Page 30 of I Saw You First

“Didn’t he tell you when he came back?”

“I wasn’t there when he came back. I’d left the group.”

“Why?”

“Ollie didn’t want people to know what was happening with his health, especially the folks at the radio show. He downplayed the illness, didn’t tell anyone at the station about the surgery, and asked his brother to fill in during his convalescence. They weren’t twins, but they might have been, what with how similar they looked, and the voice! It was uncanny how they sounded exactly the same.

“Now, we could have gotten by without a conductor, certainly, but part of the charm of the show was Ollie’s on-air personality, the stories he told, the banter between him and the musicians. All scripted, of course. So, Eli Fletcher stepped in and read from the script that Ollie wrote from his hospital bed, and no one knew.”

“But?”

She takes a bite of cake and looks off into the distance. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about those days in quite some time.” She turns to look at me. “But Eli did not have the same moral compass, shall we say, as his brother.”

I cringe, and another wave of unease comes over me. “Is this where the casting couch comes in?”

She nods. “I mentioned that it wasn’t always easy being one of the only females in the performance space, especially when it was only the chorus rehearsing. Me and five men, and Ollie, usually. Only once did one of them make a suggestive comment, and Oliver told him he’d be out of a job if it happened again. But Eli, on the other hand, somehow created a number of opportunities to get me alone.”

Glamma pauses and places her index finger against her closed lips, and I swear I see them tremble. “It started out as seemingly innocent comments, sometimes in front of others, sometimes when he caught me by myself,” she continues. “But the comments made me uncomfortable, and I would find any excuse to remove myself from the situation. One day, about a month into Oliver’s absence, the situation devolved, you might say. He threatened me—basically told me if I didn’t—well—sleep with him, he’d tell Ollie I’d been with all the men in the chorus and get me fired. I told him I’d like to see him try. And then, the minute Eli Fletcher put his hands on me, I walked out of that rehearsal space and never went back.”

“Did he—did he—hurt you?” I can’t say more than that.

She shakes her head. “No. I stomped on his foot with my high heel, and he let go of me. I ran out of there as quickly as I could.”

I take Glamma’s hand and squeeze it. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know, sweetheart. I never told anyone except Peg, and I swore her to secrecy. Not Ray, not even Papa. That sort of thing wasn’t talked about.”

Still isn’t, I think.

“But what happened when Oliver came back?” I ask. “Didn’t he wonder why you’d left the chorus?”

“I’d already moved back home by then. Eli told him one story, Peg told him another. Who was he going to believe?”

“Peg stood up for you?”

“She did. But things were never quite the same for her after that. She left the orchestra a few weeks later.”

“She was a good friend,” I say. I wonder what I would do in her situation, if I would be able to stand up for a friend when I can’t even stand up for myself.

My heart aches for those two young women. Back then, there weren’t many options for women in the entertainment industry, not to mention the inequality in every other industry.

As if she can read my mind, Glamma says, “My options were limited, but as a young, single woman, I needed to work. So, after I moved home, I took a job as a secretary at my uncle’s factory. That’s how I met Ray. Everything worked out in the end, and I believe that it will for you, too, love.”

I massage two fingers against my temple in a fight against the headache. I need more coffee. Coffee will help—with the stubborn headache, with the hollow ache in my chest when I think about Ryan and Eli and Carina and all the women who have found themselves in this kind of position. Especially Glamma. My beautiful, kindhearted, fabulous Glamma.

She smiles and pats my hand. Her skin is dotted with brown age spots, the veins pronounced. I look up from our hands to her kind eyes and feel the hot rush of tears and a lump in my throat. Since I was four years old, Glamma has been my person, the one I turn to at every stage, every celebration, every heartbreak.

“Darling girl,” she says quietly, “I understand if you don’t want to tell me what really happened the day you lost your job. I hope that one day, you’ll feel differently. But know that I am always here for you, no matter what.”

When Glamma hugs me goodbye, I breathe in her familiar, soft lilac scent and hold on tight. She sends me home with a container of angel food cake and chocolate chip cookies with walnuts, and two twenties slipped into my coat pocket.

TEN

“COUNTING BLUE CARS” BY DISHWALLA, 1996

WIL

Today’s one of those rare days when we’re caught up, which seems odd for late October and the lead-up to the holidays. Media’s got all their product on the floor, truck was light, and the merch team is working ahead to prep next week’s planogram changes. And it’s a good thing, too, because the team from corporate will be here for another merch eval any day now—at least that’s what I hear from Felix, the district merch manager. It has to happen soon, before the eval moratorium November 1.