by Craig Rice
Dolly staggered a little when she went to get her coat. “Hie. Never seen it to fail,” she said. “Every time I eat onions I get drunk.”
Paying the check was an ordeal. The waiters had to collect an installment from each of us. Dolly tried to pretend she was too drunk to count, but Mandy held her while Gee Gee went through her pockets.
We never could decide why Luchow’s didn’t cater to us after that night. Dolly walking off with half the silverware in her purse might have accounted for it, but I always thought it was because Biff tried to take the hall tree with him. It would have been all right if there hadn’t been so many coats and hats on it.
Siggy, the G-string man, was waiting in the stage entrance. His suitcase was opened on the trunk to show the new line of net pants and brassières. Over the lid the rhinestone gadgets were on display. He must have been waiting for a long time because there was a small mound of cigarette butts on the floor beside him. They were all smoked down to a quarter of an inch and the wet ends were pinched together.
Siggy used to get so enthused about making a sale that he’d forget he was smoking until the cigarette burned his lip. That was really how he got his nickname. If he had another name he’d probably forgotten it. The only thing he remembered was how much we owed him; he kept track of that in a little black book.
Jannine was the first to grab a rhinestone number that a couple of us had our eyes on.
“That there one is five bucks,” Siggy said, with the usual cigarette hanging from his lower lip.
“Five bucks!” Jannine gasped. “Why I never paid over three since I been wearing them.”
“Well, beads is gone up,” he replied stiffly, “an’ I got a living to make.” He took the G string from Jannine and held it up to his fat waist. “Anyway, this here one is plush lined. Plain, I can let you have one for four bucks.”
The plush lining sold Jannine. With a giggle she snatched the costume from Siggy and scurried upstairs. Siggy put her name in the black book with a note that she owed five dollars and turned to his other customers.
Gee Gee and I bought plain net pants and Sandra finally bought another brassière, not because she needed it, but because brassières were her hobby.
As Siggy wrote the items with a stubby, chewed pencil, he said, “Just seen Louie’s waiters bringing in a barrel of beer.” Gee Gee and I didn’t answer. “And a case of rye, too,” he said casually. “Must be gonna have a party, huh?” He wasn’t quite as casual then.
Gee Gee looked at me and with a shrug of helplessness admitted that we did have something like it in mind. She turned to me and said, “I guess we’ll have to invite him.” Ungracious as the invitation was, I have never seen a G-string salesman move so fast. In one half second the black book was in his pocket, the suitcase closed, and he was on his way upstairs.
“You’d think you never got a free beer in your life,” Gee Gee yelled after him. “Anyhow, the party ain’t until after the next show.”
An expression of annoyance crossed Siggie’s face, then he grinned.
“O.K.,” he said brightly, “I’ll wait.” Swinging his suitcase in front of him he went back to the stage entrance and flopped down on the trunk. He pulled his feet up and braced himself comfortably before he began making a supply of rolled cigarettes.
“Hey, Gypola.” Jannine stood on the landing with a Turkish towel wrapped around her. The towel wasn’t quite large enough but it didn’t seem to worry her any.
“I musta dropped my new G string,” she shouted. “Bring it up, will ya, and save me the trip?”
Gee Gee and I looked for it on the steps and we rummaged through the pile of scenery under them. The G string didn’t seem to be there either, but it was dark and we decided to wait for George, the electrician.
“He’ll be back in a minute,” I said, “and then he can give us some light.”
“She’s such a dope,” Gee Gee explained. “She’s probably got it on and with that dead fanny of hers she just don’t feel it.”
We didn’t find the G string and Jannine didn’t have it on. Gee Gee still feels that if we’d looked hard enough we might have found it. She sort of blames herself for the murders. But as I tell her, if the murderer hadn’t used that G string it would have been another. After all, it may have been the only one that had a plush lining but it certainly wasn’t the only one that had a string, and that’s the part the murderer used.
Chapter Six
During the show our dressing room did a lively business. Everyone and his brother dropped in to offer suggestions for the party. The fact that they also sampled the rye might account for the near stampede at intermission.
Mandy wanted to have us pull straws to see which one was to be queen. Biff thought things should be a little more dignified.
Joey, Mandy’s partner, was still being a second comic. “I tell you,” he said, shaking a finger in the air. “Break a bottle on it like they do on battleships and Winchell’ll use it in his column.”
“The freedom of the press ain’t that free,” Jannine said.
Jake ambled in a little later with some excuse about the sink leaking. It had been leaking for twenty-eight weeks that I knew of, but, of course, we didn’t have a case of liquor every day. He tightened a collar on the pipe and made like it was a job that called for fortification.
While he poured a healthy slug into a Dixie cup he winked at me. In a stage whisper that could be heard in the Eltinge uptown, he told me not to forget the surprises.
“What surprises?” Gee Gee asked.
Jake grinned. “You’ll find out.”
And she did. But not the sort of surprise Jake intended.
Before I did my scene with Biff at the end of the second act, it was settled that we would break the bottle, crown the queen, and still leave a little time for dignity. Russell passed by the room but wouldn’t come in for a drink. He hardly glanced at La Verne when she called him.
“Give ya the old go by, eh?” Dolly was too pleased to conceal it. She was painting her toenails with bright red polish; little hunks of cotton between each toe made her feet fan-shaped. She managed to walk over to La Verne’s side of the room.
“Why don’t ya call him again,” she taunted. “Maybe he didn’t hear your golden voice.”
La Verne brought a foot down on the newly polished toes. “Oh, excuse me, so soddy.” La Verne’s claws were sharpened. There was real malice in her smile as she looked up into Dolly’s face.
Before Dolly could say any more than “Ouch!” Gee Gee grabbed her. Half playfully, half forcibly, she led the fan-shaped feet back to the opposite side of the dressing room.
“No fights tonight,” she said, pushing Dolly into a chair. “Little birdies in a nest.” A drink of rye settled the discussion.
The laurel leaves over the door had decorated more peaceful spots than the strippers’ dressing room that eventful night. The tension wasn’t relieved any when Sammy barged in, making a noise like a stage manager.
He took a look at Dolly, then a glance at the half-empty bottle on the shelf. “I give you all fair warning,” he said. He paused for a moment to build up for the following announcement: “Any man or woman that misses a cue from now on, and that goes for the finale, too, gets fired at once.”
No one said a word. Dolly closed one eye to get a good view of the stage manager. Alice pouted a little and swung around in her chair, one of those “well you didn’t have to include me” pouts.
Gee Gee said in a cold voice, “Hear, hear.”
“Don’t hear, hear me.” Sammy used a fist to pound on the shelf. The bottle went bouncing in the air and down again. “You’re getting a little too smart for your pants anyway, Miss Graham,” Sammy shouted and stomped out of the room.
Gee Gee waited until he was halfway upstairs to say, “What pants? Is he kidding?” She pulled the make-up towel out of the ventilator to listen in on what was happening upstairs in the men’s dressing room.
Sure enough, Sammy was up there,
but Mandy hadn’t given him time to go into his routine. He was describing Joey’s mother catching the show. “Yeah, well she comes backstage and says, ‘Oh, Joey, you was so funny! It was all I could do to keep from laughing.’” Sammy’s voice tried to cut in, but Mandy stopped him. “That ain’t all,” he said, “there’s a topper. Joey, he says to his mother, ‘But I’m a comic man, Mom; you’re supposed to laugh.’ And she says, ‘So all right then, let them laugh, just so you shouldn’t make a fool outta yourself.’”
Mandy and Joey laughed but alone. I didn’t wait to hear if Sammy went into the spiel about missing cues.
Biff stopped in the wings and grabbed my arm. I thought he was going to tell me something about waiting for a laugh I’d muffed, so I began apologizing and explaining.
“No. It ain’t that,” he said quickly, “but now that you mention it, you have been stepping on that line since the first show.”
“I told you when we rehearsed it that it wouldn’t get a laugh and now you keep blaming …”
“Skip it, Punkin.” There was something in his face that stopped me, little trouble lines around his eyes and a worried set to his face. He threw his comedy coat over my shoulders and kissed me on the nose absent-mindedly.
“Come on. I’ll buy you a quick one at the Dutchman’s,” he said with the same detached air.
“That’s what I love about you. You’re so romantic,” I said with a dead pan. “Anyway, we haven’t time to go to the Dutchman’s, the finale is next. Let’s run into Louie’s. You can bend an arm there just as easy.”
“Come on,” he said with a trace of impatience, “I got my reasons for not wanting to go to Louie’s.” With that he pulled me across the stage and through the alley door.
The Dutchman’s was almost two blocks away but we must have made it in a minute flat. I was panting when we swung the double door open and made our way through the sawdust to a back booth.
“One Old Granddaddy for me,” Biff yelled to the man behind the bar, “and a slug of the cheapest rye you got in the place for my illegitimate daughter.” He handed me a cigarette and took one for himself. It seemed hours before he lit them. I was burning with curiosity and he knew it. Instead of telling me what was on his mind, he puffed deeply on the cigarette and let more wrinkles settle on his forehead.
“Hear you’re having a powwow at the place tonight.” The bartender had put the drinks in a little puddle of liquor left by a previous drink and was ready for his usual ten-minute conversation. He wiped his hands on a long white apron that made his front look three times larger than it was.
“If he doesn’t go away and let me listen to Biff,” I thought, “I’ll …”
“Yep. Sure are,” Biff said. “Drop in if you want to.” The barkeeper waddled away after thanking Biff and thanking me.
“Look,” I began, “I’ve been very patient with you. Now I want to know what’s cooking.”
“Drink up first. This is something you need a bracer for.” He downed his Old Granddaddy in one gulp. I made mine in two. “There’s going to be trouble tonight,” he said without a change of expression. “It’s Russell.” He stared at the door that had just swung open. A bum stumbled in. Biff stood up and peered into the two adjoining booths.
“Thought maybe we were on the Erie,” he explained.
“Who’d want to listen? And what about Russell?”
Biff looked like he was going to change his mind about telling me after all, then he leaned across the table and began to speak softly.
“The day before the raid I heard him talking to Dolly. I couldn’t catch all the words but every now and then La Verne’s name came up. Dolly was sore; she kept saying, ‘I don’t believe it.’ Then Russell says, ‘You think I’d have anything to do with a dame that was mixed up with a guy like Louie?’ Then he opens the collar of his shirt and says, ‘Look, baby, if I can forgive and forget a thing like that you can forget any cracks I mighta made just because you got me sore.’ I didn’t see what he was talking about, but I did see Dolly’s face. Her lip quivered like she was gonna cry and she said, ‘Poor darling.’ Then Russ puts his arm around her. ‘Leave it to me, honey, and we won’t have a thing to worry about as long as we live.’”
“Is that all?” I didn’t even try to keep the disappointment from my voice. Biff ordered two more drinks and gave me a disgusted look while the redfaced waiter hurried over to the table.
“No, that ain’t all,” Biff said when he’d left. “Today I hear him talking to the Princess! He’s playing a fancy game with three dames—the Princess, Dolly, and La Verne. What it is I don’t know. He told the Princess he’d handle Louie. I got a good picture of Russell handling Louie, but that isn’t what worries me. It’s you I’m thinking about.”
“Me?” I said.
“Yeah, you! I don’t want you getting friendly with any of ’em. Something’s up and it ain’t healthy to know too much with guys like Louie around.”
“But the Princess,” I said, “what can she have to do with …” My eyes glanced at the clock above the bar.
“The finale!” I shouted.
Biff turned white. We jumped up from the benches, nearly upsetting the booths in our rush for the door. Biff yelled to charge the bill and we flew down the street. Sammy’s exact words came to me as Biff almost dragged me through the alley. “Immediate dismissal … any man or woman that misses a cue … and that goes for the finale, too.”
Biff lost one of his yard-long shoes and I waited for him to run back and pick it up.
Suddenly the orchestra went into action, loud, lusty, and lousy, Happy Days Are Here Again. The finale was on and we’d missed it!
Biff didn’t take time to put on his shoe. He tucked the toe of it in his pocket and yelled to me, “You take stage right, I’ll take stage left.” He hopped through the door on one foot. “Just run on waving your arms and singing … maybe we’ll get away with it.” With a grin he flew across the stage.
I was trying to be as quiet as possible, hoping that I could sneak by Sammy, when I collided with Stachi’s swivel chair. It fell over with a crash like a kettledrum symphony with a cymbal finish, and I fell on top of it. The leather seat pillow helped to break my fall but I banged my head on the heavy leg. I was still dizzy from the crack on my head when I pushed the draperies aside and dashed through them. Biff had told me to wave my arms and sing. Well, I sang at the top of my lungs, but only a few bars. I was the only one singing. The orchestra had stopped and the musicians stared at me as I stood there petrified. It was the same feeling as when your brassière strap breaks before it’s supposed to.
Biff’s voice from the opposite side of the stage made me turn my head. He was singing, too, and waving his arms like a windmill. Center stage, with their hands on their hips and their mouths half open in wonderment, stood Mandy and Joey.
Mandy was the first one to find words. “If you don’t mind too kindly,” he said with a little bow, “me and my partner would like very much to do ‘Pick Up My Old Hat.’”
I don’t know how I got off stage. Skulked, I guess, would be a good word for it. All I remember is making a beeline for the stairs. My only hope was to reach the dressing room before Sammy or someone would see me. I called myself several kinds of a fool for not remembering that the orchestra also used the finale music to bring scenes on. I stayed close to the wall on my way to the stairs. Most of the women were in their finale gowns. Gee Gee and Sandra were near the water cooler, but Alice, to my dismay, was in the wings. She’d be the one to tell Sammy, I thought.
The show girls were getting cokes from the candy butcher and Jannine was talking to George, the electrician, about her lights. I didn’t wait to hear all of it, but she was complaining and George seemed bored. I tried to make myself little as I hurried up the stairs. The Princess was on her way down, and in my rush I nearly pushed her over the railing. I mumbled an apology, but as usual, she ignored me.
The show girls were being announced as I adjusted the last hooks on my wardro
be. Then I leaned down to look in Alice’s mirror. I intended fixing my hair but something startled me. Not really a noise, a feeling. A feeling that someone was watching me.
As I glanced nervously around the room my eyes fell on the door to the new toilet. Someone had painted a thick glob of red paint across the lock and door jamb. It had sealed the door.
I looked at it for a moment, fascinated. Then I stretched my arm across the shelf and touched it. It was warm! My finger had put a dent in the thickest part, I pulled my hand back quickly and hurried downstairs. I felt like the one who always has to touch something that has a WET PAINT sign on it.
I was still breathless when the curtain closed in after the finale. Sammy rushed onstage before we had a chance to leave. “Curtain call,” he barked. “Hold your places for a curtain call.” The actors mumbled angrily but we waited for the speech that Sammy was warming up to.
“Where in hell is La Verne?” He started and ended his speech with those five words. No one answered him. His face set in grim lines. “When I said that anyone missing the finale would get their notice, I meant it.” He paused for a moment. “And that goes for the Prima Donna, too, by Jesus.” He looked at the actors standing in their places.
“Who seen her last?”
“Oh, nuts,” Dolly complained. “We got a party on, Sammy. Anyhow we all saw her. She was getting into the finale costume when I left and everybody was in the room.”
Sammy dismissed us after the women verified Dolly’s remark. That is, he dismissed everyone but me. I was certain that he was going to call me down for the racket I’d made in the stage entrance so I had my excuse ready.
“I don’t know what happened, Sammy. All of a sudden I got faint … my head was killing me and I just …”
“I don’t care about that,” Sammy said. “You made it and that’s what counts. It’s that damned Prima Donna that gets me sore. It’s just like her to miss it on purpose so she could get Moss to hire her back after I’d fired her.”