Babes in Captivity by Pamela Redmond Satran

Author:Pamela Redmond Satran
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DOWNTOWN PRESS
Published: 2003-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Deirdre

Deirdre walked west along Forty-fourth Street, west and farther west, swinging her arms and sashaying her hips. Swing swing, she told herself. Wiggle wiggle. She made herself smile and felt it was true what she’d read in Glamour yesterday: doing the action can make you feel the feeling, in her case, happier and sexier. She was wearing a new tight black suede skirt, shorter than any skirt she’d owned since seventh grade, and it was freezing, so she was walking very fast. Under her arm she carried a portfolio holding the head shots she’d had taken three days ago; her newly straightened hair slid—as opposed to bounced—against her cheek. A good-looking businessman standing on the corner of Eighth Avenue turned to watch her as she passed. Swing swing. Wiggle wiggle.

She was going to see Elliot Lesser, the agent who’d given her his card that night when she did the show with Nick. She’d called him the next day, and he thought she could have a real career. Very talented, incredibly versatile. He saw tremendous commercial possibilities, character parts on Broadway, touring dates with top bands, maybe even a solo appearance at one of the major nightspots. Did people use the word nightspot anymore? Never mind, what did she know? Elliot Lesser had told her that he was a veteran of one of the major show business agencies and an entertainment lawyer to boot. And he was interested in taking her on as a client. Having an agent, someone who could send her to closed auditions and recommend her for roles, would be a huge step up from the cattle calls she’d been going on.

As she continued to walk west and the streets became both scrubbier and more deserted, she felt sweat spring to her palms as her heart began to thump in her ears. She opened her mouth to take in more air and felt her throat go dry, that arid feeling she woke up with in the middle of the night for all those months after the twins were born when she was on antidepressants, the feeling that was death to her voice. Just the hint of that feeling—the memory of the depression and the fear that she would never be able to sing again—made her panicky.

Swing swing, she told herself. Wiggle wiggle. But it had stopped working. She even tried to smile but felt her teeth clench in a grimace. Her mind had swung to the twins. She hadn’t been home for three days, and she missed them so sharply she could have doubled over there on the sidewalk. They were at an age now when they were away from her far more than they were in her arms or on her lap, even when she was at home, but she realized how much she counted on their first-thing-in-the-morning snuggles and their good night kisses, their full-body hugs at the end of the school day and their drowsy heads in her lap as they watched TV together at night.

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