A/N: I've assumed that Ivy only uses her first and middle names professionally and that "Conroy" was her mother's maiden name. So I made up her father's name. And that he wasn't part of the show business world.
Chapter Two
It was Day Seven of her suspension and Ivy believed she was going insane. People looked forward to breaks from work, she knew. Crossed off the days in anticipation. Talked about with coworkers. Happily raced home the day before leaving. What did that say about their jobs? Were they in careers they loved then, if they wanted breaks from it?
She couldn't imagine it. Working nine to five counting beans or pushing papers. People actually did that and, from what Ivy gathered, liked it. The same thing, day in and day out. Outsiders may think that's what it was like to do a Broadway show. Singing the same songs, saying the same lines, dancing the same choreography, on and on. But they didn't understand the theater, the idea of performing live. Every performance was different.
There wasn't one big thing Ivy could say changed day-to-day. It was the little things. The way the audience reacted. Addition of an understudy or a swing amongst other cast changes. Something going wrong—a cue failing, a wardrobe malfunction, and other challenges actors faced.
Actors! Their individual performances changed as they were humans, not robots. While they did not vary wildly, it was rare to find someone who said the line the same way every show or sang the same way each time. Ivy knew she didn't. It depended on how she felt that day. The incident about a month ago had been her worst throat infection, not her first. Her doctor would be horrified to know how many nights she went on when prescribed vocal rest. But on those nights, she sang safe—didn't strain for top notes, didn't attempt a full belt and other tricks to preserve her voice.
But truthfully, Ivy missed her family. Not her parents, though she did need to call her father. The theater was its own family. A dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. She thought back to only the week prior. It was her theater family who had helped her that night.
She missed that family. It was strange. Equity suspended her from Heaven on Earth, not from the theater world in general. But people weren't returning her calls. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Sam did as well as Tom. And Derek…
A small smile graced Ivy's face. Derek had been wonderful since her suspension. He made sure to eat at least one meal with her during rehearsals. During them, he spoke about Bombshell, keeping her informed of everything that was happening. It was almost like being there, she found.
Derek often turned to her for help in his research for the show. The reading kept her busy. Sometimes, as she found herself surrounded by Marilyn's life, it was depressing. They were reminders that she wasn't the lead. But they were interesting. Ivy felt a kinship with the doomed starlet. Their lives were near parallels to the point it scared her.
But all those negative feelings disappeared in Derek's company. In his smile when she answered a question he had. How he held her when testing out new blocking. Or danced with her, working out problems with the choreography. The kisses he bestowed upon her as rewards. It made her feel special, loved.
Those feelings were hard to come by, she found nowadays. On Day Eight, she went for a stroll through Shubert Alley. It was dangerous to be so close to Heaven on Earth but not illegal. And Ivy felt better to at least be in Times Square, the theater district, even if she couldn't be on stage.
Ivy sat at one of the tables set up by the Bloomberg administration. The lights from the video screens and advertisements shone down like a rainbow. Entranced, she watched them all, even the ad for "Casual Friday 2." Grimacing as Rebecca Duvall's face filled the screen, Ivy looked away.
Her face lit up as Jessica came running toward her. The actress' blonde hair trailed behind her as she darted between the tables and theater-goers pouring into the streets. Plopping down, Jessica's smile made Ivy feel better. "Hey, girl! Miss you at Heaven. No one to talk to between the numbers."
"You can talk to anyone," Ivy relied. "But I appreciate the sentiment. Anything new?"
Jessica shrugged. "The usual. Derek's being impossible, Karen's too frightened and Rebecca's simply awful."
"She can't be that bad."
"Oh, yes, she can. She shanghaied Linda into making her her smoothies because her assistants were busy with other tasks for her."
"No!" Ivy's mouth fell open. "What did Derek do?"
"Yelled at her, naturally. Someone must've complained to Eileen because now Ellis is making her smoothies."
Ivy giggled, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. "Oh, poor Ellis. Is she getting better?"
Jessica shrugged. "They've lowered the key and I heard she got a vocal coach. I mean, Rebecca's no longer subscribing to the Rex Harrison School of Singing, but she's nowhere near you. She's not even near Karen."
Ivy shrugged. "Come on, you have to be exaggerating."
Her friend shook her head. "Karen's a good singer. And a pretty decent dancer. She just needs more experience."
"I guess."
Jessica leaned forward, urging Ivy to do the same. "I heard a story that a few years ago, the leading lady couldn't sing. She still went on in the role with her understudy singing in the wings for her. Maybe they can do that. Send Rebecca out to deliver lines and let everyone dance around her. Then Karen could sing for her."
"I like that solution." Ivy and Jessica laughed.
Pushing her chair back, Jessica stood up. "Come on. It's nighttime in New York City and we're young. Let's go out and be young!"
"Why not?" Ivy stood as well. "I could use a drink."
"Falling off the wagon so soon?" A high snide voice froze Ivy more than the wintery winds blowing through Times Square.
Pivoting on her heels, Ivy faced down Avis Johnson. Avis was a chorus girl in Heaven on Earth. Tall, busty and raven-haired, Ivy was jealous of the girl's beauty. She could play any of Marilyn's brunette contemporaries; Avis had that timeless look. Beauty wasn't the only thing she offered, though. The woman had a beautiful soprano voice that suited many ingénue roles. She was also an incredibly talented dancer as well as an actress with great comedic timing. Once she had done her time in the chorus, Ivy had no doubt that Avis would be in demand.
The problem was she knew this. It gave Avis an air of arrogance that annoyed most of her costars. She believed herself better than them and now was no different. Ivy wished she could smack the smug look off her face but knew it wouldn't help her suspension.
"I'm not an alcoholic, Avis."
"Really? There's video proof of the opposite online."
Jessica stepped between the two actresses. The top of her head came only up to the brunette's chin. Hands on her hips, Jessica looked up into Avis' eyes. "Ivy's not an alcoholic. There's nothing wrong with getting a drink with friends every now and then."
The smirk remained fixed on Avis' face. "It's not my career." She shrugged. "Have fun, ladies."
Ivy watched Avis walk away. Her stiletto heeled boots clicked against the concrete. The blonde wished she would hit a patch of black ice as an audience looked on. A tumble to the ground would do the woman good. Nothing to injure her—as a dancer herself, Ivy never wished that on anybody—but enough to bruise her ego.
"Stop thinking about her." Jessica grabbed her companion's arm. "Let's go. I know a good place a few blocks up. And the DJ is pretty cute."
Removing her arm from Jessica's grasp, Ivy shook her head. "Not tonight, Jess. I'm going home. You have fun. See you later."
Despite her friend's protests, Ivy left Times Square. Left the lights and the marquees. Left the crowded streets. And just walked. Normally she'd take public transportation, but not tonight. Tonight, she wanted the time to think.
The city at night was beautiful, even away from the busy lights. People who weren't familiar with Manhattan were surprised when they stumbled across a quiet residential neighborhood. Ivy liked them; they were respites from the hectic city life everyone knew. She walked in the harsh orange glow of the streetlamps, passing picturesque buildings with dark windows.
Ivy liked to imagine she lived in one. That she was a famous actress and could afford the rent. She had a color scheme chosen for every room and read furniture catalogues. Beneath her bed was a shoebox filled with cut-out pictures of her favorite items. When she had a place of her own, she'd buy them and decorate the house. Her awards would be spread out across the house as her mantle, unlike her mother's, was to be reserved for pictures of her family.
And Ivy wanted one. They featured prominently in her fantasies, especially with that imaginary mantle. There were several pictures displayed there. The most prominent was a family portrait. Ivy sat in a chair, hair still golden in color. Blonde children stood around her, two girls and two boys. Her husband stood behind her, hand on her shoulder. Husband. She didn't know if she wanted one who worked in the industry, like Derek, or was an outsider, like her father. Both worked and both failed, she knew.
Thinking of her father, she looked at her cell phone. He had called her that afternoon. It had been a surprise; she was anticipating a call from her mother. But Jack Thompson was going to be in the city the following day and wanted to treat his only daughter to lunch. She was excited yet nervous. What did he know? And what would he say? No doubt her mother had seen the video Avis mentioned. Her father probably had as well.
It was clear the neighborhood was not going to calm her tonight. Pulling her coat tighter, Ivy walked home. Her apartment was only a few blocks over and at her pace, the journey was quick. Turning in, Ivy worried about the next day.
The sun shone brightly as Ivy emerged from the subway station, passing the dark green metal fence the city erected around the entrances. Downtown Manhattan seemed a different beast than midtown. More skyscrapers, less neon lights. Amongst the skyscrapers were buildings that had seen the city through the Revolution. When Ivy had first moved to Manhattan, her roommate had been a grad student studying American history at New York University. The woman had gone on about the history that had occurred on that end of the island. Ivy retaliated by going on about theater and she hoped to this day, the woman still thought of her every time she walked by a theater.
Ivy walked down the narrow streets of the financial center, reading the address printed on her cell phone screen. Her father wrote it was a red brick building, but so far, that described most of the ones she had passed. And some had ways of hiding their addresses, to her displeasure. She didn't want to be late, not with everything else going on.
"Ivy! Ivy, over here!" A man across the street was waving his arm. He was tall with a head of graying blond hair, wearing a long black coat tied around the middle, dark suit pants sticking out underneath. Jack Thompson was a handsome man who got better looking with age. It was no surprise her mother fell in love with him.
And it wasn't just his looks. Jack was a savvy, intelligent businessman who had climbed the corporate ladder very quickly. Or, as a colleague once told her, "rode the escalator to the top."
She asked her father his secret once. He smiled. "Patience. It's the secret to everything. My marriage to your mother and my career. That and knowing how to pick my battles." He winked before hugging her. The advice stayed with her.
Crossing the street, Ivy flew into her father's waiting embrace. He held her tightly. Ivy relaxed into his hold, eyes closed. She felt like nothing could harm her in these arms. "I've missed you," she muttered into his coat.
He chuckled. "Missed you too, Princess." She felt him kiss the top of her head. "Come on, let's go get something to eat."
Ivy slipped a hand into the crook of his arm and let him escort her to a nearby restaurant. Lunch proceeded pleasantly and Ivy felt herself relax, though she noticed he didn't discuss Bombshell with her. He didn't discuss anything related to theater with her. Instead, he spoke of her brother's struggles in the economy, her mother's latest attempts to take over the community theater program, his golf game. Town gossip and news, punctuated with "Oh, you would never believe who I ran into!"
Halfway through her entrée, Ivy had had enough. Fork clanging onto her plate, she fixed her father with a glare. "Okay, can we just get it over with?"
"Get what over with?"
"The lecture. I know it is coming."
Sighing, her father also put down his fork. "I know what happened at Heaven on Earth."
"So does Mom, I guess?"
He shook his head. "I didn't tell her. Your brother and I agreed it was for the best."
"For her?"
"For you." He took her hand. "It must have been difficult going from being the star to back in the chorus. I remember the last time this happened."
"You mean in high school, when Janie Robinson's dad paid our drama teacher to give her the lead? This is different."
Jack bit his lip. "Darling, for the last time, Mr. Robinson did not buy his daughter the role. She was originally offered it before she had her tonsils removed. When her doctor cleared her to sing, the teacher wanted to give her the lead as she was a senior. Just like the following year, when you were a senior, you got to be the star.
"In a lot of ways, you are like your mother." Ivy rolled her eyes and her father chuckled. "I know you don't want to hear it, but it's true. You both know your talents and refuse to accept anything less than what you deserve. But also don't have the patience."
"What?" Ivy's voice had gone higher. "Ten years in the chorus. I think I showed enough patience. This was my time."
"It was your time but sometimes fate can be cruel. It's how we handle our disappointment that says a lot about us."
Eyes cast down, Ivy couldn't deny the truth of her father's statement. That was one thing she loved about him. He always made her see reason—whether she wanted to or not.
James' tone softened. "So, any men I need to worry about hurting my little girl?"
With a laugh, Ivy let the conversation go in another direction.
Returning to her apartment, her father's words replayed in Ivy's head. She had handled her disappointment well, right? Not according to everyone else, said a small voice in her head.
"They don't know what they are talking about." Ivy didn't care she was talking to herself.
Or are you in denial?
"I am not in denial!"
Then watch the video. What harm will it do?
"Fine! I'll watch the damn video! Happy?"
She marched to her laptop, booting it up. It was taking forever to her impatient mind and she drummed her manicured nails against her kitchen table. The sooner she saw this, the sooner her doubts would disappear.
Going to a website she knew had a link to the video, Ivy took a deep breath. This could change everything, she felt. Or it could change nothing. Eyes closed, she clicked the link.
Lying on her bed, she stared at her white ceiling. Maybe she should paint it. Was that acceptable under her lease? She made a note to ask her landlord about it. Or at least her building supervisor. Perhaps a nice pink color—she favored the color. She could paint an entire mural on there. After all, Ivy was going to have the time.
The video proved Avis correct. For now, it annoyed Ivy more than anything. Even the performance she saw captured on video. It was easy to pretend that it was someone else. Another blonde chorus girl acting a fool. Making those silly faces and laughing while the others were singing. Falling out of step, tripping over her feet. Thrown off the stage by a Tony-winning actor.
It was humiliating.
Humiliating to the blonde on the video.
Humiliating to Ivy.
Rolling over, Ivy felt the sobs get stuck in her throat. The truth hurt. The truth was cruel. Because the truth was Ivy had acted a drunken fool.
As she lay still, face buried in a pillow, her father's words came back to haunt her. It's how we handle our disappointment that says a lot about us. She had the right to be disappointed. Years of hard work and determination were behind her. Dues paid in the chorus. At audition after audition. The pinnacle was in sight—she was almost there. But she had been sent back to base camp once again. So, yes, she had to the right to be disappointed.
But she didn't have the right to let the disappointment affect her professional life. Rage in her apartment, yes. Take out her frustrations at the gym, yes. Rant to a friend, yes. Get drunk with friends on her off time, yes. But never to show it at work.
A memory flashed in her mind. From when she first checked the internet, all those days ago, when she was reading the message board. The comment about her looking like a toddler throwing a tantrum…She knew it was true. No wonder she wasn't allowed to work on Bombshell. If she had behaved like that when she was demoted, how would she handle the stress of being a leading lady?
Ivy didn't realize she had fallen asleep until she opened her eyes and saw it was night. Sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been hours since her lunch with her father. Not in the mood to cook—and feeling overwhelmed in her apartment—Ivy shrugged on her coat before running a brush through her hair. Some night air and food would do her good.
It was a calm winter night. The coldest part of New York City winters was the wind, which could make it feel upwards of ten degrees colder than it really was. Buildings in Manhattan turned the streets into wind funnels, giving the gusts more power. When it was calm, like this night, it was tolerable. So tolerable, she forgot about her hunger for some time. She just walked around the Manhattan streets, wishing she could see the stars. If she couldn't be one…
Sighing, she grew aware of her surroundings. A Chinese takeout place was up ahead. With the day she had, Ivy decided she could cheat this one time. It had been ages since she had some good Chinese.
Approaching the open door, she saw the back of a brunette woman. She was tall and willowy, reminding Ivy of a dancer. When the woman turned, Ivy bit back a groan. Karen Cartwright, of all people, was at the same Chinese place? Perhaps it wasn't too late. She was standing on a corner, after all. Crossing the street would be easy. There were hundreds of Chinese food places in Manhattan. But she was rooted in place, forcing her to come face to face with her rival.
Karen, for her part, was surprised to see the other actress. "Ivy! Hi."
"Hi," Ivy squeezed out.
A British accented voice drifted from inside the restaurant. "Darling? Is everything all right?" It stopped Ivy's heart for a few seconds. Though the voice was different, the accent reminded her of Derek. Perhaps it was paranoia, but she saw the director and the actress together. Or maybe it was just Derek's personality.
"It's okay," Karen called into the restaurant. But her companion exited anyway. He was about Karen's height and of Indian descent. His dark eyes looked between Karen and Ivy.
Feeling nervous, Ivy extended a hand. "Ivy."
The man shook her hand. "Dev." He looked her over. "Ivy as in the one who—?"
"Played Marilyn in the workshop? Yes, and she was amazing." Karen flashed a dazzling smile.
For the first time, Ivy was grateful for Karen's Midwestern charm. She had an idea of what Dev was going to say—the one who was replaced? The one who flamed out on stage? Forcing a smile on her face, Ivy thanked the other woman before turning back to Dev. "It's great to finally meet you. Karen's told us all about you."
Dev smiled. "Glad to hear it." He squeezed Karen tightly. She glowed from his attention, blushing as well.
Something clutched Ivy's heart and was squeezing. It twisted the organ, making each breath a struggle. Through this, she managed to keep her smile. "Well, don't let me hold you up. I'm sure you have more plans this evening."
Karen's look was solemn though. "Do you have plans? We wouldn't mind company."
Pity. Karen Cartwright pitied her. That knowledge surprised Ivy. Flames of anger consumed the surprise. "No, thank you. I'm just getting dinner before going home for an early night. Things to do tomorrow. Have a good night."
Ivy pushed past the couple, refusing to look back to see if they had gone. She got her food, taking time to check the accuracy of the order. Once she had used up her excuses to prolong her presence in the restaurant—short of eating there—Ivy finally left. Thankfully, Karen and Dev were gone.
Back in her apartment, Ivy ate her dinner but barely tasted it due to her anger. Karen Cartwright. In a city of one million, she ran into Karen. Who pitied her! Karen, who came from Iowa knowing next to nothing about the theater! Karen, who had vied for a leading role without any professional experience! Karen, who had only made the ensemble in the end! Karen, who made so many mistakes in rehearsal!
Karen, who had to show her Marilyn's vibrato. Karen, who kept rehearsing even when she got something wrong. Karen, who didn't flame out on stage. Karen, who was now the Marilyn understudy. Karen, who was going to be the star when Rebecca didn't pan out.
Pushing aside her food, Ivy found her anger had given away to pity. Yes, she pitied herself. And if she did, how could she be upset that Karen did so as well?
Ivy decided that it was best if she went to sleep now. She recognized the dark, downward spiral she was hiding on. Her vow to not use the sleeping pills played in her mind as she climbed into bed. Praying for a peaceful slumber, Ivy turned off the lights.