shoulders. I’d tried to straighten it but the humidity had released the waves within minutes. Or did Wynn just not like any ’do free of chemical hair spray?
Shane had picked me up at the bus station in the afternoon and told me I looked gorgeous. But Wynn Davenport III did not share Shane’s good taste.
The heated discussion continued. “She’s going to ruin you, Shane. As it is I can’t get you a decent movie and you’re going to wreck any chance of snagging a Broadway gig if the press ever gets wind of the story about your very young, very white girlfriend spending a weekend in jail six months ago. And I emphasize very young because she’s barely able to vote .”
Shane yelled, “I’ll bet most of these theatregoers would be glad I’m seeing a lady who spent a mite of time in a cell in order to rescue a group of puppies from a cosmetics company. And she’s twenty, damn it—not fifteen. She’s not a little girl. I’ve had it with all your ‘she’s white’ bullshit. If my own parents managed to deal with that thirty-one years ago, why can’t we? Aren’t we beyond that yet?”
I agreed with everything he was saying, especially the comments about my days spent in the slammer. I’d gone to jail after breaking into the Blush Me cosmetics research lab in Brooklyn with four other animal-lovers. We’d been very responsible about it, finding homes for them all before the deed, so it wasn’t as if we’d rushed in, opened the cages, and let the doggies and rabbits run wild in the streets.
It turned out our judge felt the same. Shoot—who wouldn’t? Well, apart from the cosmetics industry. I mean, what’s the reasoning behind slapping mascara and lipstick on a Dalmatian or a sweet little symbol of Easter? My dad had actually agreed with me on the merits of this particular protest and he didn’t exactly have the title of the Most Progressive Super in Inwood.
After my two nights in jail (not what I’d called a pleasant experience, but I’d made friends with three hookers who told me great stories and gave me leads on what goes on in the meaner streets of New York) our group had to pay a fine and we were sent on our merry way.
I missed whatever else Shane said to Wynn because it sounded like Shane tossed a vase at the man. I heard the sound of broken glass. Wynn threw open the dressing room door, glared at me, muttered something along the lines of “Hippie bitch” under his breath, then strode off toward the front of the theatre house.
Shane popped his head around the open doorframe and smiled at me. “Has my damned racist agent gone, then?”
“He has.” I stared down at the floor for a moment before finally looking him in the eyes. “Shane, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to come between you and someone who’s working for you. I don’t want to hurt your career.”
He shrugged then reached out and put his arms around me. “Darlin’, he’ll be over it the instant he sees the standing ovation I’ll get tonight. His dad worked with me from the time I was sixteen on and he was just as obnoxious. Mr. Davenport wants a paycheck. I’ll deliver. Forget him. Now, gorgeous girl, give me a kiss for luck then go grab your seat out front. You told me you liked hearin’ me sing as Sportin’ Life? Shoot, lass, you’re in for the treat of your life. If you don’t cry during ‘If I Loved You’ I’ll come down off the stage in shock.”
April 2016
I relayed the memory to Addie, who appeared pensive rather than delighted.
“What? You’re scowling at me. At least you’re trying to. Your ghost spotting is off by about a foot to the right. So? You don’t believe this was real?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure it was very real. Too real. I’m chewing on the fact that a little less than a year before you died you had made an enemy with this Mr. Davenport the Third. Not to mention jealous actresses or racist actors or crazed people who got wind Shane was dating a white girl. I have to wonder
Shane had picked me up at the bus station in the afternoon and told me I looked gorgeous. But Wynn Davenport III did not share Shane’s good taste.
The heated discussion continued. “She’s going to ruin you, Shane. As it is I can’t get you a decent movie and you’re going to wreck any chance of snagging a Broadway gig if the press ever gets wind of the story about your very young, very white girlfriend spending a weekend in jail six months ago. And I emphasize very young because she’s barely able to vote .”
Shane yelled, “I’ll bet most of these theatregoers would be glad I’m seeing a lady who spent a mite of time in a cell in order to rescue a group of puppies from a cosmetics company. And she’s twenty, damn it—not fifteen. She’s not a little girl. I’ve had it with all your ‘she’s white’ bullshit. If my own parents managed to deal with that thirty-one years ago, why can’t we? Aren’t we beyond that yet?”
I agreed with everything he was saying, especially the comments about my days spent in the slammer. I’d gone to jail after breaking into the Blush Me cosmetics research lab in Brooklyn with four other animal-lovers. We’d been very responsible about it, finding homes for them all before the deed, so it wasn’t as if we’d rushed in, opened the cages, and let the doggies and rabbits run wild in the streets.
It turned out our judge felt the same. Shoot—who wouldn’t? Well, apart from the cosmetics industry. I mean, what’s the reasoning behind slapping mascara and lipstick on a Dalmatian or a sweet little symbol of Easter? My dad had actually agreed with me on the merits of this particular protest and he didn’t exactly have the title of the Most Progressive Super in Inwood.
After my two nights in jail (not what I’d called a pleasant experience, but I’d made friends with three hookers who told me great stories and gave me leads on what goes on in the meaner streets of New York) our group had to pay a fine and we were sent on our merry way.
I missed whatever else Shane said to Wynn because it sounded like Shane tossed a vase at the man. I heard the sound of broken glass. Wynn threw open the dressing room door, glared at me, muttered something along the lines of “Hippie bitch” under his breath, then strode off toward the front of the theatre house.
Shane popped his head around the open doorframe and smiled at me. “Has my damned racist agent gone, then?”
“He has.” I stared down at the floor for a moment before finally looking him in the eyes. “Shane, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to come between you and someone who’s working for you. I don’t want to hurt your career.”
He shrugged then reached out and put his arms around me. “Darlin’, he’ll be over it the instant he sees the standing ovation I’ll get tonight. His dad worked with me from the time I was sixteen on and he was just as obnoxious. Mr. Davenport wants a paycheck. I’ll deliver. Forget him. Now, gorgeous girl, give me a kiss for luck then go grab your seat out front. You told me you liked hearin’ me sing as Sportin’ Life? Shoot, lass, you’re in for the treat of your life. If you don’t cry during ‘If I Loved You’ I’ll come down off the stage in shock.”
April 2016
I relayed the memory to Addie, who appeared pensive rather than delighted.
“What? You’re scowling at me. At least you’re trying to. Your ghost spotting is off by about a foot to the right. So? You don’t believe this was real?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure it was very real. Too real. I’m chewing on the fact that a little less than a year before you died you had made an enemy with this Mr. Davenport the Third. Not to mention jealous actresses or racist actors or crazed people who got wind Shane was dating a white girl. I have to wonder
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