Chapter 36
36
Eleanor
The producers of Barefoot in the Park invite me and a plus-one to the black-tie opening-night party at the Plaza Hotel. It’s a classic venue for a classic show, the perfect marriage of all the factors of this production. The only people I can think to take with me are June and Dawn. June can’t make it, so it ends up being Dawn and me, dressed in our finest, driving to the event in a black SUV.
“You don’t have to take me with you,” Dawn says, pulling the seat belt across her black sparkling pantsuit.
“May I remind you we’re already in the car.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I haven’t been to something like this in decades. I might mess it up.”
“There’s no way to mess up a party. Unless you’ve been sleeping with the producer, and he proposes to his fiancée you didn’t know about, and you decide to send a company-wide congratulations on the subject, and then you tell the fiancée about the affair. That might mess things up a bit. The lucky thing is, I’ve been there before, so I’d understand.”
When we pull up to the venue, Dawn climbs out first, then steps back, waiting. “You go in ahead of me.”
“Of course,” I tell her. “Think of me as your personal publicist for the night. In fact, consider me that for real. We will chat our way through the crowd and find some people to mingle with who might be interested in knowing where you’ve been. If any conversation turns in a direction you don’t like, just ask me if I want to get another drink. I’ll know that’s our cue to get out of there, and I’ll handle our exit from that group. There are a lot of industry people here who are going to be very excited to know you want back into the performance world.”
Dawn rubs her lips together, then runs a hand under each eye. “If you say so.”
“Your makeup looks great. You look great.” It’s true. She wears her age with grace, and the pantsuit she’s chosen is elegant. She is still every bit a movie star.
We make our way to the Oak Room, the bar inside the hotel where the party is being held. The walls are covered in rich dark wood, with high arches and intricate paneling. It’s a posh affair, splashy and opulent, bona fide celebrities everywhere I look. Having a second purpose here keeps me calm. I get to be more than just one of the agents from the show, making nice with our clients so they want to work with us again. I’m Dawn’s guiding light—the person who makes sure that she is provided for in the way she needs.
We find our way into conversations with actors, casting directors, producers. People I’ve worked with for years. When they see Dawn, they are sincere when they ask where she’s been and what she wants to do now.
“We’d love to get her out into the spotlight again to let the right people know she’s looking for work,” I say on her behalf. It hasn’t taken long to deduce that Dawn is humble about her talents to the point of self-deprecation. She could get nominated for an Oscar and she’d tell me about it like someone made a clerical error when putting her on the ballot.
People are especially touched to learn we are neighbors. That layer keeps the conversation churning, everyone loving how we’ve lived across the hall from each other for almost a decade, but neither of us spoke before Tatum and June showed up. It’s not an exaggeration when we say we owe everything to the power of the people around us.
“The both of us are bitches. We never would’ve talked if they didn’t make us,” Dawn says, which gets a huge laugh from our current group. She has excellent timing.
There is a morning show booking agent among us. She takes a particular shine to these details, saying, “You know, this would make a great segment on our show.”
I allow myself a quick, private smile. I do know. It’s exactly what I hoped for when I led us over to this particular group of people.
“I don’t know about that,” Dawn says, right as I respond with, “I completely agree.”
I nudge Dawn, letting her know I’ve got this.
“She has so many fans who could generate publicity on her behalf if they learned she wanted to work,” I continue. “All we need to do is get her face on the screen again. Let people be really touched by her story. Getting her back into the spotlight is a community matter. I know we can do right by her.”
When we step away for drinks at Dawn’s request, she’s honest with me when she asks, “Do you really think I deserve this?”
There’s something about knowing this woman is over seventy years old, still so afraid to receive help that she can’t even believe she might deserve it, that makes me want to fall to my knees. I tell her everything I used to fear telling myself. All the pieces I learned from my strange summer spent house swapping with Tatum.
“Dawn, you deserve to be celebrated,” I say. “You don’t have to hide away from the world for the rest of your life. Just because the people in the business years ago made you feel worthless doesn’t mean it’s true. And as long as I’m here in your corner, I will make sure you don’t forget that. No matter how many times you try to tell other people that you suck, I solemnly swear to deny your own allegations every chance I get. You are worth all the trouble and more.”
Dawn pats her tears away with a powder she keeps in her purse. “Nobody makes me cry.”
I hug her. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”
As she holds me, she leans her head against my shoulder. “What about you?”
“What about me?” I question.
“Why won’t you let yourself be loved in this same way?”
Knowing she’s seen me, that this is my fight as much as it is hers, I’m honest when I put my hands on her shoulders and say, “I will, Dawn. I promise.”