There were dozens of names in the Algonquin guest book, and eventually they would all die. When they did, she would be in the Blue Bar, waiting for them.
For now, she had Johnny B., the young bartender she had months ago convinced to stick around most nights after closing. He was humorless, but at least he no longer fainted at the sight of her. And he was pretty to look at.
Dorothy Parker sat at the bar, a fresh gin and tonic before her. As she took her first sip, something near the display case caught Johnny’s attention.
“That’s funny,” he said, staring past her.
She turned and saw a cloud of glowing pink dust particles hovering above the guest book. Was this the sign she had been waiting for?
The particles traveled to the doorway and began to merge, taking on the shape of a sylphlike woman in a diaphanous gown.
Dorothy grinned.
“What is it?” Johnny asked.
“Pour a double bourbon.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
As they watched, the form became more real. And then, there she was—a lithe and glamorous star, draped in liquidy satin.
“Well,” said Tallulah Bankhead, “that was quite a ride. And how perfect that it ends here, where it all began.”
“Welcome to hell,” said Dorothy Parker.
Tallulah approached and kissed her on the cheek. “Darling,” she said in her famously throaty voice, “if this were hell, Louis B. Mayer would be tending bar. Give me a cigarette, and tell me who this divine creature is.”
“Johnny,” Dorothy Parker said, “say hello to Tallulah Bankhead.”
“Charmed,” said Tallulah.
“Miss Bankhead.”
“Johnny sticks around after closing to make me drinks,” Dorothy Parker explained. “And he only fainted the first four times I appeared. Now we’re old friends, aren’t we, dear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Parker.”
“Fainter or not, I think he’s perfectly lovely.”
“Save your breath, Tallulah. He’s not our type.”
She paused for a moment as it sunk in. “I see. Pity.”
“He’s already made you a drink. Bourbon, right?”
“You are divine, Dot. And Johnny darling, don’t put away that bottle. I plan to be tight as a tick before I make my final exit.” She sat down with a dramatic sweep of silk.
“Exit?” said Dorothy Parker. “Please don’t tell me you plan a hasty retreat.”
“Daddy’s been waiting a long time.”
“Let him wait a little longer.”
“I’m not sure how long I can resist, darling. It’s an awfully powerful tug.” She put a hand on her heart. “Oh! Mother is there, too. I can feel it. How glorious.” She closed her eyes. “And my grandparents . . . everyone. They’re all waiting for their Tallulah to come home and throw tantrums again. Isn’t it grand?”
Dorothy frowned. She would have to distract her old friend. “Remember when you first walked into the Algonquin? You couldn’t have been more than nineteen.”
“Sixteen, darling. I was sixteen. Insult me if you like, but don’t make me older than I am. I can take anything but that.”
“Alexander Woollcott took one look at you and said, ‘That girl is going to be trouble.’”
“That’s one review he got right.”
“You were his pet for a time.”
“And I would have bit him on the ass if I had the chance.”
Dorothy nodded. Aleck could be quite a pill. Still, he had a remarkable heart when it came to his friends. “He got us all to chip in and buy you a new dress.”
Tallulah laughed. “Oh, yes! I came to New York with only one dress I would dare to be seen in, and hadn’t a dime for food, let alone new clothes. Oh, Woollcott—he was a ghastly critic, but he could be generous.” She picked up her glass. “To Aleck, then.”
“To Aleck.”
They tapped glasses and Tallulah sipped her drink. “Have you seen him here?”
“He was gone by the time I arrived. They all were, the louses. Only dear Mr. Benchley waited. But he left me pretty quickly, and I suppose you will, too. So much for being the life of the party.”
“Now, Dot, don’t get testy. It’s nothing personal. We are summoned.”
“Since when did you ever do what was expected of you?”
“Never, darling. Never. But this is different. I’m sure you understand—you must have your own white light beckoning.”
“My white light can be damned.”
Tallulah picked up the pack of cigarettes on the bar and extracted one. “Would you be a dear, Johnny?” she said, putting it to her lips. He lighted it for her and she took a long drag. “I admit, it’s divine to have this little stopover. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to enjoy a smoke, and even longer since a drink could offer me any sort of pleasure. Do you know what my last word was? Bourbon! Can you imagine? Couldn’t get a breath of air and all I wanted was a belt of Wild Turkey.”
“Not a bad parting line. I’m sure they’ll quote it in your obituary.”
“And one day they’ll attribute it to you.”
“My curse. Of course, if they immortalize you in a play, it’ll stick, and everyone will know it was the great Tallulah Bankhead who said it.” She was appealing to Tallulah’s ego. Surely the actress would want to stay around for such a thing. She stole a glance at her friend’s reaction as she took a cigarette from the pack. Johnny lighted it for her.
“I’m afraid my life was too scandalous for the stage,” said Tallulah.
Dorothy Parker took a long drag of her cigarette. “Not anymore,” she said. “I understand there are naked hippies singing and dancing at the Biltmore this year. I think they call it Hair.”
“I’ve seen it, darling. Those messy young people think they invented sex. They should have seen us when we were young.”
“We had our share, I suppose.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Tallulah, you’re not honestly saying you didn’t have enough sex?”
“Enough? Heavens, there’s no such thing as enough. In fact, I wouldn’t mind finding some sweet young thing to fool around with one last time before I go.”
“Yet another reason to stay. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
Tallulah looked around. “It seems rather deserted, Dot.”
“A temporary setback. Tomorrow night at eleven p.m. the place will be swimming in boys.” She paused. “And girls.”
“Ah, yes, girls. I suppose my reputation precedes me. But c’est la vie, darling. My tastes are eclectic, my desires uninhibited. I make no apologies.”
“Nor should you.”
“What about others like us? Can I expect to see any of the old gang?”
“Eventually. Everyone who signed the guest book makes a stop here. Percy got signatures from most of our crowd . . . and dozens of others, too.”
“Writers, mostly—but a few delicious actors and actresses. See for yourself.”
“I suppose I will, after my drink.”
Dorothy smiled. She could see that Tallulah was interested in the possibility of a rendezvous with another notable or two before her final curtain. “Johnny, dear,” she said, “bring us that guest book. We’d like to find a suitable date for Tallulah. And pour her another bourbon. She might be sticking around for a while.”