Chapter Twenty-Four #4
Her warmth melted Mazelle’s reservations.
She had a hundred questions for this woman, but, as with Clark Gable, she couldn’t muster her usual glibness in Lena’s presence.
Lorenzo was right: Some people had magnetism, not just good looks.
Lena shone like the sun. Mazelle’s sister Dottie had confided that she preferred women to men, and now Mazelle understood what it might feel like to want to wrap herself up inside another woman. Her spirit, anyway.
“Yes,” Mazelle said. “I still don’t believe you’re standing here. Lena Horne!”
“You know what’s funny?” Lena said. “I’m thinking the exact same thing.
I don’t want to be a bother, but I have to confess: I followed you in here.
You’re Mazelle Washington. I saw you across the room and couldn’t believe my eyes.
I grew up watching your Li’l Gumshoes reels.
I’m just a hair older than you. I never wanted to sing and dance—the Cotton Club was my mother’s thing for me—but you sure did make me want to do pictures. And now here we are!”
Lena spoke earnestly, their faces so close that Mazelle noticed Lena’s light spray of freckles underneath her makeup. Mazelle’s throat tightened with emotion. She bent forward, and the two young women hugged with a swaying more like family than strangers.
Thunderous applause rippled through the door. Someone was making a speech.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to Scout,” Lena said, and Mazelle stiffened. She forgot that the entire nation had mourned Scout’s disappearance, not just her. She’d been sure everyone else had moved on. “I didn’t even live in California and I was always looking for him.”
“Thank you,” Mazelle said, and then she blurted, “I need to move on from what I’ve been doing.
” Although she had named the new mountain lodge she was building “Mazywood” to honor the character responsible for her fortunes, she was embarrassed to say the name in front of Lena.
“I’m tired of the same old same old, you know?
My producer introduced me to Jack Warner out there, and he invited me for a screen test—”
Lena squealed, cupping Mazelle’s elbows. “That’s fantastic!”
“And I’ve been doing comedy so long… I want to work on being a better dramatic actress too. So I can be a lead one day, like you. Can you recommend any good teachers?”
Lena’s smile faded a bit with confusion. “I can think of good teachers, but let’s get it straight. Shoot, I’m not a lead—not to MGM. Or Fox either.”
“But Stormy Weather…”
“Yes, it’s the best luck a colored gal could get,” Lena said.
She lowered her voice. “But the scripts they’re sending me now?
It’s nightclub numbers. My manager says they’ll probably trim me out in the Southern markets.
That’s how they do it. They get you under contract to say what they’re doing, but no one’s doing much.
And it wasn’t a real pairing, was it? Bill Robinson is older than my daddy. ”
Mazelle smothered a laugh, and Lena joined her. She had noticed that Lena’s love interest was a man her parents had known since before the turn of the century. “Bojangles” Robinson was a legend, but he wasn’t an appropriate suitor for a girl in her twenties.
“We can’t have a colored leading lady without a colored leading man,” Lena said.
“We need a colored Clark Gable or Cary Grant, but they aren’t looking for him.
What would they do with him? All they worry about is what the Southern markets will think.
They won’t pair us with white men. And colored men can’t touch white women or any women, not in Hollywood. ”
Mazelle’s insides curdled. If the business’s biggest colored starlet couldn’t find any leading roles, how did anyone else have hope? The French stranger had been right!
Pity floated across Lena’s face when she noticed Mazelle’s disappointment.
“My real advice?” Lena went on gently. “You’ve been acting your whole life.
If you want to impress Warner in your screen test, focus on being funny.
Physical comedy is your strength, and there’s nobody like you.
But also be a singer. You’ll get more work.
Most girls work the clubs so they can get a screen test, but you’ve already got one—so sing for Warner too.
Otherwise, you’ll be lucky to be a day player doing the same jobs you’re already tired of. How’s your singing voice?”
She remembered Aunt Ruby calling her singing “screeching.” But Mazelle had been diligent about keeping up her voice and piano exercises Aunt Ruby had taught her, a kind of penance.
Aunt Ruby’s lessons had outlived her, but without the beatings.
And for two years, Mazelle had taken voice and piano lessons to prepare for the part of Louvenia in Reaper so she would be ready when the golden moment arrived.
By now, she sang as well as her sisters.
“I can sing on key and hold a note,” Mazelle said. “Subbed for one of my sisters in their club act. And I’ve been a soloist at First AME Church.”
Lena nodded. “There you go. If it’s good enough for church, it’s good enough for him.”
Mazelle’s disappointment tried to dampen her spirits, but instead she said, “There’s a piano out there, I noticed.”
“You play piano too?”
“Well enough to play ‘As Time Goes By,’ ” Mazelle said.
Lena looked startled before her smile widened. “Oh, my. That would be bold as hell.”
“I didn’t get where I am by being shy.”
Mazelle and Lena laughed again until someone knocked impatiently on the door.
“One minute!” Mazelle called.
Lena cut her laughter short and whispered in Mazelle’s ear. “About those screen tests: Some of them’ll try to touch you. Don’t let ’em. They think every actress is their whore.”
Mazelle almost let herself wonder how that night in Mr. Lorenzo’s office might have gone differently if she had heard Lena’s warning first. She hated how naive she’d been!
Instead, Mazelle turned her thoughts to Reaper, which now felt so distant when once it had felt so close.
She knew the script by heart. She had to know if Horne thought her dream was foolish.
“Have you heard of a script called Reaper?” Mazelle asked, nearly whispering the name.
Lena clutched Mazelle’s arm. “Reaper!” she said.
“Isn’t Louvenia the perfect character? Fredi Washington showed me a copy when I was in New York two years ago and I never forgot it.
You don’t know how I’ve begged for that part.
It doesn’t make sense to me: Why would MGM option it and not even pretend they’ll ever make it? ”
“Option it?” Mazelle said. “MGM has the rights?”
“I said I wouldn’t sign any contract unless I could be Louvenia.”
The light in the bathroom seemed to flare, turning Mazelle’s vision red.
Mr. Lorenzo had claimed he had the rights to Reaper when he was courting her to sign a contract too.
He must have given up his option around the time he told her he’d been delayed by the war, all the while promising, I will make this movie.
A worse thought came: What if he never had the rights?
“When did you sign your contract?” Mazelle managed to ask, another whisper. But deep down, she already knew—Lena Horne’s historic contract had been celebrated in the press.
“Last year. And for seven years! Too long…” Lena said. She paused when she noticed Mazelle’s face change. “Why are you asking about Reaper?” Protectiveness laced her query.
Mazelle shook her head as if to say, It’s nothing. But she knew she did not look convincing—she was not a good enough actress to hide the molten grief and rage churning her throat and stomach. But locking the words inside made her afraid she would throw up.
“Jerry Lorenzo promised me that part,” Mazelle finally said, driven by a need to speak his name and crime aloud.
“He said he has the rights. He looked me in my eye. Reaper was the only reason I…” She couldn’t finish.
The only reason she what? That she had signed her contract?
Or that she had not pushed him away that night in his office?
The room was rocking. Now she was afraid she might faint.
Mazelle kept her bearings by watching Lena grab a bright white towel and dab lightly across her nose, wiping away shine at the tip.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” Lena said. “There’s always a bait and switch. They lie, remember?”
She said it as if Mazelle should already know.
Mazelle had stomach cramps when she left the bathroom, so she declined Lena’s invitation to go meet her “best friend, Ava.” She didn’t want to be anywhere near Lorenzo either, so she did not look for him.
She longed to grab a champagne flute from one of the circulating trays, but in her current mood she wouldn’t stop at just one drink—and she did not trust herself to be tipsy in Lorenzo’s company.
He had lied to her about Reaper. What else was he lying about?
Yes, he had brought her to this party, as he’d promised, but for what purpose?
Was she supposed to be so grateful that she would tumble into bed?
She felt a new wave of shame over what had happened in his office.
Lena had said it just right—he had treated her like his whore.
She didn’t need Lorenzo to win over this room, she decided.
A bookish man in an army dress uniform with a smart jacket was finishing a talk on the opposite side of the room, so the lovely piano’s bench was empty. Mazelle sidled closer to the piano, wondering if she would have the nerve to play uninvited. Or the chance.
“… So as Major Gable just explained better than I ever could, every dime you spend on war bonds goes directly to our boys overseas,” the speaker said.
“We use those funds to manufacture and maintain critical weapons and lifesaving supplies. The better equipped we are, the sooner we can crush the Nazis and bring our boys back home.”