CHAPTER SEVEN
Oren tapped his fingers impatiently on the table and watched the door. After Tillie ignored his calls for nearly a week, he’d left an envelope for her with another Centerstage waitress. Inside was the address to the shabby diner he’d met George at, along with the date and time for the proposed meeting.
Now he just had to hope she showed up.
He folded the newspaper he’d been reading and slammed it down. He’d skimmed the same article three times and didn’t remember a word of it.
He’d been stupid to suggest a phony relationship. He’d been stupid to leave Tillie alone at that party where a smarter man could have snagged her for himself. He’d been even stupider to say what he did in his suite—he wanted so much more than one night with Tillie but he’d feared she wouldn’t give that to him. Not then and especially not now.
After what felt like ages, Tillie came through the door wearing a pale-yellow dress. Oren didn’t know he was smiling until he felt a tell-tale pinch in his cheeks.
With short staccato steps, she walked down the aisle separating the booths from the bar. From the set of her shoulders and determined tilt of her chin, Oren knew she’d made up her mind. She’d never give him a second chance. He just had to hope she’d let him do her one last favor.
Tillie sat in the booth across from him. “What is this about?”
“Right down to business. I like that.”
She glared at him. “I came here so that you’d leave me alone.”
“Tillie, I’m sorry.” Oren reached across the table to place his hand over hers but she pulled away. “I shouldn’t have gone about things the way I did.”
“I accept your apology.” Her tone warmed. “But that doesn’t change things. We got off to a rocky start, and I don’t think it’ll get better.”
“Come to the theatre tomorrow afternoon. The Me and Juliet casting director will be there. I’ll add your name to the list and you can audition.”
Tillie’s brows pinched together. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I want to. Think of it as a favor from an old friend.” Oren held his hands up with the palms facing her. “No strings attached.”
“I don’t want any special treatment,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“It’s not special treatment.” Oren sat back when the waitress came by with his club sandwich. She looked uncomfortably back and forth between him and Tillie—her sitting with her arms crossed over her chest and him holding up his hands like an innocent man in a shootout. He dropped them to his sides. The idea of charming the older woman with a smile and quick compliment crossed his mind, but he was too tired to put the effort in.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, though she’d already started to back away.
“This’ll do, thanks.” Oren’s voice dripped with sarcasm as a whiff of grease and salt met his nose. He plucked two fries from his plate, popped one in his mouth, and offered the other to Tillie, hoping to lighten the mood. “Try this.”
Ignoring him, she asked, “It’s not special treatment?”
“Right.” Oren bit the fry Tillie had turned down. “Some of us involved with the play, the ones with clout, were asked to suggest actresses we thought might be a good fit for Jeanie and some of the other available roles. George is bringing a few people in, and I know some of the others are, too.”
Tillie cocked her head to the side. “And you?”
Oren held her gaze. “I only invited you, and not because I think it’ll change your mind about me. I think you’re the best woman to play Jeanie.”
She gave him a single nod. “I’ll be there.”
“Perfect.” Oren pointed to his plate. “Now, would you like half of this sandwich?”
Fighting a smile, Tillie shook her head and stood to leave.
***
The Majestic Theatre was bristling with so much noise and movement no one noticed Tillie walk in. Three men worked to push a piano across the orchestra pit while a group of women seated in the front row chatted with each other. The tall, burgundy curtains swayed as they were pulled open, revealing scenery made to look the backstage area. Additional houselights flickered on, illuminating the large space so bright nearly everyone shielded their eyes.
From the eighth row, George stood to wave his arms overhead. “Cut the lights.”
When the houselights dimmed, he spotted her.
“Tillie Parker. Glad you could make it.” George pointed to the front row. “Go sit with the other girls and we’ll call your name when we’re ready to hear you.”
She lifted her hand to wave and say hello, but he was back in his seat before she could.
Though she’d performed in countless theatres in New York and New Jersey, she never bored of their grandeur. The high ceilings, the lights, the decorative flourishes—they all took her breath away. While admiring the gold detail on the balconies, she walked down the aisle to the first row. There was one seat available at the end, and she took it. The blonde girl sitting beside her smiled politely before resuming the conversation she was in with the ladies to her left. Leaning back, Tillie looked down the row. They were all blondes.
Before long, a lanky man with a long nose and glasses came to stand before them. He had a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other.
“I’m Robert Davis, the casting director from MGM. We’ll call you gals up one at a time. Give the pianist your sheet music. If we like what we hear, we’ll ask you to stay behind and read lines. Sound good? All right.” He looked to the clipboard. “Barbara Bennet, you’re up first.”
Barbara and the eight women that followed were all impressive vocalists. They sang a range of songs—from upbeat numbers to emotional ballads—all chosen to suit their strengths. Between songs, Tillie glanced over her shoulder in hope she’d see Oren. A few of the other cast members had flitted in to listen to a few auditions.
He had done wrong by her, many times over. She reminded herself of that every time she turned to the back of the theatre and didn’t see him there. But still, after all the things he’d done wrong, he endeavored to make them right. That counted for something, as far she was concerned.
“Tillie Parker.”
Tillie straightened her shoulders, stood, and walked with confidence to the stage. Nervousness simmered in the pit of her stomach, but not enough to affect her performance. She wanted this job more than anything—more than any of the others gigs she’d auditioned for and more than she’d wanted Oren, too.
The pianist greeted her with nod and she responded in kind. After she handed him her sheet music, he looked it over, nodded again, and propped the pages on a stand.
Tillie walked to center stage. “I’m going to sing ‘Many a New Day’ from Oklahoma!”
George, Robert, and the other men sitting in the eighth row watched her with bored expressions.
As the song’s languid opening notes filled the theatre, Tillie bristled with excitement. This wasn’t another chorus girl audition. If Robert and everyone else liked her, she could be a star. A curtain swayed in her periphery and she looked to the wing. Oren stood in the shadows with his arms crossed over his chest and a cigarette hanging from his lips. He made a flicking motion with one hand, signaling for Tillie to turn her attention back to her audition.
With a touch of a smile playing on her lips, Tillie sang. She pushed all thoughts of Oren to the back of her mind, using the song’s lyrics as motivation. After a few bars, Robert sat up in his chair and adjusted his glasses. A few beats later, he elbowed the studio man next to him. Tillie fed off their attention and performed the song better than she had at the Blue Bar. Time slowed as she sang, and she enjoyed elongated moments of fuzzy warmth that wavered with the intensity of each note.
At the end of the song, the theatre fell silent. The beat of Tillie’s racing heart filled her ears as she waited for one of the slack-jawed men in the eighth row to say something. Finally, Robert slapped his thigh. The others around him snapped back into life, whispering to each other, checking their watches, and jotting things down on their clipboards.
“Tillie, will you stay to read lines for us?”
She smiled. “Of course. Thank you.”
Before turning to exit the stage, Tillie looked to the wing to see Oren was gone.