Abide with Me (29 page)

Nicole, Yancey, and two other female cast members shared a dressing room that included a brightly lit, mirrored row of dressing tables along one wall and a water cooler, wet bar, and chaise lounge against the opposite wall. Their costumes hung on a circular rack at the far end of the room near the two-stall rest room.

A fresh carafe of coffee brewed on the wet bar’s counter, next to an open chest of colas and fruit drinks.

Nicole placed her makeup bag on the dressing table in front of the middle chair.

“Mmmm,” she said, “that coffee smells wonderful. Anyone else want a cup?” She walked over to the wet bar and took a Styrofoam cup from the stack on the counter.

“Wait!” Yancey yelled. She jumped up from her chair and rushed
over to Nicole. “Let me get that for you. I brought some mugs from Detroit. You don’t know where those cups have been.”

“Thanks, Yancey. You’re so sweet, and these cups do look a little dusty,” Nicole said as she returned to her seat and began removing makeup from her bag.

With her back to the dressing tables, Yancey pulled out the mugs and a tiny eyedropper from her large black satchel. She took a quick glance over her shoulder, then added three drops of a clear liquid to the empty mug and poured hot coffee into it. Yancey then poured herself a cup and made sure she filled it with cream, and placed it in her left hand. “Here you go, darling,” Yancey said, and placed the mug from her right hand in front of Nicole.

“Thank you, darling.” She took a small sip. “Mmmm, this is good and hot,” she said.

While applying their makeup, Nicole and Yancey talked about the previous weekend, and whispered to each other when discussing the producers who were going to be in the audience. Yancey had suggested that the other cast divas didn’t need to know that important producers were casting a new musical.

About thirty minutes later, with their makeup and coffee completed, Yancey and Nicole started to put on their costumes for the opening act. While Yancey was zipping up Nicole’s dress, Nicole felt a wave of nausea roll from her stomach to her throat. She fought back the urge to vomit and the nausea seemed to diminish after a few moments.

“Nicole,” Yancey asked, “are you all right? I didn’t zip you too tight, did I?”

“I’m okay, thanks. And no, you didn’t zip me,” she smiled. Nicole returned to the mirrors to make sure her makeup was in place, and while touching right under her eyes, her hands felt shaky.

Yancey watched her in the mirror and looked truly concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay, darling?”

Another wave of nausea hit at the same time a violent abdominal spasm doubled Nicole over. She grabbed her stomach and rushed to the rest room.

Yancey waited a few moments, then went in to check on her. She could hear Nicole groaning behind one of the stall doors.

“Nicole? What is it? Are you sick?” she said with a touch of alarm in her voice.

Nicole opened the stall door and stood bent over, bracing herself against the door frame. “I think it must be something I ate,” she said weakly. “Maybe it was the smoked salmon Jared and I had.”

“Oh, Nicole, you look terrible. Poor baby. Come lay down. I’m going to get Vincent.” Yancey helped Nicole to the chaise lounge and the other women crowded around, trying to make Nicole comfortable. During the commotion, Yancey took the eyedropper from her bag and went to find the stage manager. She didn’t want to leave any evidence of her bad deed around.

When they returned to the dressing room, Nicole was feverish and tiny beads of sweat formed on her forehead and across her upper lip. Vincent felt her blushing cheeks.

“My God, Nicole, you’re burning up!” he said. “Do you think you can go on? It’s almost a half hour before curtain.”

Nicole sat up and struggled to her feet. “I’ve got to get to the rest room quick,” she said. The other two cast members took her arms and walked her to the rest room just in time.

“I’m calling a doctor,” Vincent said. “Yancey, do you know the number to the hotel?”

“No, but I can get it,” Yancey offered.

“No, don’t worry, I’ll get it. You need to change costumes. You’re going to play Dena Jones tonight!”

Vincent hurried out of the dressing room, leaving Yancey alone in front of the bank of mirrors.

“I
am
Dena Jones,” Yancey said to herself, smiling broadly at her own reflection.

Yancey located a bank of phones outside the ladies’ room at the Amway Hotel. She had finally managed to escape a group of local well-wishers at a festive party being given in honor of the
Dreamgirls
company. Yancey looked around to see if any of her castmates were in the area before dialing Ava’s number.

“Hello,” Ava answered.

“It’s me, and I can’t talk long,” Yancey whispered.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the hotel, at a party a group of sororities is giving the cast, but I had to tell you what happened,” Yancey said excitedly.

“Tell me. Did my little care package work?”

“Like a charm! Right before the show Miss Pretty got sick as a dog. She was sweating, and from what I heard she was hugging the toilet in more ways than one, but I think she’s okay. The stage manager called a doctor and he said it was probably food poisoning or something. She’s up in the room now, sleeping.”

“So you got to go on as Dena?”

“You got that right. And guess what? We did get a new director, and he was in the cast of
Dreamgirls
when Nicole was.” Yancey smiled at one of the ladies going into the rest room.

“Is that going to be good or bad for you?” Ava asked, sounding a bit concerned.

“I think it’s going to be good, because Nicole was not happy when she found out who the new director was. When I asked her why, she told me that Chris, that’s the director’s name, was upset with her when she didn’t accept a role on the first national tour. It seems she kept him waiting and then decided not to do the show,” Yancey said. She had stopped whispering because the area near the phones was empty.

“So how did it go? Did you sing them up out of there?”

“It was glorious! When I came out and took my bow, the audience started standing up. They went wild! I mean, it almost brought me to tears. I got almost as much applause as that dreadful child who plays Effie.”

“Oh, I wish I had been there,” Ava said.

“I wish you’d been there too. It was just magical. The gowns looked marvelous on me. I hit all my marks, didn’t miss one line, and I sang and acted my ass off,” Yancey boasted.

“How long you think Miss Pretty is going to be out?”

“I think only a day or so. But you can bet your last dollar that after hearing me tonight, Nicole will not miss a single performance. You might need to send me some more of that magic potion,” Yancey laughed.

“Does she know how well you did?”

“I think so, because she was in the rest room close to the dressing room during the first act and half of the second act before they carted her ass back to the hotel,” Yancey said. She noticed Monica Evans, one of the members of the chorus, walking toward the phones. Yancey smiled and gave her best fake wave, then turned her back toward Monica.

“I’ve got to go,” she whispered into the phone. Suddenly she felt someone touch the back of her shoulder. Yancey turned to find Monica standing right behind her.

“You were fierce, girl! Just awesome. You blew them out of there,” Monica said.

Yancey told Ava to hang on for a minute as she turned to hug Monica and say, “Thank you so much.”

“And I heard the reviews are going to be good,” Monica said.

Yancey raised her eyebrows and smiled. She had forgotten that in cities where they stayed less than a week the reviewers came out the first night. “I hope you’re right,” she said.

“Let me get in here before I burst,” Monica said, pointing toward the ladies’ room.

“Okay, thanks again,” Yancey said, and returned the phone to her ear. “Ava, I gotta go. Thanks so much. I never could have done this without you.”

“Yes, you could, but we ain’t finished yet. We’ve got to make sure you’re Dena when the show hits New York,” Ava said.

“Good night, darling. I’ll talk to you when I can.”

“Good night, baby, and congratulations.”

Yancey hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and let out a satisfied sigh.

The Harlem fall morning was clear, with a crisp chill in the air. Just as Raymond reached for the door of Cuts ’n’ Cobblers a fast-moving Peaches came out carrying a large brown paper bag with both hands. She moved past him purposefully, as if she were the drum majorette for the FAMU Marching 100.

“I thought I was goin’ to miss you. Come on, you going with me. We can talk about my bizness in the cab,” Peaches said.

“Where are we going?” Raymond asked as he followed Peaches to the curb and waved his hands in the air, signaling a taxi. There were very few yellow cabs still in Harlem, but after a few moments, a steel-gray Buick pulled over. Raymond looked a bit apprehensive, but Peaches didn’t blink as she turned toward Raymond and said, “What you waitin’ on? Open the door for me.”

The cab smelled of aromatic tobacco. The driver was a robust black man with a gray and black conductor’s cap on his head, a smoking pipe dangling from his mouth.

“How much you charge to take us to 143rd and Lenox?” Peaches asked the driver.

“Seven dollars,” he said in a mild Haitian accent.

“Seven dollars, man, you crazy! You know it can’t be no more than four dollars. Five tops! Now, do me and my friend have to git out at the corner or are you gonna act right? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to take money from honest, hardworking folks.”

The driver took the pipe from his lips and pointed the stem at Peaches.

“What you say? I
am
honest, hardworking folks! Who you been paying five dollars, lady? I’ll make it six, but you know you ain’t right.”

“Five dollars or me and my friend get out right now.”

“Mon dieu,”
the driver muttered under his breath.

“Peaches, don’t worry about it, I got it. But where are we going?”

“You can pay it, but you ain’t gonna pay no more than five dollars,” Peaches said as she met the Haitian’s glare in the rearview mirror. “And we’re headed for Miss Kitty’s house.”

“Sir, you heard the lady. Put out your pipe, please, and get us there safely, and I promise you a nice big tip,” Raymond said.

“You ain’t said nuthing but a word,” the driver said as he tapped the contents of the pipe out in the ashtray.

Raymond gave him a wink and then turned to Peaches to ask her again where they were going.

“Up to Kitty’s house. You know, one of my chil’ren. She ain’t feeling too good and I promised to bring her some food,” Peaches said.

“Is this how you’ve been delivering food?”

“Not usually. I have some helpers. I cook it and they drops it off to some of the peoples who can’t come by and pick up their meals. But Kitty is special, and I think some of my cabbage and ham hocks is just what she needs,” Peaches said.

“Is that what you’ve got in that bag?”

“Yep, and some sweet potatoes and a baked chicken,” Peaches said proudly.

“Now, who is Kitty? I haven’t heard you mention her.”

“Yes, I have. You’ll love Miss Kitty. I thought I had told you about her, but I guess that was Nicole. She and her little show bizness friend met Miss Kitty. She’s a translation,” Peaches said.

Raymond took in every detail as the cab moved up Lenox Avenue. He had spent many a Sunday attending church in Harlem and remembered the delicious meals he had eaten at Harlem institutions like Sylvia’s and Copeland’s.

“Now, Peaches, what on earth is a translation?” Raymond asked as he studied the people and buildings like it was his first visit to Harlem.

“You know, she’s a woman now, but she wasn’t born that way. And I guess she’s a woman, ’cause I ain’t seen her stuff,” Peaches laughed. “I guess what we see now is the remix version of Miss Kitty.”

“You mean Kitty is transgender?” Raymond’s voice was careful, his tone measured.

“Trans … what? What kinda word is that? We both might find out what she is if we have to bathe her,” Peaches said.