"Dart, Iris Rainer - Beaches 01 - Beaches" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dart Iris Rainer)

remember. She hadn't seen John Perry yet, and maybe seeing him would make her feel better. He'd adored her audition in New York. She could tell, even though he tried to be real calm about it. She knew he would make a big fuss over her this afternoon when they all went down to have their first look at the theater.
"The theayter," as Leona would call it. Leona. Poor Leona. Jeez, she was a wreck at the Port Authority. You'd think she was the one who was going away. She must have gone into the ladies' room six times while they were waiting for the bus. And when the voice finally came over the loudspeaker announcing departures, she started fanning herself and taking real deep breaths as if she was maybe going to faint. Acting as if Cee Cee was running away from home, like it wasn't her own idea to begin with.
Subscribing to Backstage, and every time it came, sitting at the kitchen table with her half-glasses that Cee Cee's dad said made her look like she was Benjamin Franklin's mother; and then he had to apologize because Leona got pissed off at him (for a change). Always Leona turned to the page where it said "Casting" at the top, and read it very carefully and slowly, going through the breakdowns, sometimes reading a few words out loud so Cee Cee could hear, while she was eating her breakfast. "Woman, early twenties-young Jean Harlow . . . no," she'd say, moving her chubby finger down the page as Cee Cee hoped there would be nothing that sounded right for her to try for, again, and be disappointed, again. And mainly disappoint Leona again.
Eventually, something would be right, and Leona would make Cee Cee call in sick to her receptionist's job, which she liked a lot, at her cousin Myra's father-in-law's dentist's office. Even though the others at the office always knew the truth, which was that Cee Cee and Leona were going to schlep into Manhattan so Cee Cee could audition for another Broadway musical, they always said, "Okay, Gee. Hope you feel better," before they hung up.
And it was the same every time. Without an Equity card, Cee Cee could only go to cattle calls. She would stand in the cold waiting rooms, waiting to go into a rehearsal hall or onto a work-lit stage, clutching her music and shivering, trying to look grown-up even though her mother was with her, wondering why all the other girls in slinky outfits weren't cold enough to wear their coats or jerky enough to bring their mothers along. At least, it had been the same until now. She had to get it into her head that she really had the job. And she was excited. She loved telling her cousin Myra (with the three kids in Riverdale) she'd have to leave the phones at Dr. Jacoby's office to someone else because she was off to do summer stock. She even wrote it in a letter to her friend in Pittsburgh, Bertie White.
Bertie had been excited for Cee Cee. Bertie was always excited. At least, she used a lot of exclamation points in her letters, which made her seem excited. She told Cee Cee she was proud of her, which nobody had ever told Cee Cee before, except maybe her dad once when she got a strike, by accident, when he took her bowling. Bertie also said she loved Beach Haven and maybe, only maybe, she might be there herself sometime this summer!! Her Uncle Herbie, who was a bookie, had walked out on her Aunt Anita (Bertie called her Neetie) for a younger woman, and this Neetie was talking about going to the beach at Ship Bottom, one town away from Beach Haven, probably to cry her eyes out, and maybe she would bring Bertie along!!!!
Christ, it would be weird to see Bertie, after all those years of just looking at those dumb school pictures she sent in her letters, with her hair in that God-awful ponytail.
A voice downstairs yelled, "Car leaving for the theater."
Cee Cee tried to relax. She wouldn't be afraid. She'd act real strong. John Perry would like that. He'd probably tell the others how great her audition had been and give her a starring part right away. She folded her yellow
leotard, placed it neatly into the drawer, and headed for the stairs.
The cars pulled up outside the theater at noon and John Perry smiled to himself. It was like watching children on their first day of school. Everyone nervously looking everyone else over, checking out the group to see how he or she fit in. The doors opened and the new company piled out and filed past him.
"Hiya, Mr. Perry."
"Wow, look at this place."
As each one walked into the theater, Perry remembered their respective auditions. The wrong notes, the trembling, the falls in the middle of difficult combinations, the ecstasy when he had told them they'd been chosen. His eyes followed the two little dancers, Annie and Kaye, as they walked together, already friends, and both avoided his look. Richie Day, the boy dancer, had been befriended by Moro Rollins, that old queen singer. Rollins had a good voice and had worked for Perry in two industrials. He could easily handle the Ezio Pinza role if they did South Pacific. Perry would overlook the way Rollins seduced the boys unless Rollins tried touching the boys at the company parties. The locals were always at those parties, and they would never understand.
"Hiya, Mr. Perry."
It was Cee Cee Bloom.
"Place looks like a goddamned airplane hangar," she said.
Perry had to laugh. The theater actually had been a warehouse before he bought it, the curved metal roof that held the heat and drove the dancers rehearsing in the afternoon to take salt pills made it look exactly like an airplane hangar.
"Welcome, Cee Cee," he said. "Did you get all settled at the house?" Why hadn't he noticed her body at the audition? Maybe because when she sang she was all face
and hands, with those long red fingernails. But now, in that burgundy leotard with the wrap skirt and mesh stockings . . .
"Yeah. What a dive!" she said, grinning. "You got some nerve packin' ten of us in those two attic cells. Boy, if I didn't need to sing so bad, I'd tell you to shove it, pal."
The audacity! He loved her. The others would never have had the balls.
"Let's go inside."
The theater was cool, and the house lights were on. Cee Gee sat in the last row away from the others and lit a cigarette despite the four rather large NO SMOKING signs, one of which was hanging right next to where she sat. Perry took a folding chair and sat in the center of the small three-quarter thrust stage. He had given this speech so often that it bored him, but . . .
"Welcome to the Sunshine. I hope you're all settled in your accommodations at the house. For those of you who haven't forgotten, I'm John Perry. For those of you who have forgotten, you're fired." Beat. Laugh. "I own and operate this place. I produce and direct the shows. I make the policy here and I decide on the casting. If you have any problems, come to me. Don't bitch and moan among yourselves.
"This is a repertory company. That means one week you may have a lead in a show and the next week you may have a lowly chorus part, but I expect the same enthusiasm, punctuality, and professionalism from you no matter what your standing in the cast is.
"Marilyn Loughlin is my choreographer. She is also the assistant manager here and she runs the cast house. The rules are-beds made daily, personal areas kept clean. Every Saturday morning there is a major cleanup, and each of you will be assigned a task. The bathroom, the kitchen, the yard, the laundry, et cetera. If you don't do your job, I'll personally drive you to the bus. Apprentices will do the cleanup jobs in the theater. Meals will be at
seven-thirty at the house, twelve-thirty at the theater, and six-thirty back at the house. If you like the food, tell old Mrs. Godshell, the cook, and she'll give you an extra portion. If you don't, keep it to yourself. No singing in the house, no television, no radio, and no sex.
"The first show, which will begin rehearsal tomorrow, is Carousel. The cast list will be on the bulletin board as you leave here. Today, I suggest you go down to the beach and enjoy yourselves. You probably won't have much time for that after we start rehearsals. Any questions?"
Silence.
"See you tomorrow."
The kids got up and made their way into the lobby to check the cast list. Only Cee Gee, now with her feet crossed and up on the chair in front of her, still sat, puffing on her second cigarette. Perry folded his chair and placed it against the wall. It bothered him that she didn't even seem to feel the need to have the others like her. To stay with the group so she'd be in on it. He started out through the curtains.
"Where do you live?"
"What?"
"You. Where do you live?"
"I have my own house on Marion Avenue. It's on the ocean about six blocks from the cast house." Again he started out.
"Nice?"
"Beg your pardon?"
"Is it nice?"
"I like it."
"Good."
Jesus Christ, she was pushy. He turned to walk into the lobby where the kids were congratulating and commiserating on the casting of the first show, but Cee Gee's voice stopped him.
"I'm in the chorus. Right?" she asked coolly.
"How do you know that?"
" 'Cause the Julie part's a soprano, and the Carrie part's an ingenue and I'm not either one of those."
"Yes. You are in the chorus, Gee Cee-but it's just the first week and there's eleven other shows, and ..." Why was he apologizing to her?
"I'm not a chorus singer."
"You are now."
Her green eyes flashed with anger and Perry steeled himself for an attack, but it passed.
"Yeah," she said softly. "I guess so."