Whispering Hearts Page 8

  “Like I said,” she replied with a shrug, tucking the necklace back under her shirt, “he’s not terribly handsome, so having someone like me on his arm lights up his bulbs.”

  “If you don’t find him attractive, how—”

  “Here’s a secret a girlfriend of mine in high school taught me. You pick out a guy you’d die to sleep with and picture him when you make love to any other guy. If he’s worth it, of course. Jerome is worth it. I call him my backstop.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know, someone you can depend on if you fail. It’s kind of like putting money in the bank. When you need it, you take it out. Didn’t your father ever tell you that?”

  “Not in that sense, no,” I said. “It sounds like you’re using someone.”

  “Duh? Everybody uses everybody. Don’t look so shocked, Emma. You and I are using each other, aren’t we?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m paying half of this place so you can live here, and you’re paying half so I can. It’s not a sin; it’s life,” she said. “I’m trying out for something tomorrow,” she added, maybe to get off the subject because I was questioning her too closely. “It’s off-Broadway, kind of a spoof of the cancan. You know what that is, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jerome knew someone who knew someone involved with the production, so I have a good shot. See what I mean about using someone? You’d better get into it if you want to survive here,” she added.

  I’m certain my reflexive look of disapproval was annoying to her.

  “I’m not comfortable taking advantage of someone’s generosity. My father always said, ‘Accepting someone’s generosity without giving back something of equal value is the same as accumulating debt.’ ”

  “Oh, brother. No wonder you ran away from home.”

  “I didn’t run away. I came here to pursue my career.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. I’m going to spend the weekend with Jerome. I need some new clothes, and he promised to take me to a mall.”

  “You mean you’ll have him buy you new clothes?”

  “I won’t make him. He wants to. Never stop a man from rushing into a jewelry store,” she said, with a grin my father would say could make Satan jealous.

  She stopped smiling when I didn’t.

  “You’re so serious, Emma,” she said. “Especially for someone your age. Are all English girls like you?”

  “No,” I said. Although I thought it, I didn’t add, Nor like you.

  She shrugged and then brightened. “The latest Playbill is out tomorrow. I hear there are at least a half dozen open calls this week and next. Maybe you’ll get into a chorus. Girls get discovered when they’re in choruses, too, so don’t knock it.”

  “I wouldn’t. I don’t expect to be a star overnight.”

  “I did.” She thought, and laughed. “Still do.”

  We heard the door buzzer.

  “Expecting someone?” she asked.

  “No. Are you?” I was thinking it might be her Jerome.

  “No. It’s probably someone selling something for sure. Get rid of him.”

  I went to the speaker and pressed the call button. “Yes?”

  “Hi. It’s Jon Morales. I was passing by and thought I’d stop by to see how you were doing.”

  Jon Morales? I thought for a moment and then remembered.

  “Oh. I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Would you like to go for a coffee?”

  I looked at Piper, who was standing beside me now, listening with interest.

  “We’re just finishing dinner. I mean, we haven’t done the dishes yet. But thank you,” I said. Then I whispered to Piper, “It’s just someone I met quickly at a supermarket. He helped me in a small way the first night I arrived.”

  “Quickly’s good. Invite him up,” she said. “I’ll look him over for you.”

  “So you have a roommate?” he asked, probably because he heard her voice in the background.

  “Yes, she does,” Piper said before I could. “Come on up. We’ll let you wash a dish.”

  She pressed the button to open the front door before I could object.

  “You shouldn’t have done that. I really don’t know him.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If he’s a loser, I’ll get rid of him for you.”

  “It’s not that so much. My first impression is he’s far from a loser, but between work and pursuing my career, I don’t have time to invest in anyone. I didn’t come here for that.”

  “We all come here for that, unless you’re a nun. I keep telling you. Don’t take everything so seriously,” she said. “Especially men.”

  This way of treating people like disposable goods was annoying me. I retreated silently to the kitchen and began to clear off the dishes while she went to the bathroom to put on lipstick and fix her hair. Moments later, the apartment door buzzer sounded.

  “I’ll get it,” she said, and moved quickly to let him in. “Hi. I’m Piper,” she announced as soon as she opened the door. “Emma’s new roommate.”

  “Hi,” Jon said, and walked in when she stepped back with a pirouette that made him laugh.

  “Yes, I’m a dancer,” she said.

  Jon came farther in and smiled at me. “Hi. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I haven’t had a chance to stop by the restaurant again to see how you were doing. Had a heavy week.”

  “You’re not interrupting anything we don’t want interrupted,” Piper said. “Cleanup. Would you like a cup of coffee here instead of paying a week’s salary for one?” She winked at me. “We were going to have coffee, weren’t we, Emma?”

  I hesitated just long enough for him to take a step back.

  “Oh, no, no,” he said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Why not?” Piper asked, and he smiled. He looked at me to rescue him. Actually, I wanted to rescue myself. “I’d like to hear all about how you helped Emma her first night in America.”

  “I didn’t do much more than explain the word ‘pinched,’ ” he said, smiling.

  The look on her face finally brought a smile to mine. She looked from me to him.

  “Pinched? You have to explain that? I think I know what pinched means. I’ve had my rear pinched many times.”

  “You know,” I said to Jon, ignoring her. “I think I’ll take you up on that walk you promised the last time we spoke.” I put the dish towel down. “I think it’s Piper’s turn to clean up, anyway. Right, Piper?”

  She looked dumbfounded for a moment and then smiled. “I don’t think we have to worry about Emma. She knows how to take care of herself now.”

  I reached for my light jacket on the hook by the door. He sensed the urgency and opened it quickly.

  “Nice to meet you, Piper,” he said. “Nice pirouette, too,” he added.

  I stepped out, and he closed the door before Piper could say anything or, worse, invite herself.

  “Did she come with the apartment?” he asked as we descended. “Something in the closet, maybe?”

  “No, but I’m thinking she does come with New York,” I said.

  He laughed, and we headed out.

  I had no idea where we would go. I simply wanted to get him away from Piper.

  “Let’s walk toward Times Square,” he said. “I know a great frozen-custard kiosk. How is the work going? Are you waiting on customers yet?”

  “Monday,” I said. “Just in time. My funds are getting low, but there are also a number of open auditions. I’ll be busy day and night, because I have to make up the time I spend on auditions,” I added, my voice full of warning that spelled out, Don’t try to develop a relationship with me, not now.

  “I think it’s great that you’re so determined,” he said. “People who discourage easily aren’t meant for careers like the one you’re pursuing.”

  Even though I was fighting off admiring anything about him, I liked how softly he spoke, especially in the midst of all the noise and activity
around us. He had a comforting calmness. There was a special energy in New York that seemed to come right out of the ground beneath your feet and then swirl around you.

  Tourists, many who were obviously here for the first time, were like children brought to their first fun fair or circus. I had felt excitement when I was on our school trip to the West End in London, but it didn’t seem to be as explosive as this. People here were shouting to each other even though they were inches away from each other. They walked very quickly, so quickly it seemed the sidewalk was flowing. When I gazed around, it looked like a mass of humanity weaving in and out, and across each other, eyes captured by the bright marquees announcing shows, while giant billboards flashed faces and products. Grand lights washed out the possibility of seeing the stars. An underlying fear streamed beneath my own excitement: it was easy to drown here, to disappear faster than you ever imagined.

  “My music teacher used to say people who were successful in entertainment of any kind, including writers and poets, had to have at minimum sixty percent perseverance and forty percent talent,” I said. “There are lots of people with talent they just don’t develop. For them, the talent is more of a burden.”

  “Why a burden?”

  “It haunts, wants to know why you left it stranded.”

  He laughed. “You’re quite remarkable for someone your age. I sensed that almost immediately.”

  I shrugged. Compliments like that were dangerous, I thought. They’d get me off my purpose. I wouldn’t dare fall in love. I wouldn’t even fall in like that much. There were already too many distractions, too many things tempting you to lose your concentration. Surely, he would sense the reluctance in me soon.

  “How does your family feel about your doing this?”

  “Not good. My father was so furious about it that he told me if I left, I’d be disowned. He even said he’d burn any letters I sent home.”

  “Really? That’s severe.”

  “Sometimes, we’re like oil and water,” I said, recalling how Mummy put it. “He thinks I’m messing up my life. I’ll succeed just to show him he’s wrong. I dread ever giving him the satisfaction he was right.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t fail, not with that level of determination. Here’s the custard,” he said, gently turning me to a kiosk. “What flavor?”

  “Vanilla, thank you,” I said.

  He bought us both cones, and we sat on a nearby bench.

  “It’s fun just sitting and watching people. Trying to guess where they’re from or where they’re going.”

  “How long have you been here?” I had tried to fight back asking him questions about himself. It was dangerous, like putting yourself in the path of deeper feelings. Along with that would come guilt for ignoring him or pushing him out of my mind so that I could concentrate on my career. It would be painful to hurt someone as nice as he was, I thought. I didn’t want to be put in the position of having to do it. Without my being too cold, perhaps he would get the idea after tonight.

  “A couple of years into my job, but I’ve been to New York many times. Each time I returned, it was like I had first arrived. It has that way of putting on a fresh face. You’ll see,” he said. “It surprises.”

  The silence that shortly followed made me uncomfortable, and I rushed to fill it.

  “I’d better get back. I need a good night’s sleep. I’m going to do ten hours tomorrow at the restaurant. Marge might give me a table or two before Monday, too.”

  “Marge?” he asked as we stood.

  “She’s the one training me. She’s very nice.”

  “So what’s with this roommate you got so quickly?” he asked as we started back.

  “She’s trying to be a dancer, but I don’t think she’s half as serious about it as I am about singing.”

  “I know you won’t let her mess things up for you, but sometimes people get you to do things you don’t want to do.”

  “Not me,” I said.

  He smiled and nodded, but he still looked concerned.

  When we reached my apartment building, he and I paused at the foot of the stairway. He took out one of his business cards.

  “I wrote my personal number on the back. If there’s any night in the near future when you’re free to go to dinner, just let me know. All I need is a couple of hours’ notice.”

  “You have no other obligations?” What I really meant was no other girlfriends?

  “None that I wouldn’t cancel to see you,” he said. “Good luck on the auditions and the work. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

  “Thank you, and thanks for the custard.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He wanted to kiss me good night. His eyes were as good as tiny windows to his thoughts. A part of me wanted to let him, even encourage him to do it, but my ambition growled warnings. I offered only a smile and started up the stairs.

  When I turned at the door, he was still standing there.

  I’d be a liar if I told myself I wished he wasn’t, but if this was all that happened to me after coming to New York, I would be forever disappointed. I’d even resent him perhaps for stepping in my way. What sort of a future together would that bring? Perhaps it was terrible to think it, but for many girls my age who had dreams to fulfill, marriage loomed like a cage. For the most part, this wasn’t true for men, which was why I believed my father, with all his wisdom, was blind.

  Was it arrogant of me to think I was wiser?

  And yet Jon Morales personified such an easy way out and perhaps an easy way to go back home. I could just imagine the look on my father’s face when I announced my engagement to someone in finance.

  He’d be lost for words. It was tempting.

  Be careful, Emma, I told myself. You’re alone and very vulnerable.

  Falling in love is too easy for someone desperate to be recognized.

  FIVE

  When I looked through Playbill, I saw that Piper was right about the number of open auditions coming up over the next few weeks. However, two were scheduled on the same day and very close in time, so I had to decide which one I’d try. As early as I got to any, there were always dozens and dozens of other girls waiting to try out. I knew I’d spend hours in line, even in the rain. And it wasn’t easy making up the time at the restaurant. Some days I was working more like fourteen hours than eleven or twelve.

  I didn’t want to ask Piper for advice to help me make my choice. The more we spoke, the more I was convinced that she really didn’t know all that much about Broadway theater, or any theater for that matter. I even had doubts about the performances she claimed to have done in high school. She was unable to describe the shows in any sort of detail, and with some, she couldn’t remember the story. Of course, people made things up to help themselves look better and seem more experienced, but I was coming to believe she wasn’t as determined to succeed in show business as she claimed she was.

  There were auditions she should have gone to that I went to. Dancers were needed in those shows, too, but she always came up with some sort of an excuse for why she couldn’t go. Usually, it was either she had to work at the burger place or the show didn’t have that much opportunity for dancers. Once she complained about muscle strain in her legs. Supposedly, she had dance lessons twice a week in a school managed by a famous Broadway dancing star who was close to eighty years old, someone she said was a “slave driver.”

  She didn’t get the dancing part she had auditioned for off-Broadway, but when I listened to her explanation, I began to wonder if she had even really tried out for it. Everything she had failed at, dancing or otherwise, was always someone else’s fault. Was this what happened to performers who failed to get a foothold? I worried that I might become like her eventually. My father always said that rationalization was poison. “In the end, it kills your ambition and work ethic.” You might find ways to avoid the truth at the moment, but eventually there was no way around it.

  I tried not to let her be a bad influence on me. She was like the
bad angel sitting on one shoulder, whispering in your ear.

  “As you’ve said a few times, Piper, a lot of it is luck,” I told her, mainly to get her to stop cursing out the casting director and his assistants, who were all “too stupid” to be in executive positions. I wasn’t used to a woman, especially one close to my age, using such raw language about the anatomy of people who had passed judgment on her talents. According to her, all the men had small penises and the women had their vaginas sewn shut. And that was just the beginning of her rant.

  Getting her to accept bad luck as an excuse at least got her off the topic. Luck, after all, was random and had little to do with a decision about your talent, even whether there was any there. That helped her feel less terrible about being rejected, not that she ever took it as hard as I did. She would rather talk about her social life, anyway, which was still built around her patron of the arts, as she called Jerome, after I had explained what that was. She was more intent on not missing any parties than she was on not missing auditions. Over the next few weeks, she continually tried to get me to go to some, even directly from work, but I repeated how I was here for a career, not a social life. Besides, I was really tired and wondered why she wasn’t.

  “You can have both, you know,” she said. “A professional life and a social life.”

  “Not me, not yet. First, I want to get a foothold on my singing career.”

  “You’re wasting your youth,” she warned. “Won’t be long before men stop looking at you. I saw it happen to my mother, but that’s not going to happen to me.”

  She paused a moment, thought, and smiled.

  “Don’t disappoint that Jon Morales, or if you want, send him my way. I could give up Jerome for him in a heartbeat, even if he isn’t a patron of the arts.”

  She laughed. I ignored her whenever she mentioned Jon, always assuring me that Puerto Rican men were great lovers. She said she’d had a few and spoke from experience, experience I didn’t care to hear described. If anything, I thought she was behaving as if she and I were at some college, living in some dorm with our real lives out there yet to be begun. Maybe I came off snobby or boring, but most of the time, I felt I was the older of the two.