“Because we live in New York?” Scarlett said. “Best city in the world? And we live in a hotel? Where they sometimes come and stay, and that’s how we survive?”
“It’s not fair,” he said. “Why does Lola bring him here?”
“Because he’s her boyfriend.”
“You say that like it makes sense. Okay. Okay. Have to think.”
He took a deep breath and sat down on the sidewalk.
“They liked Eric,” he said. “That’s good. That’s something. They can see I’m in a show with someone who’s polite. Not a complete freak. That always helps.”
“Yeah…” she said. “And he’s good. He’s just like you. He does all those things you do. Mime, or…”
“I’m not a mime,” Spencer quickly corrected her. “Or, just the once. They made us do it for school. Never tell anyone I’m a mime. People punch mimes. It’s just stage combat, physical comedy…basic actor stuff.”
“Whatever it is,” Scarlett amended, “you know you’re incredible at it. Eric said so, too.”
“Yeah, well, everyone does something. He got a commercial out of it, anyway.”
The door swung open, and Marlene stood there, hands on hips.
“Are you getting a real job?” she asked.
“No comment,” Spencer said.
Marlene didn’t move.
“We’re having a talk in private,” Scarlett said.
“The street isn’t private.”
Now Marlene was a lawyer.
“Come on, Marlene,” Spencer said gently, “give us a minute.”
“But I want to hear.”
“That’s why private was invented,” Scarlett said. “For times just like this.”
Their privacy was further interrupted by the appearance of Chip and Lola. Spencer narrowed his eyes and looked like he was on the verge of coming out with something truly exceptional to say about his nemesis, when Lola cut in quietly.
“Mr. Kobayashi in the Sterling Suite needs his toilet unblocked,” she said. “And then Mom and Dad want to meet you in the Jazz Suite.”
It was very hard to make a good snap following that. Marlene giggled softly and went back inside.
“Thanks for passing the message,” Spencer said.
Chip didn’t linger. He gave them a nod of good-bye, and Lola walked him up the block.
“It’s going to be so sad when he goes to Boston,” Spencer said, watching them. “But it is exciting to know that, somewhere, there’s a school with a major in Alphabet Studies.”
“School,” Scarlett said, suddenly. “That’s it.”
“What? What’s it?”
“Eric goes to NYU, right? Are a lot of people in your cast from NYU?”
“NYU, Juilliard. I’m the only one who’s not, I think. Why?”
“Clearly,” she said, “this is a joint NYU-Juilliard production. Maybe not officially. Who would make you leave a production run by two of the top theater schools?”
Spencer struggled with the idea.
“Look,” she said, “they just want you to have some kind of degree in something—some kind of security. It’s kind of a showcase. Professors from these places will come to the show, right?”
“Probably,” he said. “Maybe.”
“This will give them hope. That’s all they want. And you do get paid. Just try not to tell them how much.”
“It’s better than anything I could have come up with,” he said. “I was just going to resort to crying a lot and banging my head against the wall. It’ll take some work to sell it, though…”
He got up from the sidewalk and grasped her by the shoulders.
“This may be the last time I see you as an actor,” he said. “Also, I’m about to become very, very unclean. I have a bad feeling.”
Lola came up behind them and politely excused herself to get past.
“I’ll meet you upstairs,” she said to both of them. “And good luck.”
“Luck?” Spencer repeated, stepping toward the door. “What’s luck got to do with it? Skill, baby. Nothing but.”
He did the walking into the door trick for good measure, probably just to amuse himself, and then headed off to meet his fate. Unlike Scarlett, who always smiled, the gag only seemed to perplex and sadden Lola.
“Is he ever going to stop doing that?” she asked.
“Hopefully not,” Scarlett said.
It was a long, painful wait in the Orchid Suite.
Lola was on her bed, her foot balanced on a book, carefully removing her toenail polish. Scarlett went to her mirror and took one last look at herself in the dress. Maybe it was the Dior dress that had caused Eric to smile at her, the production staff to pull her down to the stage floor, Mrs. Amberson to invite her to lunch. Maybe that was all it took in life—some really good dresses.
“Sounds like everything went well this morning,” Lola ventured carefully.
“Except for the part where Marlene wanted to kill me,” Scarlett said, sitting up on her bureau. This probably wasn’t a safe move, as it wobbled under her, but it kept her distracted from what was going on a few doors down.
“I think she’s all right. And Mrs. Amberson bought lunch for the two of you. That was nice. She’s very…”