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  “You said you wanted to meet me.”

  “Not you! I never said I wanted to meet you. I don’t want you! I want Georgie.”

  “I am Georgie, Rosemary.”

  “No! You’re not! No way are you Georgie. She’s my friend. What are you? I don’t even know you. Who are you?”

  “George,” I said again, watching her. There was a glitter, a shine, a coldness in her eyes that scared me. “Rosemary, don’t think what you’re thinking. I was going to tell you the truth.”

  “The truth? You liar! You don’t know what the truth is.” She slapped me.

  “Hey! That hurt.” But it wasn’t that. I felt embarrassed in front of everyone.

  “Hurt?” she said. “I’m the one who’s hurt. Are you bizarre or what?” And then she slapped me again, hit me in the face.

  I was still trying to be reasonable. “Look, what difference does it make? It’s just a name. You want to call me Georgie, that’s okay. Call me anything you want. Can’t we be friends, at least?”

  “Go to hell,” she said, and she walked away. Oh, she walked, she stalked, she marched away.

  I didn’t know what to do. She had acted like I was something disgusting, something stinking and rotten. She’d hit me. She hated me. I watched her go, disappear into the crowd. I was never going to see her again. Then I went after her.

  I caught a glimpse of her on the corner. She was easy to spot. She was tall, had broad shoulders, and she was moving fast. When the light changed, she was across before I even got to the corner. Then I got caught in the middle of traffic. Buses, cars, taxis were all trying to destroy me. “Rosemary,” I yelled. She was walking toward Broadway past the movie arcades, the triple X-rated sex flicks, and the touristy junk places.

  I caught her halfway down the block. I tapped her on the shoulder. “Here I am—”

  She swung at me, but I was ready this time and blocked her punch with my arm. But I forgot about her other hand. She punched me in the stomach. A man walking by laughed.

  I caught up to her again on the corner near the subway entrance. When she saw me, she raised her fist.

  “I only want to talk—” I began.

  “Don’t come near me. You terrible person. Getting me to trust you. ‘I’m your girlfriend.’” There were tears in her eyes. “It’s not easy for me to make friends,” she said in a strained voice. “And I believed you. I really thought I had a friend.”

  “I am your friend!”

  She sped down a flight of stairs to the subway and I followed, fishing around in my pocket for a token. I had to stand in line at the change booth. Rosemary disappeared into the crowd. I heard a train, panicked, and jumped over the turnstile, then saw it was on the other side, on the other platform, and I jumped back. The woman in the change booth was yelling at me. “Sorry, sorry,” I said, and I pushed the money at her. A man was playing a violin in the middle of the platform. It was familiar music, classical, something I’d heard Troy play more than once. I found Rosemary there near the violinist. When he finished, she dropped some coins into his open case.

  I threw in a dollar, and she turned and saw me. “Oh,” she said. “You.”

  “Was he playing Bach?” I said. “Or was it Handel? I can never tell the difference.”

  She just looked at me. “You know what?” she said suddenly. “I gave you a black eye.”

  The minute she said it, my left eye started aching. I held my hand to my face. “You really bashed me.”

  “I should have killed you.”

  She wasn’t exactly calmed down, but she wasn’t swinging. “Can we talk now?” I asked.

  “Does that eye hurt?”

  “It throbs a little.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “No, you just wanted to kill me.”

  “Yes, but cleanly.” She looked at me calmly. “I should be sorry, but I’m not. Beating you up made me feel much better.”

  “Anytime you want a punching bag,” I said. I thought the worst was over. “I know I’m going to take a little getting used to, but if Georgie is your friend, so is George. I’m just like her, even if I did make a lousy girl.”

  “You made a terrific girl, you creep.”

  A train came into the station. She glanced around as people came off.

  “Can’t we sit down somewhere?” I said. “There’s a lot I want to explain to you.” I was planning to start at the beginning, with Julie and how miserable I’d been, and work up from there. “There’s a bench over there.”

  “Lead the way,” she said.

  I thought she was behind me, but when I looked back, she was on the train, and the doors were shutting. I ran to get in, but she pushed me. She’d timed it perfectly. I was outside and she was inside.

  I ran alongside the train, tapping on the window as it started to move. “That was tricky, Rosemary,” I yelled. “My hat’s off to you.” I waved the beret at her as the train picked up speed. But as it disappeared, I thought, There goes Rosemary, and I got really depressed.

  Chapter 22

  “ROSEMARY, COME BACK TO ‘GO’. REMEMBER MONOPOLY, ROSEMARY? YOU MUST HAVE PLAYED IT. WHEN YOU CROSS ‘GO,’ YOU COLLECT $100 AND START AGAIN. THAT’S WHAT I WANT TO DO, START THE GAME ALL OVER AGAIN. YOUR MARKER IS A TOP HAT. MINE’S A BEAUTY PARLOR. YOU ROLL FIRST.

  “REMEMBER, THAT’S THE WAY WE MET, BY ACCIDENT, A ROLL OF THE DICE. MOVE SIX SPACES OR TWELVE. I LANDED ON YOUR PROPERTY AND WE HAD A GOOD TIME TALKING. SO WHAT WENT WRONG? THERE WERE STEPS. ALL MISTAKES HAPPEN STEP BY STEP. ALL GOOD THINGS HAPPEN STEP BY STEP, AND ALL BAD THINGS HAPPEN THE SAME WAY. I DIDN’T SET OUT TO DO SOMETHING BAD. I JUST NEEDED SOMEONE TO TALK TO.

  “IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS BEAUTY PARLOR AND TOP HAT. THERE WAS YOU AND ME. THERE WERE TWO PEOPLE. TWO VOICES. AND WE TALKED AND BECAME FRIENDS. AND YOU BECAME ROSEMARY AND I BECAME GEORGIE.

  “YOU WANTED A GIRLFRIEND. I WANTED SOMEONE TO TALK TO. SO TOGETHER WE MADE GEORGIE. WHEN I FOUND OUT YOU WERE A GIRL AND YOU THOUGHT I WAS, TOO, IT BECAME PART OF THE GAME—HOW LONG COULD I KEEP YOU FROM KNOWING WITHOUT LYING? YOU SAID YOU DON’T LIKE GAMES, BUT I DO. I COULDN’T STOP PLAYING. I SHOULD HAVE. WHEN I STOPPED AT COMMUNITY CHEST, I SHOULD HAVE PULLED OUT A CARD THAT SAID, ‘COLLECT $75 AND TURN INTO GEORGE.’ INSTEAD, I DREW A CARD THAT SAID, ‘GO TO JAIL.’

  “MAYBE WE SHOULD STOP PLAYING GAMES. LET’S GET REAL, ROSEMARY. WE MET. YOU SAW ME AND I SAW YOU. YOU’RE ROSEMARY AND I’M GEORGE. I MIGHT BE WRONG, BUT I THINK YOU LIKE ME. I KNOW I LIKE YOU. ISN’T THAT ENOUGH TO START? I WANT TO BE FRIENDS. DO YOU?”

  Chapter 23

  In the next few days, I kept checking the computer bulletin board. Every time the phone rang, I thought of Rosemary. We had to talk. Let her say whatever she was going to say, get it out of her system. I had to call her. But the call was so important, I couldn’t pick up the phone. Was this the right time? Should I call later? Midnight? First thing in the morning? And what should my first words be? Hello? Brilliant.

  I finally called at seven one evening. Not too early. Not too late. I didn’t expect success; I expected her father. Or an answering machine, or nothing. Rosemary answered on the first ring. “Hello, hello!” Like she’d been sitting there, waiting for someone to call.

  “This is George,” I said.

  “Oh. I can’t talk to you—”

  “Rosemary, listen. Give me one minute at least.”

  “I’m on my way out to an audition.”

  “Where? I’ll meet you there.”

  Silence.

  “I’m not a pervert.”

  Silence.

  “All I want to do is talk, Rosemary. I promise I’ll go away the minute you tell me to.”

  “I can’t talk at an audition. I have to concentrate on what I’m doing.”

  “Understood. I promise, not a word till after it’s over.”

  “I’ll probably be there till midnight.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t turn into a pumpkin. Where is it?”

  “God,
you’re persistent!”

  “I have other good qualities, too.”

  She finally gave me an address off Amsterdam Avenue.

  It was nine o’clock when I got there. The church was an old building with wide stone steps that led to a pair of massive doors that opened with surprising ease. Inside, in the entry, there was a penciled notice: AUDITION DOWNSTAIRS. I followed the arrow.

  I heard music as I went down. It was a big basement room, columns and open space with a piano and people sitting around on folding chairs. The dancers were everywhere, sitting and standing, in their leotards and leg warmers. I saw Rosemary in a purple leotard with her long coat over her shoulders. She didn’t notice me coming in.

  I sat down. The director was a tall, balding man in a Hawaiian shirt. There was a woman next to him, writing in a notebook. I heard someone call him Davis. “Moscowitz,” he called. A short chunky boy bounced up. “Give me a little modern jazz,” he said to the pianist. The dancer was amazing. He was like a rubber ball, bouncing off the floor. After he did a few routines, the director tried him on country music, then African. “Okay,” he said finally. “Next.”

  Myers was next, then Ogilvie. Rosemary was still waiting. The way she was sitting, holding her coat around her, I felt the tension she was under. The director was abrupt, quick; his decisions came snap, snap, snap. One dancer hardly began and he said, “Thank you. Next.” No praise, no encouragement. One dancer after another. He let one dancer go on and on, and the whole time he was turned around, talking to a man and woman behind him.

  When Rosemary’s turn came, I leaned forward, a little sweaty and tense for her. Was she good? Would she be good enough? She came out quickly, letting her coat fall dramatically to the floor. A man I hadn’t noticed before picked it up. An older man. Was that her father?

  Rosemary stood, long, perfect legs in a purple leotard, her hands folded in front of her. Then, as the music began, she started dancing. She was good. I thought she was better than the other dancers, but maybe I was prejudiced. Her dancing was smooth and seemed to flow from one movement to another. She never looked clumsy. Davis didn’t cut her off, he didn’t say anything to her, either. And I didn’t see him whispering to his assistant to write anything in her notebook.

  I went up to Rosemary as soon as she finished. “You were great,” I said.

  She made a nervous, negative gesture. Her hands were clenched. I felt the heat come off her. She sat down again with the other dancers. Nobody left till the last dancer had tried out.

  The director conferred with the woman with the notebook and the couple behind him. Then he stood by the piano and told a few of the dancers to stay. “Allen, Kerenski, Moscowitz.…” He thanked everyone else. “We have your phone numbers. We know where to reach you.”

  That was it. Everyone got up to leave. It was almost eleven o’clock. I waited by the stairs for Rosemary. “I was awful,” she said.

  “You were good,” I said.

  “Don’t talk about it! I was awful. You don’t know anything about it.”

  “I’m no expert, but I know what I saw. You were one of the best.”

  “One of the best isn’t good enough. This is New York! Do you know how many talented dancers there are around?”

  The older man I’d noticed before joined us outside. “So, you see, I got here,” he said to Rosemary.

  “I know.”

  “Are you glad I came?”

  She shrugged, but when she turned to me, she made a face.

  “Davis is a beast,” the man said. “He acts like this is Broadway, Rosie.”

  “They’re all like that.” She started walking rapidly down the street, with me and this guy behind her. Snow was slowly falling and melting as it hit the street.

  “Rosie’s wonderful,” the man said to me. “Look at the way she moves. Look at her back. She’s very special. She’s going to be successful because she is so special.”

  The snow was settling in Rosemary’s hair and on her shoulders. I had an idea she didn’t like this guy, but the way he said her name—Rosie … dragging it out—he seemed to know her really well.

  “I’m Jasper,” he said to me, as if that said it all. “I’m a sculptor, I have an interest in all the arts, especially dancing. They inspire my work. Rosie is very talented.” He raised his voice on the last line.

  Rosemary shrugged.

  He pulled a wallet full of pictures out of his pocket and started showing me the things he made. He was a big man with big hands, but everything he made was tiny. He said they were dance sculptures, but they didn’t look like anything to me but little stick figures.

  Jasper took a cigarette and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “Rosie, do you have a match?”

  She handed him a lighter over her shoulder.

  “You smoke?” I said to Rosemary.

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I’m a dancer. But I always carry a lighter.”

  I took a cigarette from him. “Bad habit,” he said and lit it for me. “What’s your name?”

  “That’s Georgie,” Rosemary called back.

  It sounded sarcastic as hell. Did she even want me here? I’d invited myself.

  “Did you read that article they did on me in the Village Voice?” Jasper said.

  I took a puff of the cigarette and shook my head. An article in a newspaper? That was high-powered stuff. Was something going on between him and Rosemary? I couldn’t compete with that.

  “An article?” Rosemary said. “Isn’t that piling it on? It was just a notice of a show.”

  “But in the Village Voice,” Jasper said. “That carries clout.”

  Rosemary was hungry. We stopped to eat in a deli, a takeout place with a few tables. There were salamis hanging in the window and a big loaf of rye bread on a cutting board. It smelled great in there. Jasper ordered cheesecake and then complained that it was too sticky. He didn’t like the look of Rosemary’s sandwich, either. The corned beef was too fatty. The bread was stale. The pickle was soggy.

  “How’s your sandwich?” he asked. I’d ordered a ham and cheese.

  “Perfect,” I said. Rosemary gave me a little smile.

  When the bill came, Jasper passed it to Rosemary. “I’m a little short. The next time, I’ll get it.”

  I couldn’t believe this guy. “Don’t you have anything?” I said. “Your cheesecake was three dollars.”

  “They charge too much for their lousy food. I’ll take care of the tip.” He put a quarter on the table and went outside.

  Rosemary and I split the bill. “Take your time,” she said. “Want a stick of gum?” She unwrapped it slowly. “Maybe Jasper’ll go away.”

  “Isn’t he a friend of yours?”

  “He’s a pest, is what he is. I can’t get rid of him. Every time I show up for an audition, he’s there.”

  Outside, Jasper was waiting, chewing on a toothpick. He handed me one. “It’s free, Georgie.” He put his arm across Rosemary’s shoulders. “The night’s young. What do we do now?”

  She slipped out from under his arm. “I better get home,” she said.

  He got his arm around her again. “How about you, Jersey?” he said to me. “Don’t the buses stop running out to the boonies after midnight?”

  Rosemary gave me a look over Jasper’s head that said, Don’t go away. Don’t leave me with him.

  Right at that moment, something changed between us.

  We walked around for another hour, eating ice-cream cones and listening to Jasper’s line of bull. His work, his art, his delicacy.… On and on and on. It was nearly one o’clock. The guy was never going to shut up. Rosemary couldn’t stop yawning.

  “Are you listening, Rosie?” Jasper said.

  “To what?” She yawned.

  I slumped against a building. “We’re both listening.” I yawned a couple of times, too, and Rosemary started giggling. Then I started giggling, and we couldn’t stop.

  Jasper looked from one to the other of us. “I’ll see you a
round, Rosie,” he said, and he walked away.

  “We teed him off,” Rosemary said. “Were we awful? Was that really mean?”

  “He deserved it,” I said.

  Chapter 24

  “Mom?” I said. “Did I wake you up?”

  “George? George, where are you? I’ve been worried sick! Do you know what time it is? Did something happen? Are you okay?”

  “Mom, give me a chance to explain. I’m at a friend’s house.”

  “What kind of explanation is that? It’s the middle of the night. It’s two o’clock in the morning, George! I want to know—”

  “I’m in the city and—”

  “New York? What are you doing there?”

  “I can explain the whole thing to you. I have a friend in New York and I came over to see her audition—”

  “Since when do you have a friend in New York?”

  “It’s the first time we ever heard anything about her,” my father said.

  “Oh, you’re on the line, too, Dad? Great. A family conference. Why don’t you guys go back to bed? I’m okay, I just wanted to let you know, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You’re staying with a girl overnight?” my father said. “Who else is there?”

  “No one, right now.”

  “Where are her parents?”

  “Her father’s out. He should be back any moment.”

  “Where’s her mother?”

  “Dad, do we have to go into this now? Why do you have to know?”

  “George, we’re the parents. We ask the questions.”

  “The answer is, they’re divorced. I’ll be home tomorrow; you can put me on the stand again.” And I hung up.

  “They really quizzed you, didn’t they?” Rosemary said. “That was your mother and your father both?”

  “They don’t stop me from doing what I want,” I said defensively.

  “I think it’s great having both your parents on your case.”

  That surprised me. “I thought you couldn’t stand your parents.”

  “I like my mother and father. It’s my stepfather I can’t bear. Well … my mother bugs me a little, too. I want her to stand up to my stepfather and she doesn’t. I like parents who keep tabs on their kids, maybe because I never had it. My father was always disappearing when I was a little kid, and my mother’s wishy-washy.”