Chapter 46 One Day till New Year’s Eve
46.
One day till New Year’s Eve
On Monday morning, Babs scheduled a Zoom to inform her team and the show. Liz could tell her mom was desperate to postpone the meeting, but given the sheer number of people on it—Babs’s showrunner on Palace People, her agents, manager, and publicist, even Richard Rollo, aka Dickie, head of her network—she was too much of a professional to flake.
Liz, Birdie, and Rafi gathered to support her, sitting off camera.
In a face full of makeup and her very best robe, Babs verbally tap-danced for a few minutes before catching Liz’s eye.
Liz gave her a nod and a reassuring smile.
Babs let out a defeated sigh, then addressed the onscreen grid of faces. “The thing is, folks…I have MS. My dancing days are coming to a close.”
A wave of shock. A round of questions. Which quickly unearthed how long Babs had known this diagnosis, which provoked more shock, more questions. It was a master class in showbiz to watch her mother work the virtual room, equally charming and steely, never giving an inch, always in control. And yet, as the team absorbed the revelation and began brainstorming how to orchestrate her departure from the series, the full razzle-dazzle was missing. It wasn’t yet time for her swan song, even if the truth made it impossible to go on.
Or did it? Liz paused, thinking hard. Maybe her mother’s team just needed to do what she and Violet had done when they were brainstorming—take a wild swing. Make the impossible possible.
The tips of Liz’s fingers tingled. All at once, she had an idea. A good one. Maybe a really really good one. But it paused in her throat. This was her mother’s business meeting. Liz was there to troubleshoot any technical difficulties and offer emotional support. She wasn’t even onscreen. And yet, she had an idea.
Before she could lose her nerve, Liz cleared her throat. “I have a suggestion.”
Her mother shot Liz a surprised look.
“My kids are sitting in.” Babs swiveled the screen so her firstborn was in view. “Most of you know Liz, I think?”
Liz addressed the grid of faces. “What if you write it into the show? Crystal Palace has MS.”
For a long moment, no one spoke. Next to her, Liz felt her mom stiffen. But even as the moment extended into true awkwardness, Liz couldn’t regret speaking up.
Marty, Babs’s publicist, cleared his throat. “It would actually be good publicity, assuming you want to go public, Babs. Authentic.”
“I love it!” One of her agents leaped in—more work for Babs meant more money for everyone. “We don’t hide it: we lean in.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an actor with MS play a character with MS,” mused the showrunner. “We could play against type.”
“Crystal could join an Upper East Side support group just to find new clients,” Birdie suggested. “But then, get overly involved in the politics of the group. End up running the whole thing, her way.”
Everyone chuckled.
“One more season,” Dickie boomed, in a way that indicated it was as good as decided. “Your last hurrah.”
“Your swan song,” Liz said, looking at her mother. Seeing her in all her complex glory. “You deserve it.”
Babs Belvedere had been in show business for fifty years. She wasn’t done yet.
Babs addressed her team. “Most of you have been with me through so many different times in my life. I cherish those times. I cherish the adventurous, stubborn girl I was in my twenties. The mother I became in my thirties. The comeback kid in my forties. The Catskills queen in my fifties, when no one wanted to hire me. And now, at the end of my sixties, I finally know myself, completely. And I’ve never felt less afraid.” A smile curled her lips. “Let’s give ’em hell. I’m almost seventy, I have MS, and I’m gonna blow your fucking socks off.”