Our Grand Finale

by Laraine Denny Burrell

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Reno!”

  The audience is suddenly doused with the powerful landing lights shining out from a three-quarter-scale DC-10 traveling downstage toward the audience. Six girls in white-and-blue air-hostess costumes are dancing on each of the wings. Dozens of other dancers and singers appear onstage, and as the main stage lights come up, revealing an airport scene, everyone starts singing the title song of the show, “Hello Hollywood, Hello. The show that really is a show . . .”

  “Oh my gosh!” I am amazed at the glitz, the glamour, the feathers, the sequins, the over-the-top creativity performing in front of me.

  “It’s amazing!” Another dancer sitting on my right echoes my awe.

  I am sitting several stories up in the theater’s light booth, watching the most amazing spectacular I have ever seen unfold before me. Not only is there an incredible theater set to marvel at, but there are more than a hundred dancers and singers performing in choreographed unison to the show’s theme song. I am astounded because I have been hired to perform as a dancer in this show of which I have never seen the like. I am both excited and petrified.

  I arrived in Reno, Nevada, only yesterday, ready to begin my one-year contract for the MGM Grand in the show Hello Hollywood, Hello. I had no concept of what lies ahead as I made the long journey from London to Los Angeles, and finally on to Reno. There were hundreds of British female dancers on the flight from London to Los Angeles, and MGM hired an entire Boeing 747 just for us dancers. We are to be the American equivalent of the famous Parisian Bluebell Girls. We are called the Kelly Girls after Miss Bluebell’s real name, Barbara Kelly. Some girls left the group in Los Angeles, traveling on to dance in the new MGM show in Las Vegas. The Vegas show is to replace the one that was closed because of the tragic MGM fire. The rest of us are here to dance at the sister property in Reno.

  For the next two hours I am mesmerized by what is truly and properly categorized as a spectacular. Other scenes in the show include the San Francisco earthquake of 1906, with the entire set of a San Francisco street crumbling and falling from the shaking and rumblings of the earthquake while performers, inhabitants of San Francisco, frantically run around the stage trying to evade the falling buildings. Even an old-fashioned, firefighting pump rushes across the stage to douse a fire.

  In another scene, space people and aliens dance before the Space Queen in her court, and a “living curtain” drops from the proscenium, carrying dozens of dancers gyrating to space disco music. The finale is a tribute to MGM musicals, with real horses and of course a real MGM lion on the center platform above the performers. There are approximately a hundred and thirty performers, dancers, singers, and variety acts in the cast. I am used to dancing with eight or nine other performers. Sitting watching the show this first night, I begin to doubt my ability to perform at this high professional level and in such an astonishing extravaganza.

  At five foot eight I am placed in the Pony Line, the group of shorter female dancers. We pride ourselves on being the true female dancers in the show and not just walking coat hangers for extravagant feather and sequined costumes. I quickly learn the “showgirl walk” and how to elegantly carry an enormous feather and jeweled backpack while walking up and down a staircase and across the stage, and then how to do a costume quick-change in the wings between numbers and, with the help of my dresser, how to fly the backpack up onto the rail for storage.

  A week later, after long days and nights of rehearsals, I am to make my first appearance in the show. Nicola, the ponies’ dance captain, gives us the nightly preshow instructions in the dressing room.

  “All right, ladies, I have posted the schedule on my mirror for both stage left and stage right. Tonight we’re five and five. Swings, check your positions, we have Linda and Kim off tonight. New ladies, double-check your positions on the list. Finale, Mary and Jill do Bubble Girls, Gayle and Liza do Arabians, rest of you are Drummers. Any questions, ask me.”

  My first show is a blur, from my first position standing in my Bluesleeves costume on the grand staircase as it rises from below the stage through enormous elevator doors to unveil itself to the audience, through dancing in red feathers in the heatwave number and escaping falling debris in the San Francisco earthquake number, and to the final number, marching out in my drummer costume, keeping the beat with my fellow ponies as we accent the classic Hollywood circus show tunes. After the show there is little time to reflect on how it went because we have to preset for the second show, but I do get a “good job” and a pat on the shoulder from Nicola.

  I quickly become comfortable in the show as if I have been performing in it for years.

  I become comfortable descending down from a height of several stories above the stage on the living curtain while gyrating and disco-dancing around a pole. I am a drummer in the finale and thankful not to be a principal performer during that number because all the principals are presented on the center stage set with the uncaged MGM lion, who sits atop the main platform above the other performers. To keep him docile, the poor boy is given tranquilizers, which has the unfortunate effect of lack of muscle control. So from time to time, a lion-sized gush of pee waterfalls its way down the set, splashing the unfortunate performers and their sequins but never dousing their smiles.

  A month after my first performance in the show, I have found my own apartment, and a babysitter, and I am ready for Dad to bring Mark from England to live with me. Dad arranges to fly to Reno with Mark, and to stay for a week to help me get organized. My company manager kindly gives me the week off, understanding my need as a single parent to get my two-year-old son acclimatized to his new environment. Mark is happy to see me. He gives me a big hug and cheerfully says, “Mum-mum!”

  Dad, Mark, and I spend the week organizing my apartment, helped by my dad generously buying us a few things we need. We rent a car and explore the Biggest Little City of Reno, and drive up through the mountains, to Lake Tahoe. Not only am I happy to see Mark, but it is good to see Dad, and have the momentary shoulder to lean on. I go out of the way to ask my dad his opinion and advice.

  “I’m saving up to buy a car, Dad. Do you think I should go with something smaller and more affordable, or something bigger which might be safer if I’m in an accident?”

  “I’m not familiar with these America cars, but I’d think safety is more important.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “You’ll want to save your money too. Be disciplined. Ye never know when a rainy day might come, and ye’ve a bairn who will be relying on you.”

  I nod. “You’re right, Dad, of course.”

  On Dad’s second-to-last night, I go in and do the show, and the company manager comps Dad into the theater to watch me perform in something I know he couldn’t before imagine. I’m on stage watching my dad in the audience tracking my every move through every number.

  “You’ve done well,” Dad says to me after the show. “You’ve done well.”

  With Dad’s approval I believe my life is finally on the right track.

  Inevitably the week passes too quickly, and after a tearful goodbye, Dad is gone, leaving Mark and me to carve out this new life of ours. Two days later Dad telephones to check we are doing okay. “We’re fine, Dad. Thank you for your help. I appreciate what you did, bringing Mark out to me, buying us the things we needed.”

  “You’re welcome, love.”

  “How was the flight back?”

  “It was . . .”

  Dad halts mid-sentence, leaving an electric silence over the airwaves. I wait for him to continue.

  “Leaving Mark behind, it was probably the loneliest and saddest day of my life.”

  I sense the raw emotion in my dad’s voice.

  “I know I reacted badly when you were first pregnant.”

  The direct comment surprises me. I say nothing, recognizing the gravity of the moment.

  Dad continues, “It was a natural reaction, I suppose. I love Mark. He’s a bonny wee lad. He’s t
he best thing you could’ve given me. I miss him. I miss you both.”

  The words are heartfelt, not only because of their message but perhaps more because I recognize how difficult it is for my dad to open up like this. “Thanks, Dad. We miss you too.” I hang up the receiver. Dad and I have made our peace.

  “Here, Mark, throw the birds some bread.” I hand Mark small pieces of bread pulled from the loaf I am carrying, and then demonstrate to him how to throw the bread out toward the ducks and swans floating on the edge of the lake. I toss the bits of bread onto the water, causing a synchronized turning of avian heads and a mass paddle of feathered bodies chasing toward the treats.

  Mark chuckles at the scene and delights at how the birds react to him throwing bread at them. “Birds.”

  “Good boy! That’s right, birds.”

  As often as I can, I follow the habit Mark and I developed in Europe of going out for walks and fresh air whenever we can. Today we are walking around Virginia Lake, a small but lovely lake in the middle of Reno. A path runs around the lake, making the walk easy. The birds offer additional entertainment for young Mark, making my job easier.

  When I first arrived in Reno, I despaired on how I was going to live here for a whole year. The town seemed small and had little to offer as compared with the other more exotic places I have lived across the globe. But I have learned to be adaptable and with the help of friends, including my new best friend Jill, I learn to take advantage of everything the area has to offer. I learn to ski up at Mount Rose, at Boreal Ridge, and at other ski resorts. I hike around the Sierras. Mark learns how to swim and to ride a bike, and makes friends of his own age. Our staid English personas are slowly replaced by more outgoing American personalities.

  My social life starts around two in the morning once the second show has finished. There is plenty of late-night fun. My friends and I perform in charity shows in various clubs around town, including at IT or Imagine That, a gay bar across the street from the MGM. Many of the dressers from my show are gay, adding a wonderfully extravagant dimension to life backstage. The gay community has its own court, and I am asked to choreograph a routine for the queen’s coronation. For my efforts I am awarded the title Princess of Patience, complete with a scroll commemorating the title.

  The company manager routinely asks dancers such as me to do additional publicity events. The extra pay goes a long way to supplement my income. I have done television commercials and print advertisements, and posed in my showgirl costumes at cocktail parties and charity events. Last week I was dressed in my showgirl costume, complete with G-string, diamond-studded bra, and high heels, all to walk around an arena leading a prize bull at the start of a livestock auction event. My high heels were lost in the thick straw lining the arena, and I was thankful that it fell to our dressers to get the cow poop off of my shoes. My first year with MGM passes quickly. I audition to stay on in the show and continue onto my second year in Reno.

  Not all of the male dancers are gay, thank goodness! The fabulous male physiques are an attraction to any woman, and I have my eye on a particularly fine-looking man called Stuart, who recently joined the show. But with such a large cast, and with every movement both onstage and off choreographed to ensure performers do not get run over by forklifts, or clobbered by falling drops, I am never near Stuart at any time during the show. I have to amuse myself by admiring him from the wings, or atop a flight of stairs, or while dancing on a moving set piece. Fortunately for me, a fellow dancer leaves the show and my finale position is changed. I am no longer a drummer but now an Arabian dancer, and I make my entrance from the downstage right wing right next to Stuart, who is a gladiator. I twirl and gyrate, jiggling the gold coins on my Arabian costume as I make my way across the front of the stage as part of the parade of Hollywood characters. Behind me Stuart the Gladiator struts purposefully, smiling at me as I cheekily use my character to flirt with him.

  Show after show, as we meet in the wings before the finale, we chat and get to know each other and find we have a lot in common. Not the least being that we were born on the same day. I decide it is kismet. Happily, within time Stuart and I start dating. He is very good to Mark, and eventually Mark and I move into Stuart’s house. For a while we play happy family.

  The MGM Grand becomes Bally’s. Despite the change in the hotel name, the show stays largely the same. However, more high-end talent is brought in to star in the show. Our first big celebrity is Carol Channing. No one knows what to expect from her the first night of rehearsals with the full cast and crew.

  The second show finishes at 2:00 a.m. Rehearsals start around 3:00 a.m., once the sets, scenery, costumes, and everything else is either put away or preset for the next day’s show. We take our places ready for a full run-through of each of the numbers in which Carol is performing.

  After the first run, Carol grabs her mike, walks out to the center of the stage, and shouts out to the producer sitting in the house.

  “Donn. Can you hear me?”

  The entire cast and crew come to a standstill, and turn to look at Carol. What is going on? What does she want?

  “Sure, Carol, I can hear you. Something wrong?”

  “Let the kids go home. They don’t need to rehearse. They know what they are doing. I don’t. I’m the one that needs to rehearse. Let the kids go home.”

  “Er . . . okay.”

  And with that simple and thoughtful gesture, Carol Channing earns the respect of every performer and crew member in the show.

  After Carol Channing, Suzanne Somers brings her stage act into the Hello Hollywood show. I am one of the dancers chosen to be a backup singer and dancer for Suzanne Somers’s act, which includes filming a television special with her and other cast members. I get a copy of the television special and send it back home for Mum and Dad to see their daughter on American television.

  We finish the second show during the early morning hours. The routine becomes staying up to get Mark, who stays the night with a babysitter, off to school in the morning and then going to sleep during the day until it is time to pick him up from school. We become night people, socializing until sunrise.

  Tonight Stuart and I are at Jerry’s house, relaxing in his pool with some others from the show. It is a gorgeous summer night, warm temperatures and a clear sky. I am leaning against the side of the pool, looking up at the stars. “I wish I could fly up there,” I say to no one in particular.

  Stuart is next to me. “I can toss you up there, and you can fly back down into the pool.”

  I give him an odd look.

  “Pretend we are a dance team and I am lifting you into an angel,” he says, describing a dance lift.

  “I’ve never done adagio, or any lifts.”

  “Come, I’ll show you. You’ll be safe falling into the pool.”

  For the next hour or so, Stuart and I play around in the pool, trying to do “lifts,” him holding me up in the air in various positions. This is what we dancers call adagio, the partnership of a male and female dancer performing graceful lifts. We discover we have an affinity for adagio. Stuart lifts me up above his head, and I learn to balance in various positions, using the water as a safety net. Stuart is extraordinary strong and can lift me easily. I am also strong and can balance in graceful positions on Stuart’s hands as he lifts me above his head. We work on the angel, the star, some basic seated positions. It isn’t as hard as I thought. I point my toes gracefully, place my arms into fifth position above my head, hold my posture erect to make me both light and strong.

  “She looks good up there,” says Paul, another dancer. “You guys should try forming an adagio team, aim for the principal spot in the Space Ballet.”

  Stuart and I both laugh at the thought. The space number in the show includes the revered Space Ballet performed to the queen and her court. Only the main principal ballet dancers perform the ballet. I am a chorus dancer, not a principal dancer. Performing the ballet is an unattainable goal. But Stuart and I discuss the idea of working o
n more lifts. Perhaps we can form an adagio team. It would make us more valuable as performers and give us more career options.

  Stuart and I begin practicing lifts between shows. The huge stage offers many nooks and crannies where we can fumble and stumble our way through some basic moves. We share hearty laughs at our many graceless falls. It takes a lot of work and extra physical exertion on top of our two two-hour shows a night, but within time we learn each other’s bodies, weight distribution, and best hand placement, and we can do the most well-known lifts consistently.

  “We are well suited in body types, height, and strength. We work well together.”

  I nod at Stuart’s assessment as I lean forward to catch my breath after holding it for the duration of practicing the wheel. Holding my breath keeps my body firm, allows me to carry my own weight, and makes me lighter for Stuart.

  “Do you think we could be an adagio team?”

  I look at Stuart mopping his face with a hand towel as the exertion from lifting me up and down for the past hour shows itself. I nod. “I think we could.” I think the idea through a little more and compare what we can do to the abilities of the other adagio teams we know, including those in the show. “We would have to come up with our own lifts. Do different moves from everyone else out there.”

  “But it’s worth a try. Right?”

  “Right!”

  And so Stuart and I intensify our training to become an adagio team. Instead of hiding behind set pieces, we begin practicing on the main stage so we have more room to do the running stand and a lift where I change position from a standing arabesque to a forward attitude while Stuart gracefully carries me around the stage in a circle. We still have our clumsy moments, but our efforts are now more successful than not. We recognize that our compatibility is special. Not every couple that tries adagio can master the lifts as well as Stuart and I have.