‘Why not? They get on well. I’ve seen them together. They’re like real buddies.’

  Carrie shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘He’d listen to her, I’m sure.’

  ‘No. No.’

  ‘Well, he can’t go on like this – making you so damn miserable. Somebody should have a word with him.’

  And somebody did.

  And as it turned out, that somebody was Rosemary.

  The following afternoon, after working on some individual scenes, the cast were called together to go over one of the big musical numbers, ‘Never Trust a Man’, a rousing little song involving most of the company. In Carrie’s part, as Ella, she had one chorus in a duet with Rosemary. It took up just thirty seconds of the whole number, but it was an effective little moment, and Carrie loved it. She and Rosemary sounded great together, she thought, their voices so in tune, with their sweet harmonies right on the button.

  With the MD, Glenn Thomas, at the piano and Brewster watching from his seat, the company went into the number. It started well. Halfway through, the moment for Carrie’s duet with Rosemary arrived. On cue, Carrie stepped up to the front, coming to a stop at Rosemary’s side. Then, together, while the rest of the cast continued their slow, rhythmic dance moves behind them, they took up the song:

  Trust a man to be the smartest mathematician,

  Trust a man in any way you can.

  Trust a man to be the dumbest politician,

  But never trust a man to be a man.

  They got no further. Abruptly Brewster rose and stepped forward, holding up his hand. ‘Okay, enough! I’m afraid this isn’t working – not like it should.’ He lifted a forefinger in Rosemary’s direction. ‘Rosemary, I think you could come in a fraction stronger, okay? Just step it up a little, okay?’

  Rosemary nodded. ‘Fine, Ian. I’ll do that.’

  He smiled at her, then turned his attention to Carrie, his smile fading as he looked at her. Shaking his head, he said, ‘I don’t know, Carrie. I just don’t know.’ He paused. ‘Do you like the number? You happy with it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes,’ she said. ‘I love it. I –’

  She got no further. ‘You love it?’ He was frowning. ‘Well, you’d never know it. Not the way you’re doing it here, that’s for sure.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I don’t know whether you’re aware of it, but there’s gonna be an audience out there. And they’ve got to be lifted by this number. Absolutely lifted by it. And they’re not gonna get it the way you’re doing it.’ He shook his head again. ‘I don’t know – maybe you’re just not cut out for it. Maybe it’d work better with Belle doing it.’ He turned to Rosemary. ‘How’d you feel about that, Rosemary? Belle’s familiar with it.’ His glance moved to Belle Samuels, a young actress standing nearby. ‘Would you like to try it with her, Rosemary? It’s only one little chorus. You want to give it a try?’

  While Carrie, red-faced, stood trying to keep back the threatening tears of hurt and humiliation, Rosemary took a step forward.

  ‘Just a minute, Ian,’ she said, raising a hand. ‘I’m sure Belle could do it perfectly well. But, come on, now – it’s Carrie’s bit. I know we might have a little way to go to get it polished, but we’ll get there soon, I promise you. So just give us a break, okay? I mean – we have a little time left, and going by what I’ve heard, Rome wasn’t built in a fucking day.’

  She ended her words with a little laugh, and it was the only sound in the room. Brewster was not laughing, not smiling. After a moment he gave a little nod. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Have you finished?’

  Rosemary had not. ‘Just let me say one more thing, Ian,’ she said. She half turned towards Carrie, reached out and touched her arm, a brief little gesture of support, of friendship. ‘This girl,’ she said, ‘this pretty, talented girl is working her goddamn ass off for you here. Maybe you’re not aware of it, but I am. I don’t know why you keep knocking her, but I reckon it’s about time you cut her a little bit of slack.’ She paused, as if waiting for a response, but none came. ‘Fine – okay.’ She nodded. ‘There’s a lot riding on this show, we all know that, and we’ve got to please the investors, but we’re not goddamn machines, Ian. So, please, if you don’t mind me saying so, let’s just – just calm down a little, all right?’

  The silence was like a fog. There was hardly the sound of a breath. When Brewster spoke again his voice was cold, the faint smile that touched his mouth without a hint of warmth.

  ‘So, Rosemary,’ he said, ‘you think I need to calm down a little, is that right?’ He gave a little nod. ‘Well, let me say something, and I’ll be as calm as I can while I say it. To please you, you understand? After all, you’re the star of this show, right?’ He waited. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Ian, listen –’ Quickly Rosemary took a step towards him, hands lifting, palms out. ‘Wait a minute. I didn’t mean it like that – I just –’

  ‘No.’ Brewster’s voice was sharp, his nostrils flaring as he looked directly into her face. ‘I won’t wait a minute, and I won’t listen. I’ve heard enough. Let’s get something straight here – you might be the star of this show, Rosemary, but you were engaged as a performer. You were engaged by our producers, those wonderful men, Charles and Irvin, in the hope of getting this show to Broadway. And there is no doubt that with your very considerable talent we’ve got a chance of getting there. But let me tell you something else, remind you of something else: I am the director of this show, and our wonderful producers didn’t hire me for my looks, or my singing voice, or in the hope that I can dance like Fred fucking Astaire. No. They hired me to direct.’ He leaned in towards her. ‘You get that? To direct. Because that is what I do, Rosemary. Did you know that? Or maybe you’d like to check my CV? I’m a director, and I know what I’m doing – okay? – and they know that too, our producers.’ Slowly he drew back, his eyes still fixed on hers. ‘Let’s not forget what our roles are in this business, okay?’ Then, raising his voice a little, taking in the others in the room: ‘And that goes for everybody here. We do what we’re hired to do. But while I’m the director of this show, I am just that – the director. And if I want anybody’s advice, you can be sure I’ll ask for it.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Okay, everybody, that’s it. Be back tomorrow morning, 9.30 – sharp. Glenn will be working on your numbers.’

  Without another word, he turned and went from the room.

  *

  That night, lying beside Michael, sleepless in the bed, Carrie went over the events of the afternoon. As if watching some terrible accident filmed on a loop, the whole thing was repeated over and over in her head. She couldn’t stop it. She kept hearing Brewster’s damning words, his cruel suggestion, in front of everybody, that Belle take over her duet with Rosemary. And she thought too of Rosemary, of her brave words as she had stood up to him, speaking up for her. She had seen humiliation there, too, in Rosemary’s pale face.

  And now she had to face tomorrow. Tomorrow morning she was due to go through her solo number. She had worked on it with Glenn, the MD, and with Clarke, the choreographer. In the morning, Glenn had said, they’d be polishing it up, getting it more or less finished. So she had to be ready.

  Sighing, she turned, trying to find comfort. Beside her, Michael slept soundly, his breathing deep, even. Slowly the wakeful hours crept by.

  *

  Sitting at the piano, Glenn limbered up with a few chords, then looked over at Carrie where she sat waiting at the side of the rehearsal area. ‘Okay, Carrie – we all set?’ Yes, she was ready, she said, getting up from her seat. Deep breaths, she told herself. Everything would be fine. There was no sign of Ian Brewster, she was relieved to see. He didn’t always show in the mornings when they were rehearsing the numbers, so with luck she’d have it wrapped by the time he came in. Just keep calm, she urged herself. After all, she knew the number like the back of her hand. The song, ‘Stick Around With Me’, was a bright piece with a strong, rhythmic beat. It suited her well, and she had worked hard to get it right.

  ‘Okay, Carrie?’ Glenn said as she took the centre, and she nodded back, ‘Yes, ready.’ He played her intro, and over the last bar she took a breath and then began to sing.

  You want to get your peppermint some pep,

  Well, you’re barkin’ up the right old tree.

  Want to feel that special spring in your step,

  Well, honey, stick around with me.

  After a slightly faltering start, she found her voice and her rhythm, and with them, her confidence. With renewed heart she started into the dance move, first left then right, striding out, then to the centre again for the second chorus:

  You want to find you’re at the head of the line,

  For affection to the nth degree,

  That’ll give your eye that shimmering shine,

  Well, honey, stick around with me.

  A turn, a kick, another turn, then into the middle eight:

  You think I’m teasin’, I’m just crowd-pleasin’,

  I’m only setting out to play.

  I tell you, I’m not jokin’, when I have spoken,

  I mean every word, every single word I say.

  Her smile bright, her voice ringing out, she went into the final chorus:

  If you’re looking for a heart that’s true,

  And you’re…

  And suddenly she saw Ian Brewster there, at the back, standing in the shadows, notebook in hand. How long had he been there? As she looked at him, their glances met and he started forward, coming down to the front. He took a seat before her, all the well-rehearsed lines of the song flew from her mind. She came to a halt. Forcing a smile, she turned to look over at Glenn at the piano. ‘I’m sorry, Glenn,’ she said. ‘I lost my way there. Could we – could we take it again? From the middle eight?’

  ‘Sure thing.’ Glenn said, but before he could play a note, Brewster’s voice came in: ‘No, take it from the top.’

  Glenn nodded, played the intro, and Carrie came in, a little tentative now:

  You want to get your peppermint some pep,

  Well, you’re barkin’ up the right old tree.

  You want to feel that –

  She got no further. Breaking in, his voice sharp over the music, Brewster said, looking over at Glenn, ‘Hang on there, Glenn. Hold on a minute.’

  He turned his attention then to Carrie. ‘Carrie, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘have you looked at this song?’

  ‘Well – yes,’ she said, puzzled at the question.

  ‘Okay, so tell me, what do you think about it?’

  ‘Well, I – I like it, and I –’

  ‘Whether you like it is immaterial,’ he cut in. ‘I don’t care whether you like it or whether you think it’s a bunch of crap. Tell me what you think it’s about.’

  She stood silent.

  ‘The song,’ he said, ‘talks about getting pep in your peppermint, a spring in your step – right?’

  ‘Yes.’ She saw that the rest of the company had come in, were standing watching, listening.

  ‘It’s about energy,’ Brewster said. ‘You know what I’m talking about?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right, let’s try it again.’ He turned to Glenn, ‘From the top, Glenn, okay?’

  The intro came, and with it Carrie’s cue. Aware that every eye was upon her, she summoned all her energy, fixed her smile and began to sing.

  And it seemed to be working. After the chorus, she went into the dance. Stepping out in the well-rehearsed routine, she reached the side at stage-left, turned with a swirl and began the strut back to centre. But any feeling of confidence she felt was soon gone. As she took a breath to take up the reprise she dared to steal a glance at Brewster. And in that moment she saw him close his eyes as if in despair and shake his head. Then, raising his notebook in his hand, he slammed it down heavily on the floor.

  Thrown, Carrie faltered and came to a stop, while Glenn, finding himself playing solo at the piano, came to a halt behind her.

  In the silence, Brewster got to his feet. ‘What happened?’ he said, frowning, eyes fixed on Carrie. ‘You stopped. Why did you stop? Did I tell you to stop?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘I – I thought – I thought you didn’t – didn’t want me to go on. I thought …’ With a shake of her head, her stumbling words came to a halt.

  For a second or two Brewster just glared at her. Then, taking a few steps forward, he crooked his finger and beckoned. Heart thumping, Carrie went to him. As she came to a stop before him he said, his voice low and clipped: ‘Maybe you missed what I said yesterday. I said I’m the director of this show – do you remember?’

  She gave a nod.

  ‘And it’s not for you to question whether I want you to stop or to go on. Do you understand that?’

  She didn’t speak.

  ‘Do you understand that?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes.’ The faintest whisper.

  ‘Good.’ He turned from her, speaking to the pianist and the stage manager. ‘Glenn, Rich, it’s not working. The number’s cut.’ He looked back at Carrie. ‘You hear that? And your duet with Michael, that’s out too.’ He turned and called across the room to where Michael stood nursing a cup of coffee: ‘Sorry about that, Mike, but that’s the way it goes at times. That, as they say, is life. Better get used to it.’

  Turning back to Carrie again, he fixed her with his cold gaze. ‘I’m afraid it just isn’t happening for you, baby. It just isn’t working. Okay?’

  With his words, he turned away, looking over at the pianist. ‘Hey, Glenn,’ he said, ‘why don’t we go over Rosemary’s number with the boys. Let’s try to get something done, for God’s sake.’

  For a moment Carrie remained fixed to the spot, burning with shame and humiliation. Then, tears welling in her eyes, she turned and fled from the scene.

  Michael, entering her dressing room some minutes later, found her hunched before the mirror, head in her hands, weeping.

  She would have to go, she told him between sobs, she couldn’t stay any longer. She had no choice but to quit and leave the company. He pleaded with her. Give it time, he said; it was just a bad patch; Brewster would get over it. It’d all be okay in a while. But Carrie knew differently. She couldn’t stay now. It would never be right. Brewster had slashed her part to nothing, and so humiliated her that she could never face anyone again. All she could do was ask that she be released from her contract. ‘He won’t care,’ she said. ‘He’ll be glad. He’ll give my part to Belle. She’s been covering it. She’ll jump at the chance.’

  ‘But where will you go?’ Michael asked.

  Where indeed? Home to Fort Worth? No, she couldn’t face that either. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Back to New York, I guess. The only thing I’m sure of right now is that I don’t ever want to set foot on a stage again.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that,’ Michael said.

  ‘I mean it.’

  She took off her dance shoes, and he watched as she put them into a bag. ‘Carrie,’ he said, pleading, ‘you don’t have to go. Please don’t go.’

  ‘I have to.’ She began to cry again. ‘It’s not only having to leave the show,’ she said. ‘It’s you as well.’

  He nodded. ‘I know. That’s how I feel too. I can’t bear for you to go.’

  ‘I thought we’d be together. But you’ll be staying on with the show and – I’m afraid that’ll just mean – mean the end for us.’

  ‘No, don’t talk that way,’ he said quickly. ‘It won’t be the end – of course it won’t.’ He drew her to him, holding her close. ‘We’ll be together in a few weeks, just as soon as the show gets to New York for the opening. Only a few weeks.’ He touched her wet cheek. ‘I love you, Carrie. You just remember that.’

  *

  Sitting in her small motel room alone that evening, after sporadic attempts to pack, Carrie heard a knock at the door. Opening the door, she found Rosemary standing there.

  ‘Can I come in for a minute?’ Rosemary asked.

  ‘Yes – yes, of course.’

  Rosemary entered, closing the door behind her. ‘I just came to see how you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve been told you’re leaving the show.’

  ‘Yes. First thing in the morning.’

  ‘Belle will take over your part, Ian says.’

  ‘I guess so. I don’t know.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  Carrie shrugged. ‘Back to New York, I guess.’

  ‘You have family there?’

  ‘No, they’re in Texas. Fort Worth. My mother and my sister.’

  Rosemary nodded. ‘Well, it might be a good idea to go back there for a while. Home, I mean. Take a little break – go spend some time with your folks.’

  Carrie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. We never really got on.’

  ‘Okay. I guess you know best. But are you sure you’re doing the right thing here, going off like this?’

  ‘It – it’s the only thing I can do.’ She was near to tears now.

  ‘Oh, but –’

  ‘You were there, Rosemary,’ Carrie said. ‘You saw it all happening, every day. It’s like Ian set out to destroy me, and I just can’t take any more.’

  Rosemary stepped forward and put her hands on Carrie’s shoulders. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘I know how you must be feeling. But you’ll have to put this behind you, okay?’

  ‘How can I? I can’t. I just can’t.’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ Rosemary said. ‘And you will. You mustn’t allow yourself to be beaten by this. You’ll go on to bigger and better things. It’s only a matter of time. And you’re young. The only thing I wonder about is whether you’re cut out for all this rough stuff. You’ve got to be so bloody tough in this business.’ She sighed. ‘But whatever you do, you look after yourself, okay?’

  She turned and moved away. In the open doorway she reached into her pocket and took out an envelope. Setting it down on a small side table, she said, ‘A little good luck card.’ Another moment and she was gone.