“What about your book?” Scarlett ased.
“It’s a funny thing, O’Hara, I’ve been feeling stagnant about the book. You’ve probably noticed. But as soon as I saw your mother standing there, I knew exactly what I had come here to do…New York, this hotel…I came here to reconnect to my theater roots. I saw it all in one shining moment. The book can wait. For now, we’ll find them a space, and we’ll really develop this show. It won’t be one of these little productions that falls through the cracks. I am going to make something of this show and everyone in it. I have tricks up my sleeve, O’Hara. Tricks like you wouldn’t believe. Here. Have an umbeoshi plum. They taste like salt. Don’t eat the stone. Go on.”
She thrust the box of grayish things at Scarlett, who reluctantly took one. They did, in fact, taste like sour little fruits covered in salt. She winced and spit out the stone.
“They’re extremely good for you,” Mrs. Amberson said. “They’re a secret to health and vitality, and I want you vital, O’Hara. Now, let’s go down and meet our cast.”
The cast of Hamlet had not moved much. They had that haunted yet hopeful look in their eyes, like the ones you see in old photos of people crammed into steerage compartments, traveling to some new, unknown land.
Trevor, as director, stepped forward to assume some sort of control over the situation, and Mrs. Amberson met him and shook his hand.
“Amy Amberson,” she said, introducing herself. “I’ve been watching you from over there for the last two nights. I was surprised no one noticed me—but then, you were fully engaged in your task.”
She pointed to her spot in the dark vestibule.
“Well,” Spencer said, “we also kind of assumed that no one was hiding behind the hot water heater.”
“Never assume,” Mrs. Amberson said. “This city is unique. Every place you go—everything you do—you never know who’s watching. There’s always an opportunity, if you know how to spot it.”
This would have been an extremely annoying little maxim if it wasn’t so literally true in this case. She really had proven her point.
“We lost our rehearsal space,” Eric said, flashing Mrs. Amberson a smile. “We got a vacate order. So we came here. It was Scarlett’s idea.”
He knew it was her idea!
Eric’s appeal was not lost on Mrs. Amberson. This was dismaying. But worse, it was Spencer that she turned to when she let loose one of those slow, creeping smiles.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “No one understands better than I do how hard it is to find a place to rehearse in this city. I was an actress. You want suffering? I’ll give you suffering. I landed a part in the hot new Broadway show of 1976, Rockabye Hamlet. It was Hamlet staged as a big rock concert. Ophelia strangled herself with a microphone cord to commit suicide. The audience laughed. We closed after seven performances. Seven. We were all over The Times the next day.”
This remark met with sympathetic mumbling and exaggerated interest.
“I have a proposal for you,” she said. “Of course, you are free to accept or reject it. I’m offering financial backing in exchange for an artistic say. If you agree to bring me on as codirector, I can offer sound advice and excellent connections.”
“Codirector?” Trevor said.
“And you all know my assistant, Scarlett. Her resourcefulness will come in handy as well. Talk it over. Do what feels right.”
While Trevor looked thunderstruck, everyone else appeared jubilant. This was precisely the kind of deal that Scarlett had been offered, just on a grander scale. It was no surprise that the group immediately agreed, Trevor’s shocked reaction nonwithstanding.
Mrs. Amberson plunked herself down in the middle of the group and started talking about her “deep love of Shakespeare” (even though she asked Scarlett to get her a copy of the play and every book on the subject she could carry the next morning). As the night wore on, various people started to go. By the end, it was down to the residents—Spencer, Mrs. Amberson, and Scarlett—and Eric.
“Do me a favor, O’Hara,” she said, not taking her eyes off her two new recruits. “Run down to the corner and get me a box of green tea? I just remembered I was out.”
“You have three boxes,” Scarlett said.
“Do I? I don’t think so. Best get another to be sure.”
She did have three boxes of green tea. She also had two boxes of white, ginger, and rosehips, and a box each of plum, ginseng, spearmint, DeTox blend, Restful Blend, Mindful Blend, and Yoga Blend…all of which Scarlett had purchased. But it was clear that she didn’t want to be argued with. Mrs. Amberson wiggled herself into a more comfortable seat on the floor by shifting through a lot of complicated dancer positions that clearly said, “I am more flexible than anyone you know.” Sadly, Spencer took careful note of this.