us to Twenty-Second Street,” she told the driver. I waited for her to thank me for acting as her de facto agent over what turned out to be a lucrative business dinner, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk.
We took the reverse route back into the Chelsea. I used the key that Mr. Bard had pressed into my hand earlier that evening to get into the basement door of the brownstone. Once in the tunnel, the only sounds were our footsteps and occasional drips of water, like we were in a cave deep in the earth.
Hazel walked ahead of me, her shoulders back and tight.
I couldn’t stand her freezing me out. “Look, I’m sorry if I got ahead of myself at the Tea Room,” I offered. “I know I don’t match what you picture in your head for Lina. But I can do it, I promise.”
“You’re wrong for the part. Entirely. She has to be able to blend into the background, at least at first.”
“I can blend into the background.”
“How? By putting yourself up for the part less than two minutes after meeting the creative team?”
“I didn’t do that. Canby did. I got you the job of directing, by the way. No thanks for that?” I tried to make her see the big picture the way I did. “Being a writer and director is a giant career leap, and it’ll serve you well going forward. And in the meantime, you get to work with an old friend. Is that so bad?”
“Look at you.” She gestured from my feet to my head. “You couldn’t look like a boy if you tried.”
Her rejection stung. If she only knew.
There was one way I could prove it to her, but it would take all the courage I had. I reminded myself this was Hazel, a friend. And I wanted this part, more than anything. I lifted my hand to the top of my head and gently tugged, letting the wig slide off. I held it by my side while she gaped at me.
My hair had been chopped off, each irregular piece no longer than a few inches. The color wasn’t the red I got from a rinse, but my natural color, more of a dirty blond. Her face reflected exactly what I feared: Without my mane, I was a wretched, ugly girl.
“What happened to you?”
“Arthur got angry. He held me down and cut it all off. That’s why I fled to New York. And that’s why I can do the role.” I paused. “I can play a boy, like this. I can play a girl playing a boy. You have to give me a chance, that’s all I ask. One chance.”
We talked well into the night.
I told Hazel that Arthur had become increasingly cruel over the past year, taunting me and pushing me to fight, then apologizing and swearing he’d never do it again. He’d been under a lot of stress, and while we’d always had arguments in the past, they’d begun spiraling out of control. This last time, after we’d both had too many drinks, I’d confided to Arthur that the movie producer had pawed at me, offering up several guesses as to the size of my brassiere at the film audition, the one that had just been announced as going to Marilyn Monroe. Arthur said something snide about how I shouldn’t be so precious about sleeping my way to the top, since my talent obviously wasn’t enough to get me there on its own, and I’d tried to smack him. Bad mistake. That only made him angrier, and before I knew it, he’d grabbed a fistful of my hair and was dragging me to the bathroom. He picked up a set of shearing scissors and, with a knee to my chest, snipped off two thick locks of hair before coming to his senses, collapsing on the floor beside me. We both wept. I told him to get out, and once he was gone, I finished the job, doing my best to even it up as tears streamed down my face.
“He’s horrible. I’m glad you’re free of him,” Hazel finally said.
“There’s more to me than a vamp. I can do the part of Lina, I swear I can.” I stayed still while Hazel studied me.
“Why don’t we read through Lina’s part together, up in my room?” she suggested.
“Tonight?”
“Why not? Time is of the essence.”
Hazel and I worked until dawn. She spoke of the character’s desires, and her weaknesses. Scene by scene, we picked apart the motivations, focusing on Lina’s desire to be with the man she loved, while hiding her true identity from the others. Around five in the morning, I read the character’s final monologue, and when I looked up, Hazel’s eyes were shining.
“Yes. You should play Lina. I never should have doubted you. This role is yours, and I’d be honored to have you involved.”
“The honor is all mine.”
Hazel invited me to sit in on the auditions a few hours later. The morning was spent finding the right actor for the character of the male lead, Matthew, and we had more than enough to choose from—the talent pool in New York was tremendous—but everyone agreed on a man named Jake Simmons, who hit all the right notes of desperation and desire.
During a coffee break, Mr. Canby said he’d invited a potential costume designer to stop by to meet Hazel, so I stepped off to the side to grab a donut, which I almost dropped when Hazel let out a screech like she was being attacked by bees.
She was hugging someone, and as they disentangled, I screeched as well.
Floyd, our artist from Naples. The boy who had done our caricatures had grown into a lovely young man in the past half decade, with an easy smile yet still sporting a slight hunch to his shoulders, like he was afraid of taking up too much space.
Turned out, he’d come to New York after the war, taken costume design classes, and landed a few decent gigs. Hazel’s eyes widened as he listed some of the shows he worked on. “Those costumes were excellent! You’re a real rising star.”
“Well, I owe it all to you two ladies.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, while his face turned scarlet. “After the USO shows, I decided I wanted to get into theater, too, and here I am.”
Hazel pulled Mr. Canby aside and they shared a quick whisper. She looked over at us, beaming. “Floyd, you’ve got the job. See you next week at the first rehearsal.”
After we’d all hugged again and he’d taken his leave, we got another surprise guest, Brandy Sainsbury, the girlfriend of the ex-director. Or ex-girlfriend of the ex-director, apparently. She showed up at her appointed time, all meek and mealy, and asked to read for one of the smaller roles. Hazel, that saint, allowed it and Brandy wasn’t half-bad, so I wasn’t surprised when Hazel offered her the part. Floyd’s arrival had put all of us into a good mood.
I spent the rest of the week getting my New York life in order, setting up the room Mr. Bard had offered me down the hall from Hazel’s. Much to Hazel’s relief, I’m sure. She was such a neat little girl, her desk perfectly arranged with her typewriter, a stack of paper, a thesaurus, and nothing else.
At the first rehearsal, I stepped through the backstage door and was handed a key for my dressing room, but before heading up, I snuck into the back of the house to catch my breath. The Biltmore Theatre is gorgeous, with plasterwork like ornamental lace on the walls, and a ceiling that soars high above the balcony seats. Hazel and Mr. Canby were standing at the foot of the stage, waving their arms about and doing whatever it is directors and producers do. How strange, to not be on the same level anymore. Now I was working for her. Still, it was way better than being in Arthur’s clutches, any day.