“Well what do they want then?” Betsy was frustrated. “They said the character was an ugly duckling type. That means she has to be ugly, right?”
“But what kind of ugly, Bess? Was her attitude ugly? Was her past life ugly? Or was it just a physical thing? If you go on an audition thinking only physical, then they’ll never pick you. They want you to think outside the box. They want you to be creative. Anybody can play ugly. But how many actresses can be ugly?”
Betsy smiled and shook her head. “You are too deep for me, girl. You’re a really good teacher. And not a bad actress, either.”
“Not bad doesn’t translate into good.”
“You can’t have everything, Roz. Some people can do it, and some people can teach it. I’ll bet it’s a rare thing for somebody to be able to do both. I mean think about it. How many acting coaches have ever made it big? None. That’s how many! You can’t have it all.”
Roz didn’t understand that. It made no sense to her that teachers couldn’t be good doers too.
But what she really didn’t understand, when she and Betsy turned the corner onto their block, was the fact that a stretch limousine was parked in front of their building, Deuce McCurry was standing at the passenger door, and Mick Sinatra was walking out of their building’s front door. Her heart began to soar.
Betsy, however, was confused. “What’s he doing here?” she asked. Then that eternal hope that kept many an actress going, quickly emerged. “Maybe he’s got a part for us after all!”
But before Betsy could began to run Mick down and make a fool of herself, Roz stopped her and pulled her back. “No, Bess,” she said. “I’m sure that’s not it.”
Betsy frowned. “Then what does he want?” she asked.
Roz didn’t exactly know either, but she was thrilled by the possibilities. It had been three weeks since she last saw him that rainy night at her door, but not a day went by when he didn’t at least casually cross her mind. And it wasn’t a heartwarming feeling for her. It was a feeling that she had blown it. It was the feeling that she had allowed her past pain with her ex to cloud what any fool could see was a magnificent prospect. Her ex Carmelo, once again, had won. But seeing Mick coming out of her building gave her hope too. But unlike Betsy’s hope, it wasn’t based on what he could do for her career. It was based on what he could do for her heart. Because he’d already, after just one night, touched a nerve.
Mick didn’t see them coming until he was about to get into his limo and Deuce was opening the back door. Deuce saw her first.
“I believe that’s her coming now, sir,” he said, as he looked down the sidewalk.
Mick looked too and saw Roz, along with that blonde friend of hers, walking his way. The blonde might have been taller and far more ostentatious with her dyed hair and colorful dress style, but his eyes went back to Roz. She was the reason he came. And when he saw her, looking as sweet as he remembered her, he smiled. His heart actually raced with excitement. A rare feat for him.
To his delight, Roz was smiling too. “Hi,” she said as she and Betsy approached him. She looked at the limo. “The same one?”
Mick nodded. “It’s been repaired.”
“That was quick,” Roz responded, although she was certain it was quick because it was Mick.
“How are you?” he asked her.
“I’m good.” She looked at his casual attire, at his beige sports jacket, at his black turtleneck shirt and black trousers. She decided that she liked his style. “What about you?”
“I’m okay,” Mick said. “Where were you?”
“Over at the studio. I teach acting, remember?”
He remembered. “Taught anybody I would know?”
“Yes,” Betsy said with a smile. “Me.”
Mick looked at her with that look that gave Roz pause. But before he dropped some of that cruel bluntness on somebody as sensitive as Bess, Roz intervened. She needed him to see the person in there, not the caricature. “Mick Sinatra, this is Betsy Gable. I know you’ve seen her face, and you’ve seen her dance, but I don’t think you ever knew her name.”
Betsy smiled and extended her back hand for Mick to kiss. “That’s my stage name,” she said. “I don’t tell anybody my real name. Is Mick Sinatra your stage name too?”
Mick shook, rather than kissed her hand. “No,” he said. “I have no stage name. Nice to meet you, Betsy.”
“Thanks for paying me,” Betsy said. “A hundred dollars for what was nothing more than a little audition, was very generous. We actresses can use it wherever we can get it.”
Bed action chick, he thought. “I’m sure that’s true,” he said. He only hoped she wasn’t rubbing off on Rosalind.
Betsy smiled. “So what are you doing here?”
Mick looked at Roz. His eyes said what his mouth didn’t have to: get rid of her.