Crystal (5 page)

“You have wonderful lips,” he said.

“Thank you,” Crystal said. She stared at herself in the mirror. “Did Loretta—”

“Yes.” George answered Crystal’s question before she asked it. “Loretta asked me to make you up to look like a kumquat that’s just right for the harvesting.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that she believes in you, I guess,” George
said. “And Crystal,
do
put your dress on carefully; it’s rather flimsy.”

The dress was an iridescent white wraparound with a togastyle neck. When the draped material was fastened by two small catches at the hip and waist, a slit exposed her left leg from mid-thigh. The hem was higher on the left, cutting from just above the left knee to just below the right. It was stunning.

“What do you think?” Crystal asked.

“If I were the type to be excited about such things,” George said, “I would be.”

“Do you mean that?” Crystal asked.

“Yes, I do.”

He produced white feather earrings, which he put on her.

“
Hmmm
, nice.” Crystal turned her head to see the earrings in the mirror.

“I see you’re getting in the mood for the evening’s festivities,” George said. “I think I have something else for you, too. Loretta didn’t say to have you wear this, but you simply must.”

George left the dressing room. Crystal looked at herself in the mirror again. She smiled as she realized that she couldn’t
not
look at herself. In the back of her mind, she had thought about George standing in the room as she took off her school clothes. He didn’t really count, she thought.

“Here, let me try this on you,” George said, returning.

It was a white cashmere stole, which George threw casually around Crystal’s shoulders. The material felt wonderful against her bare skin.

“Now, say ‘I am dee-vine,’” George said. “And mean it.”

Crystal smiled, her even white teeth just barely visible
between her full lips. “I am dee-vine!” she said. And she meant it.

“Here, turn and take a good last look,” George said. “You can’t stare at yourself in public, you know.”

Crystal looked as George turned her gently by the shoulders.

Crystal Brown, she said to herself, you
are
divine.

The limousine was to take her to Fifty-seventh and Fifth, where she was to meet Sean Farrell at the Palm Court in the Plaza. The driver chatted amicably as they wound their way through the late-evening Manhattan traffic.

When the chauffeur opened the door of the limo in front of the Plaza Hotel and Crystal stepped out, she felt that all eyes were on her. A middle-aged man turned away from the woman he was with to look at Crystal and she saw the woman turn the other way as she passed them and made her way slowly up the stairs of the fashionable hotel.

She had been to the Palm Court before with Loretta for lunch. She walked slowly across the entrance lobby, aware that people were looking at her, probably wondering who she was.

“Crystal?” A short, heavyset man had crossed over to her and stopped her in front of the entrance to the Palm Court.

“Yes?”

“I’m Richard Sugarman, Sean’s manager,” the man said. “Loretta probably mentioned my name.”

“Yes,” Crystal said, not remembering the man’s name at all.

“Yeah, well, Sean was supposed to meet you for a drink in the Palm Court, but he really doesn’t want a drink so he
figured the two of you could go straight over to the club, okay?”

“Oh, all right,” Crystal said. “Where is Sean?”

“He’s up in his room now,” Sugarman said. He looked Crystal up and down. “You’re really a good-looking girl.”

“Thank you.” Crystal smiled.

“Loretta said you were, but…” Sugarman shook his head. “Look, I’ll give Sean a call. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Crystal looked at her watch. It was eight-thirty; they had plenty of time. They weren’t supposed to be at the club until nine. She watched as Sugarman used the house phone. He spent three or four minutes on the phone, turning several times to look at her.

“He’ll be right down,” Sugarman said after he had hung up the phone and come over to where Crystal was sitting. He pulled a chair closer.

“We have time,” Crystal said.

“Yeah, sure.” Sugarman wiped the side of his face with his fingertips as he spoke. “How long you in this business?”

“A few months,” Crystal answered.

“Yeah, well, nothing wrong with that,” Sugarman said.

“Sean’s been in show business for a long time?”

“Yeah, you could say he was born in the business. His father did commercials and his mother was in about seven movies in this country, and she did the voices in two of them Godzilla movies.”

“Oh, maybe I’ve seen her.”

“Yeah, yeah, could be.” Sugarman’s hand went to his face again. “You know, you don’t look Black. I don’t mean there’s anything wrong with that…. But it’s probably easier if you
don’t look too ethnic. You could be Chinesey or Hawaiian or African—something like that.”

“I guess.”

“Sean, he don’t like these arranged things, but it’s part of the business, you know.”

“That’s what Loretta said.”

“Where do you live, the West Side?”

“Brooklyn.”

“I bet a nice-looking girl like you has lots of boyfriends,” Sugarman said.

Crystal looked away.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Sugarman said.

“I guess to some people it comes naturally,” Crystal said.

“Yeah.”

It was another fifteen minutes before Sean Farrell came down from his room and walked toward the front of the Plaza.

“Oh, look, there’s Sean now.” Sugarman jumped to his feet. “The car’s outside.”

Sean Farrell was shorter than Crystal had imagined him to be, but Loretta was right, he was beautiful. His eyes were a deep blue, almost sparkling. He wore a tuxedo that fitted him well. It was formal but, at the same time, he looked very comfortable in it.

“Well, I’m Crystal.”

Sean didn’t answer. He looked from her to Sugarman. “Did you tell her what side I wanted her on?” he said.

“No, er, look”—Sugarman shifted his weight from one foot to the other—“Crystal, we want you on Sean’s left side. Now, if you forget, he’ll just move you to that side. Now, if they’re taking pictures of the two of you, he’ll be on your
right and they’ll take pictures from the right side. Now, I don’t want pictures of you two together.”

“What? I thought that was the idea—”

Sean turned away.

“I mean you’ll be together but not touching. There should be a few inches between the two of you. That way any pictures come out good for both of you. You know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” Crystal said. She remembered Loretta saying that Sean would try to outshine her. She had expected something a bit more subtle.

“Try to keep this in mind, now,” Sugarman continued. “There’ll be no standing-still pictures. If the two of you are standing still and you see a photographer coming toward you, just walk away. Or Sean’ll walk away from you.”

Crystal glanced at Sean, who was staring out the door. She wondered if he was wearing shoes with high heels. She glanced down as Sugarman went on.

“And Crystal, don’t touch his face. He really doesn’t like his face being touched. So don’t put your hands on his face, and don’t, you know, kiss him. If you want to touch him, you can touch him on the arm or on the hand. I don’t mean holding his hand, just touching it.”

“He doesn’t want to be touched,” Crystal said. She noted that Sean wore elevator shoes.

“I’m sure it’s going to be a wonderful evening for both of you,” Sugarman said. “Here’s the limousine now.”

Crystal turned as Sean started for the car.

“Is he angry at something?” Crystal asked.

“Sweetheart.” Sugarman grinned. “You’re trying to make it, he’s already a star. He’s not here to entertain you.
Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

Sean waited at the car. Crystal forced a smile as she passed Sean and settled herself on one side of the large, upholstered seat. Sean entered quickly behind her and in a moment the door was closed.

“Whose idea was it?” Sean said, looking straight ahead of him despite the presence of Sugarman’s large head in the car window. “To get a white limousine?”

“It’s what they sent over.” Sugarman’s eyebrows raised together. “It don’t make no difference.”

“I guess it just
happened
to match her dress?” Sean said.

“You want her to change it?” Sugarman asked.

“I’m not changing
anything
,” Crystal said through her teeth.

“Let’s go, let’s go.” Sean waved his hand impatiently.

Sharo’s was one of the finest clubs in New York. It usually featured a well-known pianist who played a combination of old standards and new tunes in a way that seemed to blend with the endless tinkling of glasses and chatter that filled the main room. It was decorated in the style of the Gay Nineties, complete with brass ornaments and waiters with long sideburns. The club had become the “in” place to be seen in and to see the rich and the famous.

Sean had not spoken to Crystal during the ride to the club. They had been expected, Loretta had taken care of that; a few minutes after they were seated, a waiter brought them drinks without taking an order. Crystal was surprised. Her drink came in a tall glass with a slice of pineapple attached to one side. It tasted like a milk shake.

“You’re not exactly the friendly type, are you?” Crystal
said. “I don’t know why you even bothered to come.”

“I don’t think I need to be seen with some girl who hasn’t done a darn thing in this business or any other business,” Sean said. He sounded angry but his face never changed expression. Crystal liked that.

“So why are you here?”

“My agent thinks I need this kind of exposure. It’s time I got away from immature parts.”

“Oh.” Crystal looked away from Sean and tapped her fingers nervously on the table.

“You’re supposed to be looking at
me
,” Sean whispered.

Crystal turned and Sean was looking right at her. He seemed taller when he was seated than he did standing. Crystal knew why he wanted to be photographed sitting. He had a long body but short legs.

“What would you like to talk about?” Crystal said. “I can’t just sit here and
look
at you!”

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing now?” Sean said. “Sugarman tells me you’re being considered for some part in a movie?”

“Loretta’s mentioned something about movies, but nothing definite.”

“You’re better off,” Sean said. “When they say things are definite in the movie business, what they really mean is that there’s an outside chance.”

“You want to dance?” Crystal asked.

“Are you kidding?”

The piano player had left and a small group was playing a corny Baby Face song. It was a lovely place. Crystal was enjoying it, even though she wasn’t enjoying being with Sean.

“I like this place,” she said.

“Ever been to anyplace like it?”

“No.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Sean said. “It’s all part of the life. You have to learn to enjoy it without letting it get to you. I don’t see how you can go that far. Most Blacks don’t really make it big.”

“Thanks a lot!” Crystal turned away from Sean.

A curl of blue smoke went up from another table, found its way through a shaft of light from one of the small overhead spots, and up into the darkness of the ceiling. Crystal imagined herself singing in the club, leaning against the piano.

“Well, who do we have here?” A husky female voice interrupted Crystal’s thoughts. “Why, it looks like Mr. Sean Farrell—and a friend.”

Rosemarie Montag stood in front of their table with a drink in one hand and a long cigarette holder in the other.

“Well, New York’s favorite columnist.” Sean raised his glass to her. He looked, to Crystal, very mature.

“Do I smell an
item
for my column here in the murky shadows of Sharo’s?” Rosemarie asked, leaning toward the table.

“I couldn’t stand to be in that wicked column of yours, Rosemarie,” Sean said.

“And who is your lovely friend?”

“This is Crystal,” Sean said. He gently put his hand on Crystal’s. “She’s a rather special friend.”

“Oohh.” Rosemarie sipped her drink and looked at Crystal as if she were completely surprised to meet her. “How marvelous! Hello, Crystal.”

“Hello,” Crystal replied softly.

“You are a lovely young thing,” Rosemarie said, slurring
her words slightly. “Sean is very lucky.”

“There’s nothing…official,” Sean said, relaxed.

To Crystal, Sean looked exactly the way he had on
Dawson’s Creek.

“I’ll keep your ‘nonofficial’ status in mind,” Rosemarie said.

“I’m really trying to relax before the series begins…,” Sean said. “We have to start shooting in—”

“Oh, isn’t that…?” Rosemarie waved at someone passing by. It was Earl Morgan, the actor the movie magazines had labeled “the Black Hugh Grant.”

“Earl!” Rosemarie waved him over.

Earl Morgan threaded his way through a crowd of well-wishers, flashing the smile and the dimples that had made his reputation on the screen. He kissed Rosemarie lightly on the cheek.

“Oh, I’m going to faint, you handsome brute!” Rosemarie put the back of her hand against her forehead.

“Hello, lady,” Earl’s husky voice crooned.

“Earl, why is it that all the handsome men only kiss me in public?” Rosemarie said with a smile.

“If you’d leave a trail of crumbs, I’d gladly follow you to some private place,” Earl said.

“Crumbs? I’d leave loaves of French bread if I was sure you’d be picking them up.” Rosemarie sipped her drink and then looked toward Sean again. “Earl, you have to meet my old friend, Sean. You’ve seen him a thousand times on the tube. His star is very high and still rising.”

“Pleased to meet you, my man.” Earl extended his hand.

“My pleasure,” Sean said, shaking the extended hand.