Chapter Twenty-Two #3
Mr. Lorenzo held up his hands to stop her apology. “Listen—I get it.” When her parents gave Mazelle questioning looks, he went on: “I saw her at the Mayan and she got lost in the crowd. So I wanted to have a proper meeting. Hope it’s okay.”
“This was Jerry’s idea, popping in like this,” Mr. Sharpe clarified. He looked slightly embarrassed, hesitant to enter the house farther. “If you’re busy…”
“We are a bit busy, actually,” Richard spoke up, and the conversation halted.
Mazelle wondered if her parents had caught the razor in Richard’s voice, at the border of politeness.
She’d heard that sharp edge once or twice before when he complained about service at his hotel.
Mother gave Mazelle a glance that told her she’d heard it, all right.
“We have a few minutes, since you’re here,” Mother told Mr. Lorenzo.
“Please have a seat,” Daddy said. “Hang your hats and jackets on the rack.”
Mr. Lorenzo and Mr. Sharpe hung up their hats, but not their jackets. Mazelle hoped that meant they didn’t plan to stay long.
Mazelle whispered to Richard, “Mr. Lorenzo is from Lorenzo Studios, my old boss.” Richard grunted and his face went neutral, but it didn’t soften much.
They hadn’t courted long, but she had complained to him plenty about Li’l Gumshoes.
Richard hung back slightly in the dining room entryway while Mr. Lorenzo and Mr. Sharpe sat on the living room sofa and accepted lemonade from Mother.
Richard started to reach into his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes, but Mazelle patted his hand to remind him not to smoke in front of Mother, since she detested the habit.
Mazelle already could smell the cigar smoke in Mr. Lorenzo’s clothes.
“Where’s Millie?” Mazelle asked.
Mr. Sharpe beamed. “We had twins six months ago. Boys. That keeps her busy.”
He pulled out his wallet to show snapshots of the pink-skinned babies and everyone congratulated him. During the rounds of chitchat Mazelle remembered how she’d always had to wait for Mr. Lorenzo to get to his point. Richard’s obvious annoyance at the interruption was making her anxious.
“Mazelle,” Mr. Lorenzo said at last with a dramatic flair, “we had to come congratulate you on Harlem High Jinx. You were fantastic in that. Just fantastic.”
Mazelle forgot Richard’s annoyance and grinned. “You saw that?”
“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t have missed it,” Mr. Sharpe said. “You as the headliner! Such great command, Mazelle. You were always a talent, but you’ve come such a long way. You had us both in stitches. Millie too.”
Mazelle’s face warmed with their compliments. But Mother and Daddy, as usual, were silent and wary.
“And you know…?” Mr. Lorenzo went on. “When I saw Jump for Joy, I thought to myself, ‘It’s time for a change.’ All that talent on the stage, and there you were right in front of me—I mean, literally! I called Sharpe as soon as I got home.”
“He sure did,” Mr. Sharpe confirmed.
“And I said, ‘Sharpe—we can do better by Mazelle Washington. We gave that kid her break when she was young, and we can do it again. Just like the paper said, she’s meant to be a star.’ ” Mazelle couldn’t stop her thrumming heartbeat.
It sounded like he did have a job for her!
Why would he go to all this trouble just to dole out compliments?
Seeing Mazelle’s growing grin, Mother raised her hand slightly to gesture: Slow down. Let him get to his point.
Mr. Lorenzo pointed toward Richard. Mazelle turned her head and saw that Richard had folded his arms, skepticism clear on his face.
“Speaking of Jump for Joy… sax, right?” Mr. Lorenzo said.
“I never forget a face. What a thrill to play for such a powerhouse band. Man, I wish I had a talent for music.”
Richard only shrugged at the compliment. “You and everybody else in this town. We had to tell Mickey Rooney he couldn’t sit in on drums. He thinks he’s Chick Webb.”
Mazelle and her parents laughed, but they were distracted by anticipation. Jerry Lorenzo’s next words might change their lives, and she hated allowing him to have that much power over them… but he did. Mazelle’s stomach clenched as if she had eaten stones for lunch.
“We were so sorry to hear about the fire…” Mother said, returning to business in her own way.
Word had spread all over the press about how Lorenzo Studios had lost many of its reels during a fire five years before, including the entire Li’l Gumshoes run.
Her reels with Scout were gone. All that remained of Scout were a few family photographs and one framed photo Mr. Norman had sent them of her posing with Scout in the prop airplane in Florida—her favorite.
They had assumed that Mr. Lorenzo was bankrupt by now.
Mr. Lorenzo’s jaw clenched slightly. He knew exactly what she was digging for.
“We’re still in business, I’m happy to report.
I look at it as a fresh start,” he said, although a storm in his eyebrows revealed how much he didn’t want to discuss it.
Beside him, Sharpe’s head hung with the memory.
“New investors. A new direction. Lorenzo Studios is making a real name in comedy with some fresh stars. Remember the name Shelley Winters. She’s gonna be big.
But I’m expanding beyond comedy—which is why I’m here. ”
He opened the small brown briefcase he’d been hugging close to him and pulled out a script.
The golden tabs glistened in the afternoon sun lighting their living room window, casting sprite-like reflections on the sofa cushions.
He handed the pages to Mother and Daddy, just like the old days.
While they huddled to study the title page, Mazelle left Richard’s side to join them.
“Believe me when I say this…” Mr. Lorenzo said, his voice sober. “Nothing like this script exists anywhere else. I’ve got the only copy in town, and I snapped up the rights. Every Negro actress in Hollywood would kill for a part in this.”
The script was titled simply Reaper, which gave Mazelle an inexplicable jolt with its bluntness, nothing cute or flowery.
And the screenwriter was a woman, although Mazelle had never heard of her: Judith Jenkins.
The page seemed to radiate heat to the touch.
Mazelle hesitated, then she flipped to the first page.
The scene opened on a farm with a character named Louvenia working in a field, and Mazelle had seen enough after a handful of words.
It was bad enough to play a maid, but now she had to play a sharecropper?
She was about to push the pages back to her parents when the description caught her eye: Louvenia is beautiful and has a noble bearing.
She is completely unsuited for farmwork, down to the shoes on her feet.
She belongs a million miles away. And she is!
She is far from her body as she works, seeking refuge in the entertainments of her imagination.
She sings a melancholy song to pass the time—and it’s jazz!
“You know who wants to see this script?” Lorenzo said. “Dorothy Dandridge’s agent. She’s that kid who—”
“We know who Dorothy Dandridge is,” Richard said evenly.
“Long story short, a pretty young Negro girl is the lead. Her family is about to lose their farm. They got their little taste of the American dream, but now it’s a nightmare.
They’re dead broke. Month after month, they’re barely scraping by.
” Mazelle hoped that Mr. Lorenzo couldn’t see in her face how much Louvenia’s story mirrored her true life.
She had to fight not to look at her parents.
“She sings in the church choir, see? And there’s this jamboree coming up—she’s the soloist. But it’s the same day as a jazz-singing contest, and if she wins, she’ll get a hundred bucks.
She picks the jazz club over the church, so her parents are mad and go to get her…
But she wins! And her family forgives her when she saves the farm. ”
“Like The Jazz Singer,” Daddy said.
“Sure, maybe, but with Negroes,” Lorenzo said.
“And why not? Jazz came from Negroes, so who’s stealing from who?
Anyway, this is a playwright from the Harlem Renaissance who only wrote one script for pictures, and this is it.
Reaper, I guess that’s a farming term, I’m not wild about the title—but the role is great.
And I think you’re perfect for it, Mazelle.
It could be like Imitation of Life, but it’s about a proud, traditional Negro family changing with the times.
And we could try to get Hattie McDaniel and Bojangles Robinson to play your parents.
Big names. I know McDaniel wants another dramatic role, something even better than Mammy.
And I can add other musical acts too. Sky’s the limit.
Maybe there’s even a role for the Duke Ellington Orchestra. ” Mr. Lorenzo winked at Richard.
Richard chuckled. “The man knows how to pitch,” he said with grudging admiration.
At last, Mazelle looked at her parents, who seemed as surprised as she was.
Mazelle’s breath had left her throat. “I…” she began without thinking, “… have to sing?”
“Sure!” Mr. Lorenzo said. “I know you’ve got pipes. That’s the beauty: You’re an amateur. You just have to sing better than the other contestants. The bigger musical acts will sell it. Plus, that’s all just coaching. If you can hold a tune, I can make you a singer.”
Mazelle’s eyes sought out the maple upright piano that still stood in the living room, with the same bench where she’d sat during her lessons with Aunt Ruby. (And you better stop all that screeching!) Mazelle’s shoulder twitched as if Aunt Ruby had hit her.
Mazelle shook her head. “I don’t know if—”
“Mazelle will be happy to take voice lessons for the role,” Mother said, cutting her off. “When will you be shooting? And what are your terms?”
“There she is—Mama Tiger,” Mr. Lorenzo said. He looked at Sharpe. “I’ve missed this.”