The Life Fantastic

by Liza Ketchum

  “I’m sure she appreciated your reward,” Teresa said.

  Papa scowled. “I see New York has taught you more insolence.”

  “You told me New York is the best place in the world.”

  Papa scolded her in French and turned to Mrs. O’Donnell. “I apologize on my daughter’s behalf.”

  Mrs. O’Donnell shook her head in disbelief. “Good riddance to you all,” she said, and left the room, her mules slapping.

  Teresa stared at Papa. Something swirled inside her, like an eddy in the Whetstone Brook that surged forward, then back, in a storm. If only she could be like Pascal, throw herself into Papa’s arms, feel his rough beard against her forehead. Though Papa didn’t speak, his eyes were sorrowful.

  But she couldn’t go to him. Something else called her. It wasn’t music she heard, but that moment of deep stillness that fell over the Lafayette, when the final notes of “Hard Times” floated to the rafters. In that single instant, before the crowd began to clap, she had captured an audience. She wanted to hear that silence again, to feel it in her bones. If she went home with Papa, she’d be trapped in the eerie quiet of the tuning rooms forever.

  She sank into a hard chair as far from Papa as possible. “I am sorry,” she said. “I hope you won’t lose your job. And I’m sorry we worried you and Mama.”

  “You will tell that to your maman, and to Nonnie,” Papa said. “For now, we should sleep. We leave in a few hours.”

  Teresa followed Papa and Pascal up the stairs to their garret under the eaves. Papa bumped his head on the ceiling and swore. “How much are you paying for this dump?” Teresa didn’t answer. Papa unbuttoned his coat and sat on the edge of the bed. The bedsprings groaned as he pulled off his boots. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  Teresa stowed her few things in her valise, careful to wrap her blouse around Nonnie’s picture. “What are you doing?” Papa asked.

  “Packing,” she said. “You said we were leaving soon.”

  Teresa bent to help Pascal with his boots. His face was pale and pinched in the wavering light. She pulled him close, breathing in his sour little-boy smell. “Be good,” she whispered.

  Pascal threw his wiry arms around her and hugged her so tight she caught her breath. “All that juggling has made you strong.” Teresa kissed the top of his head. “Night night.” She took off her shoes and climbed onto the bed, fully dressed, her head at Pascal’s feet as usual.

  “’Night, Resa,” Pascal whispered.

  Papa spread his coat on the floor and lay on his back. In a few minutes, he was snoring. Teresa waited until Pascal’s steady breathing told her he was asleep, too, before she slipped out of bed. She picked up her shoes and stood over Papa a moment. She longed to give him a hug, to ask for his blessing, but he’d never let her go. Instead, she blew him a kiss. “Á bientôt, Papa,” she whispered.

  See him soon? She hoped not.

  • • •

  Teresa tapped on Maeve’s door, expecting to find her friend asleep, but Maeve pulled Teresa into chaos. A valise sat open on the bed, its contents spilling onto the rumpled blankets. The dogs’ leashes, costumes, and plumes littered the floor. Maeve herself was dressed for travel, and the dogs were lined up by the window. They wagged their tails when they saw Teresa. Edna whimpered.

  “Good dogs,” Maeve said softly. “Lie down.”

  They did, all except for Edna, who hurried over to Teresa, waiting for a head scratch.

  “Sorry for the mess,” Maeve said. “I didn’t expect to leave so soon.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “Nonsense. Pantages wants us to head west tomorrow anyway.” She pushed her clothes aside to make space on the bed. They sat cross-legged, skirts up, knees touching, whispering. “You’re not going home, are you?” Maeve asked.

  Teresa shook her head. “How did you know?”

  “You’ve caught the bug. I can tell. Even if you got on that train, you wouldn’t last long in that factory—what did you call it?”

  “The Estey Organ Works.”

  “Exactly. You don’t want to make organs so other people can sing. You need to sing yourself.”

  “Yes—but how?”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  “Papa had the bug,” Teresa said. “So did Mama. They gave it up.”

  Maeve took her hand. “There’s something you haven’t thought of.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe they lacked talent. Maybe they knew that they’d always be second string.”

  “That’s what Papa says. And Mr. Pantages didn’t pick me.”

  “Not yet. You’re still young and green. There’s always tomorrow.” Maeve glanced at her pocket watch. “I mean—today. Right now, we need a plan.”

  Edna whimpered and leapt up beside them on the bed. She curled up and set her head in Teresa’s lap. Maeve laughed. “Even fussy Edna has taken to you. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “We have to leave before Papa wakes up,” Teresa said.

  “Of course. Help me pack. The world awaits us.”

  THE CURTAIN FALLS. END OF ACT TWO.

  Entr’acte 3

  Setting: The attic room of a Vermont boardinghouse, late at night. The room holds a single bed with a brass bedstead, a chest of drawers, and a coat stand. The staircase from the floor below opens into the center of the room. Moonlight pours through a single round window under the peak of the roof, lighting the wide chestnut floorboards. A dormer window is open to the cool night air, and a barred owl hoots in the distance: “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-awll?” It is the spring of 1911.

  Characters:

  TERESA (RESA) LECLAIR: age thirteen.

  ALICE LECLAIR: Teresa’s mother.

  As the scene opens, TERESA sits up in bed, dressed in a nightgown. She stares at the round window in horror. Her bright orange curls fan out from her face like flames.

  TERESA: Mama! Mama! Don’t go!

  Sounds of a door opening and quick footsteps on the stairs. ALICE appears, dressed in her nightclothes. She hurries to her daughter and wraps her arms around her.

  ALICE: There, there, child. It was only a dream.

  TERESA: (Turns to ALICE but still seems imprisoned by the dream.) Don’t leave, Mama! Don’t leave me!

  ALICE: (Runs her fingers through Teresa’s hair in a vain attempt to smooth out the tangles.) Don’t worry, my sweet. I’m not going anywhere.

  TERESA: But you did. In my dream, you were leaving, like when you ran away with Papa.

  ALICE: (Strokes her forehead.) I’m right here, Resa.

  TERESA: (Leans against her mother. She shifts from the world of the nightmare to the reality of her attic room.) Your canary died when you left. Right?

  ALICE: How strange that you think of that. Poor Lebo. My father found him when he uncovered his cage, the morning after I left.

  TERESA: Why didn’t you take him with you?

  ALICE: How could I bring a canary in a cage? He would have died on the road. (Pause.) My mama, your Grandma June, said Lebo died of a broken heart.

  TERESA: Did he?

  ALICE: Who knows. Maybe he was just old. (Pulls the covers up to Teresa’s chin.) Do you feel better? We should sleep now.

  TERESA: (Murmurs.) Did Lebo sing for you?

  ALICE: He was a funny canary. He wouldn’t sing in his cage. But if we let him out, he would perch on a lamp, or on my shoulder, and sing like an opera star. I guess he was like that song about the rich lady in the gilded cage. (Sings.) She’s only a bird in a gilded cage/ a beautiful sight to see. / You may think she’s happy and free from care; / She’s not, though she seems to be . . .

  TERESA: Sing more!

  ALICE: I don’t remember the words. Time to sleep now. (She stands up to leave.)

  TERESA: Mama, wait. Why did Grandma June hate Papa?

  ALICE: (Frowns.) Is that what Papa says?

  TERESA: Yes.

  ALICE: My mother didn’t approve of your papa because he was Québécois
and Catholic. Silly reasons. And because . . . (She stands and tightens the belt on her dressing gown.) I think she knew he might steal me away.

  TERESA: Are you glad you ran away with Papa?

  ALICE: Of course! I’m happy we got married. How else would I have you and Pascal? I wish we hadn’t eloped, but we knew my parents would never let me go. They said vaudeville was cheap entertainment. (Her gaze drifts, as if she’s back in the past.) Grandma June called women in variety “hussies.”

  TERESA: What’s a hussy?

  ALICE: Enough talk, my sweet. (She kisses Teresa.)

  TERESA: Did Papa like Lebo?

  ALICE: He did. But he wasn’t surprised that Lebo died.

  TERESA: (Snuggles under the covers.) Why?

  ALICE: (Stands at the top of the stairs, her hand on the banister, listening. The barred owl hoots in the distance and ALICE shivers.) “Let the bird go,” your papa said. “A bird only sings when it’s free.”

  Fade to black.

  Act Three

  The Western Circuit

  New York to Denver and Leadville, Colorado

  June 1913

  34.

  At four in the morning, Teresa, Maeve, and the dogs huddled in the corner of an all-night café, their luggage at their feet. They sat at the counter, hands wrapped around mugs of coffee. “It was nice of that milkman to bring us here,” Teresa said.

  “And he didn’t ask any questions. I’m going to miss your brother,” Maeve said. “He added so much to my act.”

  “Too bad I don’t have his talents.” Teresa couldn’t think about Pascal. Or Mama or Nonnie, for that matter. She sipped her coffee. It was as bitter as her thoughts. “When Papa sees I’m gone, he’ll probably take Pascal home and come looking for me again—or send the policeman after me.”

  “At least you have a family who cares enough to find you,” Maeve said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m one of nine children, smack dab in the middle. My mother only spoke to me when she wanted something, like a baby’s diaper changed or a nose wiped. My father was like yours—he said vaude was only one step up from girly shows. And he was furious when I started teaching Edna tricks—he planned to use her as a cow dog. But she’s too smart for that, aren’t you girl?”

  Edna hopped over Dixie and set her head on Teresa’s lap, where she gave Teresa a soulful look. They both laughed. “She’s adopted you,” Maeve said. “She ignores me completely now that you’re here. We have to find a place for you on the Western Circuit—otherwise, Edna will be heartbroken.”

  “So will I,” Teresa said.

  • • •

  The door to the office building opened at nine on the dot. As the elevator doors slid closed, Maeve said, “Take the plugger’s job if he offers it to you. You’ll make enough to live on, and you can keep going to amateur nights. That way, you’ll be in his system when he needs a singer for an act.”

  How could she stay in New York alone? Before she could ask, the receptionist called Maeve’s name and Teresa waited with the dogs. She tried to doze, but the chair was uncomfortable and the people passing by were noisy: boasting about routes; complaining about their agents, bookings, and bad pay; cooing over the dogs. Teresa picked up a photograph album from the table. Magicians, acrobats, dancers, singers, strong men, and comics smiled up at her from the publicity photos. Most were white, but a few were colored men in blackface. All were members of the Western Circuit. Would Maeve, Pietro, and Mr. Jones have their pictures in here? Even Maeve’s dogs would have their own page before she did.

  Eva Tanguay lounged on the next page. The actress lay on a thick carpet, her arms stretched over her head, her long hair flowing over the rug. If only the photographs were in color. What color was Tanguay’s hair? Or the beaded cups that covered her breasts? Her pale, bare belly gleamed against dark, silky pants pulled tight at the cuffs. Teresa remembered a sign she’d seen backstage at an amateur night, which said, in huge, hand-printed letters, “VULGARITY, SUGGESTIVENESS, AND CUSS WORDS MUST GO!” Eva Tanguay must not have read that sign. In fact, the caption under Tanguay’s photograph called her the “I Don’t Care Girl.”

  Teresa had closed the album and was trying to get comfortable when two girls burst from an office door, followed by a third girl on crutches, who wore a cast below her knee. All three girls looked alike, with yellow curls, blue eyes, and matching shirtwaist dresses. Were they sisters?

  “What will we do now?” one girl wailed.

  The other girl—taller than the first—turned on the girl with crutches. “It’s all your fault, Lydia. If you hadn’t been showing off for that boy, we’d be headed west tonight.”

  Teresa sat up. Even Edna pricked up her ears.

  “I wasn’t showing off!” said the girl on crutches. “It’s not my fault the stage had such a narrow apron. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck. Anyway, Mr. Pantages is wrong. I broke my ankle, not my voice. I could still sing with you, if he’d let me.”

  “You’ve ruined it for us,” the taller girl said.

  “Sorry.” Lydia hobbled toward the elevator. “You’ll be fine without me.”

  “But we’re called the Singing Toronto Triplets!” the shorter girl cried.

  “So now you’re twins. Just think about me—going back to Great-Aunt Adelaid and her bland vegetarian cooking.” The elevator doors opened, the girl hobbled in, and the elevator swept her away.

  “How do you like that?” The taller girl crossed her arms and tapped her foot. She glanced at Teresa and frowned. “What are you staring at?” she said.

  “Excuse me,” Teresa said. “I was just—”

  “Oh, look! Are these your dogs?” The shorter girl knelt down next to Bronwyn and scratched her under the chin. Bronwyn stretched out her neck and grunted happily. “They’re so cute. Look, Julie—they all look alike—except for one.”

  The girl patting Bronwyn seemed younger than the other girl—and she wasn’t as pretty, except for her cornflower-blue eyes.

  Teresa stood up and faced the girl called Julie, who seemed to be the boss. “Excuse me. I overheard you talking. Mr. Pantages has invited me to be a song plugger, but I’d rather go west. If I joined your trio, you could keep singing.”

  Julie squinted down at her. “Is that so? You think you could step into Lydia’s place just like that? You don’t exactly look like us. Besides—we’re not an animal act.”

  “Neither am I.” Teresa struggled to keep her temper. “The dogs belong to my friend. And you’re not triplets, are you?”

  “Of course not. We just happen to look like sisters. Mr. Pantages prefers it that way—and our voices blend nicely.”

  “Twins and triplets don’t always look alike.” Teresa waved at the dogs. “Edna’s different, but no one minds. Do they, Edna?” She snapped her fingers and made a whirling motion with her hand that she’d seen Maeve use. Edna leapt up, stood on her hind legs, and crossed the lobby with her tongue out. When a few people clapped, Edna dropped to all fours, wagged her tail, and snuffed at Teresa’s pocket. “No treats today.” Teresa turned back to the girls. “What do you sing?”

  The younger girl put her arms around Edna, letting the dog lick her face. “Lots of songs. Why not let her try, Jules? We’re all washed up without Lydia to sing lead. Besides, Mr. Pantages said his posters advertise the ‘Singing Toronto Triplets.’” She smiled at Teresa. “She’s Julie and I’m Catherine. Most people call me Cat—but don’t tell the dogs,” she said, with a wink.

  “I’m Teresa LeClair.” They shook hands. “Let’s try a song, just for fun,” Teresa said, although Julie didn’t look like she did anything for the fun of it. Teresa pointed to the end of the hall beyond the elevators. “It’s quiet over there.”

  “Pantages said he’d look for someone else,” Julie said.

  Cat ignored her and followed Teresa to the window. Julie lagged behind and leaned against the wall, her arms crossed.

  “Can you sing ‘After the Ball’?” Cat asked.r />
  “Do you have to sing that one?” Julie asked, but Cat ignored her.

  “I know the tune,” Teresa said, although she wasn’t sure about the words.

  Cat clapped a hand to her mouth. “Lydia has the pitch pipe—we let her go off with it.”

  “What key do you sing in?” Teresa asked.

  “G,” said Cat. “But—”

  Teresa closed her eyes, heard the note, and sang the three notes of a G chord.

  Cat stared. “How do you do that?”

  Teresa shrugged. She was putting on an act, but wasn’t that what vaude was all about? “Let’s try the chorus first,” Teresa said. Maybe she would remember the words to the verses that way. She launched into the tune. Cat joined in, while Julie stared out the window, as if she weren’t interested. “After the ball is over, after the break of morn . . .”

  Cat and Teresa were out of sync when they started, but their voices began to merge halfway through the first verse. Cat’s alto was warm and rich, although she didn’t have much power. “I’ve forgotten the words to the next verse,” Teresa said.

  Julie rolled her eyes but finally chimed in from her place against the wall. Her voice was breathy and a little sharp. Teresa didn’t dare correct her. They sang the chorus together, and a soft-shoe beat sounded from the other side of the waiting area.

  “Many a heart is aching,” they sang. “If you could read them all . . .”

  The click and sandpaper slide of tap shoes kept time to the waltz. Pietro? Teresa didn’t dare turn around. The rhythm added bounce and caused Cat to shuffle into a few dance steps herself. Teresa swayed and snapped her fingers. Julie’s smile seemed pasted on, but she kept singing.

  A small crowd gathered, the dogs sat up, and the receptionist clapped in time. A man stepped off the elevator, and when the operator heard them singing, he held the doors open and sang along himself. Maeve appeared during the last verse, with Mr. Pantages right behind her. Cat beckoned desperately to Julie, who finally sidled over, as if they’d been singing together all along. Mr. Pantages squinted at them over his glasses and waved them on. “Keep going,” he said.