Dear Miss Kopp

by Amy Stewart

  My throat was just a little better. I was starting to put it to work again, very gently, with the hope that Mrs. Ward would forgive me and put me back on the stage. As I stitched, I sang a little line, and Laura whistled it back at me. Once or twice she opened her beak, and I swear she was trying to sound out the words! Truly, she’s the most remarkable parrot you’ve ever met.

  Just then, a knock came at the door. It was Freeman Bernstein, passing by in the hall on the way to his wife’s suite.

  “I thought I recognized that voice, but who’s this?” he said, grinning at Laura. “Let me hear a tune.”

  I pulled myself together, made apologies for my voice, and lifted Laura from her perch. She settled quite easily onto my arm, and the two of us sang a bit of “Over There,” the first song she ever whistled for me.

  And would you believe it—Laura danced up and down my arm, across my shoulders, and along the other arm as we sang! She’s never done anything like it before. She bobbed her head in time to the music, and flapped her wings a bit, and even once—I didn’t imagine it, truly!—kicked a leg up, like a chorus girl would!

  Well, that just set Mr. Bernstein spinning like a top. “I love a bird act! What else can she do? If you can work up twenty minutes of material, I’ll have the two of you on stages all over the country!”

  I thought it sweet of him to say, but what do I know about a bird act?

  “You know Mrs. Ward is entirely opposed to birds,” I said. “She doesn’t allow me on stage at all right now. She wouldn’t stand for me and a parrot.”

  “Oh, I won’t book you with May. You can go out on your own with an act like this! Say, can the bird do any other tricks?”

  “I try not to overtire her,” I said. “She’s been moved around too much as it is.”

  “Moved around? She’s a bird! They fly through the air! I’ve seen them do it. Travel is their business.”

  “I suppose so,” I said, but I wasn’t so sure about that. He went on, absolutely undaunted.

  “You’ll need to work up some fresh music. These boys are going to come home from France, and they will have seen the Paris style of theater. They will have heard a different sort of tune. They will have seen girls do things on stage that they just don’t do back home. An act like May’s—that’s not what they’re looking for any more. They’ll want someone younger, someone more exotic. You and this bird—they’ll go for something like that. I don’t suppose you could make yourself a dress out of feathers, could you?”

  I didn’t answer, but I was already imagining a quite stylish shift made of gold feathers, to better set off Laura’s raiment of green.

  While I was thinking that over, Mr. Bernstein snapped his fingers and said, “I’ve got just the thing. Do you suppose she could be trained to remove some item of clothing with her beak?”

  Well, Helen, I thought I was too old to blush, but I turned red all over! Very quickly he said, “Nothing too risqué! A scarf, perhaps?”

  I know full well that if Laura could pull a pin out of Charlotte’s hair, she could be taught to remove a scarf, but where exactly would this scarf be placed, and what would be revealed?

  “You do know that I speak French,” I offered, mostly to take his mind off the scarf.

  “My stars! I forgot. Sing me something.”

  I gave him a few little lines, in the most beguiling voice I could summon:

  Je ne veux pas guérir

  Je ne veux pas guérir

  Car j’adore ma jolie infirmière

  Laura had never heard the song before, but she cooed along. Mr. Bernstein was practically in tears.

  “You’re wasting your time in this hotel room,” he said. “Go home and rest your voice, and work up a little act. Write to me the very minute you’re ready. Within two weeks I’ll have you booked all over the country. Just imagine: Mademoiselle Fleurette and Her Fine Feathered Friend.”

  By now I was warming to the idea. “But I’d always pictured myself with a stage name,” I said.

  “When you’re already called Fleurette? Is there a prettier name on Broadway?”

  I had to admit that there wasn’t.

  “Listen to me, girlie. May’s act is going to stink like old fish après la guerre. She doesn’t know it, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one to tell her, but that’s the truth. If you want to make a life on the stage, you need to be working up an act for the 1920s, not singing the same old numbers from the 1910s. A girl on the stage always has to look ahead, to the next big thing. Can you do that?”

  Oh, Helen, what could I say? I told him yes—yes, yes, yes! It seems outrageous, the idea of Laura and me as permanent traveling companions, appearing on the stage every night, but I’d be a fool not to try. And you know I’d never be cruel to Laura. If she showed any sign of distress, I’d take her home right away and forget all about it.

  Of course, George Simon could return for her at any time, but if he saw the two of us together, he’d want me to keep her, wouldn’t he? Just for a year or two?

  Anyway, I’m tired of these Army camps, and of singing the same old songs every night, and the dry sandwiches and weak tea at the Hostess House, and May Ward thinking only of herself and growing ever more difficult. Why isn’t she looking to the 1920s? And why shouldn’t I?

  Don’t answer that. I’m coming home. I’ll see you in the flesh soon enough. Between Constance and Bessie, I’ll be nursed and fussed over, and so will Laura. When I have my voice back in fine form, I’ll be ready for my next act.

  With all my love—and kisses to be delivered in person—

  Fleurette

  Telegram from Fleurette to Constance

  September 27, 1918

  ARRIVING IN PATERSON TOMORROW 3 O’CLOCK NOT SICK MERELY SICK OF MRS. WARD

  Kitchen table note from Constance to Fleurette

  September 28, 1918

  F—

  What a surprise to have you home! If you’re seeing this note, Mrs. Spinella let you in as I requested. I hope she’s left a cot for you. I’ll be home by six.

  Might you be persuaded to stay in town for a few days? I have an assignment of a highly sensitive nature that requires both your acting and your seamstressing skills.

  You have a letter here from Norma, and Bessie left a plate of sandwiches.

  C.

  Kitchen table note from Fleurette to Constance

  September 28, 1918

  C—

  You phrase it as a question but I don’t suppose you’re going to allow me to refuse. I’m not sleeping on that miserable cot, though—not with this nasty old cough. Find me a bed or I’ll move over to Francis and Bessie’s.

  I’m running over to see Helen. I’ll be back at eight. The parrot’s name is Laura.

  F.

  Norma to Fleurette

  September 10, 1918

  Dear Fleurette,

  Soldiers over here like to complain that they aren’t allowed to make a single decision for themselves, but now I see why they’re not. What man in his right mind hands off a parrot to a chorus girl, who is traveling from one stuffy old room to another and boarding trains at all hours of the day and night?

  A pigeon is one thing and a parrot entirely another, but if I remember my Bishop’s guide correctly, parrots are hardy birds and will teach you as much about how to care for them as any book might. For instance, if a bird is uncomfortable or distressed, it will pluck its feathers or grow costive, which is to say that it will refuse to speak. If you feed it something disagreeable, you will know at once from its droppings. Pay attention in this manner and the bird will show you what to do.

  If you ever took any notice of my pigeon loft, I hope you learned the importance of keeping a bird’s enclosure scrupulously clean. Newspapers must be changed daily, and the entire cage taken out once a week and scrubbed with ordinary soap and water, then left to dry in the sunlight. Take care with its perch and feeding-dishes, too: You wouldn’t want to drink from a dirty cup, and neither does your bird
.

  A parrot will take all manner of seed, but hemp and sunflower are best. Offer them sparingly, though. Think of them as treats that will spoil the health if eaten too often. Corn and bananas are fine food, and berries when you have them. Give a plain diet of boiled rice if the bird shows signs of illness.

  Let the bird stand in the sun when possible, or even in a brightly lit window, but take care to make sure that it is not forced to sunbathe all day. Think of its life in the jungle: it might sit on an uppermost branch and preen its feathers, but then retreat underneath a canopy of leaves in the heat of the afternoon.

  Of course, you must put the bird in the largest cage you can possibly find. For that you might try Miller’s Hardware in Hackensack. If they don’t have something for you, they will build it. A pretty brass cage in the shape of a palace is charming for a canary, but a parrot wants to stretch its considerable wings, and you must give it space to do so. Likewise give it a good perch outside of its cage and allow it liberty when you can.

  As for training a bird, the way to go about it is to discover what the bird naturally likes to do and to reward it for doing so. Seeds make a fine reward, but give only one seed at a time, not a handful. Never punish a bird for failing to learn: it simply won’t understand and will come to fear you.

  As long as you keep it away from other birds (and you must), you won’t have to worry about mites or worms. If you run into any other difficulties of an urgent nature, go through my books and you’ll find Bishop’s and a few others. The library likewise has a collection of aviculture books and periodicals, which will serve you well.

  As ever,

  Norma

  Fleurette to Norma

  September 29, 1918

  Dear Norma,

  Thank you for your advice on bird-keeping. You’ll be happy to know that she’s no longer being made to sleep in dreary old dormitories and hotel rooms. I’ve returned to Paterson to rest my voice and rehearse a new act. Constance intends to put me to work. I’ll be doing something in service to my country, although she won’t let me say what it is.

  I have only just now caught up on your letters and enjoyed hearing about the baker mailing her cakes off to Belgium. I was heartbroken to read about the soldier with the picture of his mother concealed behind a button. I do hope Aggie has settled her troubles at the hospital by now—the letters take forever to arrive, and sometimes we get bunches of them at once, so it’s entirely possible you’ve already written and told us how you took care of it.

  I enclose a feather from my fine new friend, Laura. Have you ever seen such a dazzling color?

  Yours,

  Fleurette

  Constance to Norma

  September 29, 1918

  Dear Norma,

  It is now apparent that you knew about this bird of Fleurette’s all along and never thought to mention it to me. Now that she has your instructions on its care and feeding, I suppose it will live forever—but surely not with us! The parrot was given to her by a soldier and will be returned to that soldier as soon as the war ends. I’m telling you this so you won’t encourage her in her attachment to the bird. As it is, she carries it everywhere, wears it on her shoulder out on the street, and has of course taken it over to Francis and Bessie’s so that the children can fall in love with it, too.

  Fortunately I have the basement room at Mrs. Spinella’s. No one can hear the bird when it whistles (and Fleurette is teaching it to whistle, and sing, and talk, and dance—it’s like a little feathered version of Fleurette herself), and Mrs. Spinella has agreed, for an extra fee, to allow it, as long as no one complains.

  You bear some responsibility in this, you know. Fleurette told me that the young man—George Simon is his name—only gave the parrot to her when he heard that she had a sister who kept pigeons.

  Fleurette will earn her keep and the parrot’s, as my assignment has grown more complicated and I need her help.

  Our thoughts are with Aggie. Do send us a line when you can.

  Yours,

  Constance

  Fleurette to George Simon

  September 30, 1918

  Dear George,

  Laura and I (you see, I kept her name, I promised I would!) just returned home to New Jersey, and your postcard arrived the same day. Yes, you may write to me at this address any time you like, and I will always write back!

  Laura has been an absolute love. She’s whistling more every day, and she tries to sing sometimes, too—and I do mean real singing, with words, or what sounds she can make to resemble words. She’s proving to be quite dexterous as well—she loves to take hold of any sparkling object and try to hide it away.

  I’d even say that she has a sense of humor, if it’s possible for a bird. Do you suppose it is? Can a bird tell a joke? Because I believe Laura is a great wit, and is only working out the means to express it.

  It wasn’t at all difficult to find food to her liking during our travels—she did just fine on a diet of bread, corn, apples, and bananas (which pretty closely describes my diet, too), but now that she’s home, she’s feasting on all manner of seeds as well.

  Constance (my eldest sister) was a bit surprised to learn, when she offered to share her living quarters with me, that a bird would be part of the bargain. I’m happy to say that she’s come around quickly. I catch her sneaking treats to Laura, and teaching her to say “Constance,” which is a difficult word for a bird. So far all that Laura can manage is a sound like “Aw,” but Constance finds that amusing and keeps at it.

  I did have a letter from Norma waiting for me when I arrived, filled with good bird-keeping advice. I can assure you that Laura is in capable hands.

  I hope you’re well and safe. If there’s anything at all we can send you, please write at once.

  With all best wishes—

  Fleurette and Laura (who does not say “George” but will try something like “Or”)

  Fleurette to Freeman Bernstein

  September 30, 1918

  Dear Mr. Bernstein,

  I didn’t see you before I left Chicago, so I wanted to write and tell you that I’ve taken your advice. After Chicago I went straight home to New Jersey. I parted with Mrs. Ward on the best terms possible under the circumstances. My voice still sounds like sandpaper but it will recover on a steady diet of my sister-in-law Bessie’s chicken soup.

  Laura (that’s the parrot’s name) seems to learn something new every day, whether I teach it to her or not. She’s picked up the whistle of the tea-kettle and likes to fool me by starting that whistle as soon as I put the kettle on. I never know any more when the water’s actually ready.

  But don’t worry—our act will be far cleverer than that! I expect to have something marvelous to show you within a few short weeks.

  You may write to me at this address. I remain—

  Yours very truly, with everlasting gratitude,

  Fleurette

  Freeman Bernstein to Fleurette

  October 2, 1918

  My dear Miss Kopp—

  You’re a clever girl to take Freeman Bernstein’s advice. I’ve already been up and down Broadway, telling them all about your act, but I’m not going to let New York have you first. We’ll put you on a regional tour, and let you fill a house in Newark, then Allentown, and then Lancaster. Theaters you’ve seen before—May’s sung in all of them, and you were there with her.

  Once we’ve collected some good notices, it’ll be on to Boston and Philadelphia, maybe over to Chicago—and only then will we let Broadway have a look at you! This is the way to turn you into a sensation.

  Don’t worry, they’ll all be begging for a booking. I’ll see to that.

  The first order of business is for you to have a picture made with that bird. Get yourself up in three or four costumes, and go down to Schwab’s Studio in Fort Lee. Tell him Freeman sent you, and to charge my account.

  The girls are starting to bob their hair, or to tuck it under and pretend they have. Would you consider anything of the s
ort?

  Think about it before you go for the pictures.

  Yours devotedly,

  Freeman Bernstein

  P.S. Have you told those sisters of yours about our business arrangement? One of them put a gun on me last year. I wouldn’t like her to get into the habit of it.

  Fleurette to Freeman Bernstein

  October 4, 1918

  Dear Mr. Bernstein,

  Norma is the sister you ought to fear, but she’s in France, so you have until the end of the war to reform your character and win her over.

  When I first told Constance I was going to tour the Army camps with Mrs. Ward, she knew there was no point in trying to talk me out of it. She even went so far as to say that I am a grown woman, capable of conducting myself honorably when in the employment of Ward & Bernstein, and that in spite of your reputation, she knew perfectly well that I’ve never come to harm or disgrace due to my association with you, and so on and so on.

  However, she isn’t entirely aware of our new arrangement, or perhaps I should put it to you plainly and say that she hasn’t an idea about it. She’s assigned to a rather difficult job right now and wants my help with it. I thought it best to stay quiet and do what I could to assist her. Once the job is concluded and I’ve helped her to make a success of it, I’ll tell her all about Mademoiselle Fleurette and her new act.

  Laura and I sing together every day. She’s quite an accompanist when she whistles. She does tend to rush, so I keep the tempo and give her cues. All of my costumes will require a pouch for seed, because she only sings for treats. Like every girl who works for you, she expects her wages.