Chapter 18

Randall sat at the dining room table a few hours later. Penelope set a plate of cheese and fruit in the center of the table and tall glasses of lemon water at the three spots.

“Thanks, Pen,” Randall said. He lightly grasped her wrist in his strong hand and held her in place for another moment. “Arlena is going to be calling on you with the wedding. I want you to know we really appreciate you helping out on this project.”

Penelope smiled and leaned down to hug him. “I know you do. And I wouldn’t dream of not helping.”

“Okay, that’s done,” Arlena said as she stepped into the dining room from the hall, ending a call and setting her phone on the table. “I have three wedding planners lined up to give presentations.”

“Presentations?” Randall asked.

“You know,” Arlena said quickly, “they’re going to pitch me on their best ideas for a Madison-Cavanaugh wedding.”

Randall chuckled. “That’s great, sweetheart.”

“Daddy,” Arlena said reproachfully. “This is how it’s done.”

“Arlena,” Randall said with a smile, “I of all people know how weddings are done. This will be my fifth, remember?”

Arlena rolled her eyes and sighed. “I know, Daddy.”

Penelope cleared her throat. “So, what have you brought for us today?” She glanced at the thick folder in front of Randall on the table.

“Glad you asked,” Randall said with a smile. “This is my mother’s, your grandmother’s,” he flicked his eyes to Arlena across the table, “personal papers, diaries, and photos—her archive during the time she was a dancer in the city. I’m picturing this as our backdrop, source material for the doc.”

Randall flipped open the folder and slid a few photos across the lacquered wood toward Arlena.

“She was beautiful,” Penelope murmured, glancing at a photo. The dancers wore elaborate headpieces in the shape of Christmas trees, with ornaments hanging down, shimmering in the stage lights. The black and white photo caused their painted lips to look black, but Penelope imagined they were a deep red to match what she guessed were red and green bodysuit leotards.

“That headgear was heavy,” Randall said. “Almost five pounds. My mom talked about her aching neck, sore legs, and blistered feet.”

“They look so elegant,” Arlena said, flipping to another photo.

“That’s showbiz,” Randall said darkly.

“So, the focus of the documentary, the subject really, is Grandma Ruby?”

“No,” Randall said. His fingers brushed the leather-bound book that sat on more documents in the file. “She’s the focus of the piece. The subject as I envision it is the life of the dancers themselves, from the beginning of the production to now: how these girls get to be Big Apple Dancers, what they go through mentally and physically and how that has changed over time.”

Arlena jotted a few notes. “Okay, who do we want for director?” Arlena asked, her pen hovering over the pad.

“I want you to be the director,” Randall said.

Arlena’s lips curled into a smile. “Really? You said co-producer when we first started talking about this last year. I thought you wanted to hire a friend to direct, an unbiased eye, you said.”

Randall set his palms on the table on either side of the papers in front of him. “I’ve been thinking about that, and you’re the perfect, most logical choice. We know our family better than anyone, and you can get to the real story.”

“Everyone is talking about how we need more women in charge,” Penelope chimed in.

Arlena bit her bottom lip and nodded. “You’ll be there to help me, though, right, Daddy? I’ve never directed before.”

“Absolutely,” Randall said. “And Max, too.”

Arlena rolled her eyes. “I know he’s never directed anything. Except a torpedo at my private life.”

“What are you talking about?” Randall asked.

“You didn’t see the news yesterday? Somehow the press got wind of my engagement,” Arlena said. “And yours,” she added in a mumble. “Obviously someone blabbed, and the only person who could’ve done it is Max, or his friend Ashley.”

“So what? I don’t pay attention those gossip rags,” Randall said. “And you shouldn’t either. It will drive you crazy. Focus on your work.”

“You don’t care what people are saying about you publicly?” Penelope asked.

“I stopped reading reviews of my movies, and giving attention to reporters over twenty years ago,” Randall said. “Even good reviews or news can distract you from what you really should be doing…giving your best performance and focusing on the job at hand.”

“It was easier to ignore things when it was just a few magazines and newspapers,” Arlena said. “Now literally everyone is a critic. Or reporter.”

“All the more reason to tune that stuff out,” Randall said. “I just think if you take all of that in, good and bad comments, it’s going to change the way you act…I don’t want to be reacting to public opinion all the time. Trust me, tune it out. And don’t be mad at your brother. It’s not the worst thing in the world to give a friend a place to go on Thanksgiving.”

“And spoiler alert the most important news I’ve had in my life?” Arlena said testily. “Unless it was Sybil who spilled the beans and you’re too afraid to tell me.”

Randall showed her his palms and chuckled. “I swear, it wasn’t her. You can leave us out of it.”

Arlena drummed her fingers on the wooden table and leveled her gaze at Randall. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back, smiling at his daughter.

“Do we know what crew members we’ll need then?” Penelope said, veering the conversation back to work. Maybe Randall had a point. Arlena should focus on the things she could control and let go of the rest.

“Yes,” Randall said, plucking a sample call sheet from the stack of papers. “Here are the positions that will need to be filled. As director and co-producer, you can choose who you want to fill them.”

“I suggest we keep the crew on the small side, for financial reasons since we’re footing the bill,” Randall said. “Plus, I think working with a smaller team will give the film a more intimate feel.”

“That makes sense,” Arlena said, jotting a few notes.

“And our working space in the penthouse can only hold so many bodies comfortably, once you get the editorial suite set up,” Randall said.

“Is it the same building the theater uses?” Penelope asked. “Where the dancers live?”

“Yep. The penthouse has a kitchen, too,” Randall said. “And you can use the alley for your catering trucks.”

Penelope wrote the word “alley” on her notepad, and the image of Elspeth lying on the pavement flashed in front of her eyes. Everything at the theater was moving on without her, even in the spot where she was found dead.

Arlena’s phone pinged on the table next to her and she glanced at the screen. “Looks like we’re getting somewhere now.”

“We are,” Randall said. “And I’d suggest you review some of these things too, familiarize yourself with Grandma Ruby, some of the history of the place.”

“Of course,” Arlena said. Her phone pinged again. “Will we see you at rehearsal later, Daddy?”

“I’ll be there,” Randall said.

Arlena stood up and left the room, pulling the phone to her ear on the way out.

“She might need an assistant,” Randall murmured. “She can’t rely on you for everything, you know.”

Penelope laughed. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.” She picked up one of the photos from the table. “This was Ruby?” A woman stood on a city sidewalk in front of a storefront, a stole wrapped around her shoulders and a cigarette clutched between two fingers of her gloved hand.

“The one and only,” Randall said with a small smile.

“What was she like?” Penelope asked, staring at the woman’s face in the photograph.

“I don’t remember a lot, only that she was always in a hurry, bouncing off the walls. She was a ball of energy. My aunt called her a live wire, which I didn’t understand as a kid.”

“Are there any pictures of Ruby and your father?” Penelope asked.

“None that I’ve seen,” Randall said. “They weren’t married. To each other, at least.”

Arlena’s voice drifted in from the other room. They could hear she was talking about wedding plans, and a time for one of the planners to give a presentation.

“I don’t remember him,” Randall continued. “He was a Marine, died in Okinawa during the war. Ruby was pregnant.”

“That’s so sad,” Penelope said. She set the photo down and picked up another one. Ruby was older in this one, and wearing a western costume, with a long skirt and a lace shawl around her shoulders.

“She was in Oklahoma! in that picture,” Randall said. “1947. The next year she appeared in the holiday show at the Vitrine, and she did that for four more years until…”

Randall’s normally confident expression was replaced by a faraway look, an emptiness in his eyes.

“What happened to her, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Randall shook his head and “My aunt who I went to live with said my mom’s heart was too big, and it got broken too many times,” Randall said. “I didn’t know what she meant.”

“Sounds like things were rough for you growing up,” Penelope said.

“Not really,” Randall said. “Aunt Tula was fun, but she also didn’t take any nonsense from us kids. Tula took us to the theater, and to the movies every Friday after school. I grew up with my cousins, who were like a brother and sister to me. My uncle worked at one of the big record labels at the time, so I met musicians and could get tickets to any shows I wanted. I was very lucky I got to be one of their kids, in the end.”

“When did you decide to be an actor?” Penelope asked.

“In my teens,” Randall said, rubbing his chin. “Me and Tula still had our Friday night movie routine and we saw The Great Escape near Times Square. I walked out of that theater knowing I wanted to be just like Steve McQueen one day. A month later, Tula had signed me up for acting classes. She took me to my first audition, too. The rest…” he spread his arms wide, the confidence returning to his face, “is history.”

“That’s a great story,” Penelope said.

“Tula showed me a lot of things,” Randall said. “But the most important was how to love, and to follow your dreams.”