The Life Fantastic

by Liza Ketchum

  They sang the final chorus again, and their audience broke into applause. Out of the corner of her eye, Teresa saw Pietro and Mr. Jones duck into the elevator as Mr. Pantages strode over. He looked them up and down, as if they were cattle at an auction. He peered at Teresa. “Haven’t I seen you before?”

  So he’d already forgotten her. “I was at the Lafayette, last night. You told me to come in today.” Teresa pulled his card from her pocket.

  “Right, right. The carrot-top girl with the strong voice. What was it you sang?”

  Carrot-top? Teresa forced a smile. “‘Hard Times.’”

  “Ah, yes. Your delivery needs work, but you had nerve, trying out in Harlem. I’ll give you that.”

  No need to tell him she’d nearly vomited before going onstage. “Julie and Cat need a singer,” Teresa said. “If I joined them, they’d be triplets again.”

  Mr. Pantages glanced around the lobby, where the waiting performers were growing impatient, and ran his hand over his hair. “It would save me finding another singing group. What do you girls think?”

  “It’s fine!” Cat said quickly. “Isn’t it, Jules?”

  Julie’s eyes were cold. “I guess. But only until Lydia comes back.”

  “Of course,” Cat said, and Teresa echoed, “Of course.”

  “You have some rehearsing to do, Miss—” Mr. Pantages tugged on his mustache.

  “LeClair.”

  “Right. These girls are experienced—and you’re still green.” He glanced from Teresa to the other girls. “You don’t exactly look like triplets.”

  Teresa blushed. Bad enough that her hair was the color of fall pumpkins. Julie and Cat were thin-hipped, with nearly flat chests, and Julie was extraordinarily pretty.

  As far as Teresa could see, neither girl had a single freckle.

  Maeve spoke up. “If I might interrupt—they could dress alike, and wear the same cloth hats. I’ll help Teresa sew a new costume.”

  Mr. Pantages squinted at Teresa. “How old are you?”

  Teresa didn’t miss a beat. “Sixteen.” Julie rolled her eyes, but Teresa held Mr. Pantage’s gaze. In her mind, she heard Nonnie say, Mind your manners. She crossed her toes, inside her shoes, for good luck. “I’d be honored to join your tour,” she said.

  “All right. Check in the office for your schedule,” he said. “Be sure to have your picture taken before you leave. You all need to hurry to meet up with the rest of the troupe—so we’re sending you on the 20th Century Limited.”

  “On that fast, fancy train? Hurrah!” Maeve clapped. Edna answered with a howl, Dixie yipped, and the other dogs burst into a chorus of barking.

  “Just because it’s fast doesn’t mean you have luxury seats, and you’ll need to pick up passes for your menagerie. Now get those animals out of here,” Mr. Pantages demanded. “I didn’t come all the way from Greece to run a circus!” He pointed at the receptionist. “Next victim,” he barked, and disappeared into his office.

  “Isn’t vaudeville a kind of circus?” Cat asked Teresa.

  “It is!” Teresa couldn’t stop laughing. Maeve grabbed both her hands and swung her around in a circle. The dogs tottered behind them on their hind legs, as if they were on stage. “Western Circuit, here we come!” Maeve cried.

  35.

  When Teresa and the two girls emerged from the office with their touring papers and money for tickets, Julie pulled them to the side of the lobby. “Look,” she said. “It’s all very well, your joining us—but we don’t know a thing about you. You could be a thief, for all we know.”

  “Jules—” Cat protested.

  Julie ignored her. “And who was that—that ugly colored boy—who had the nerve to dance with us?”

  Pietro, ugly? Hardly. Teresa felt her neck grow red. Thank goodness the Joneses had already left.

  “He’s a good dancer,” Cat said. “Maybe he could help our act.”

  “Cat.” Julie’s voice was full of scorn. “You have no brain sometimes. Whites don’t perform with coloreds—and that’s that.”

  Julie was the brainless one. Teresa tried to keep her voice steady. “His name is Pietro Jones,” she said. “He and his father have a dance routine. They’re on the Western Circuit, so you’ll meet them later.”

  “Not if they keep to themselves, as they should. Or maybe you and this Peter—or whatever his name is—can join forces in six weeks, when Lydia comes back. Assuming you like egg on your face.”

  Teresa tried a trick Mama had taught her, when the boys teased her at school: counting slowly backward from ten to zero before she spoke. Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .

  “Jules!” Cat looked ready to cry. “Don’t you want to go on the road? If you don’t, maybe Teresa and I can find a third singer. You said you’d never go home again, after what your fiancé did—”

  “That is none of her business.” Julie’s cheeks turned bright pink as she turned to Teresa. “Look. All I’m saying is, you’re lucky we agreed to this. Dressing alike isn’t going to turn us into triplets. The doctor said Lydia will be out of the cast in six weeks.”

  Three . . . two . . . one . . . Teresa took a deep breath. “Fine.” Six weeks with this ignorant girl might feel like an eternity. But with luck, she could get to Denver, sing at a few theaters along the route, and convince some manager to let her perform on her own. “We’ll practice on the train.”

  “Right,” Julie said. “And you’ll learn our songs.” She looked at Cat. “I’ve sung backup long enough. My turn to sing lead. You and Terry can sing harmony.”

  Two contraltos singing backup would sound strange, and they’d probably drown out Julie’s weak voice, but Teresa was too tired to argue—or to correct Julie’s butchering of her name. Luckily, Maeve burst out of the office with the dogs, their claws scritch-scratching on the smooth floor. “Hello, girls! You’re so lucky to have Resa join your group.” Maeve introduced herself and linked arms with Teresa. “We need to buy fabric for Teresa’s costume. What color are your dresses?”

  “Yellow.” Cat reached into her valise and held up a yellow blouse with a matching ruffled skirt.

  “Perfect,” Maeve said, fingering the material. “See you tonight.”

  How would they buy fabric? Teresa’s pockets were nearly empty, and she couldn’t imagine shopping with six dogs in tow. But she waved goodbye to Cat and Julie. “See you on the train!” Cat called, as Julie pulled her into the elevator. They stepped inside and let the doors close without telling the operator to wait.

  “Phew,” Maeve said. She untangled the leashes and hoisted her bags. “That girl will be a challenge.”

  “She wants to sing lead.”

  Maeve shook her head. “She can’t sing worth a darn.”

  Teresa nodded. “She’s a little sharp. But maybe when we have an orchestra or even a piano—”

  “Let’s hope. Pretty is as pretty does, as my grandmother used to say.”

  “As my great-grandmother still says.”

  “There you go. I told you we were sisters.”

  They took the next elevator to the crowded lobby. As the dogs pulled her toward the door, Teresa gripped Maeve’s arm. “This is crazy. They gave me money for my ticket, but nothing else. How will I buy fabric, or food on the train?”

  “You’ll see very soon.” Maeve whistled. “Tally ho, dogs!”

  • • •

  Maeve led Teresa and the dogs on a fast clip down Broadway and onto a side street. Maeve stopped in front of a shop with a grimy window. A sign in faded gold letters read Giardino and Sons, Pawnbrokers. Fine Jewelry, Precious Gems, and Knick-Knacks Bought and Sold.

  “Just what we need.” Maeve pulled Teresa inside. The shadowy shop was filled with an odd mix of coins, jewelry, clothing, and furniture. A short man wearing a leather apron and a small-brimmed hat scowled at the dogs. “No pets,” he grumbled.

  Maeve gave the man her most dazzling smile. “This will only take a minute, I promise. Dogs—sit—and stay.”

  The do
gs settled beside the door. Maeve reached up under her hair to unclip her earrings and held them out on the palm of her hand. “What will you give me for these?”

  “Maeve, don’t!” Teresa was horrified. She felt for her locket, hidden beneath her cloak, and unhooked it. “Take this instead. Please.” She fumbled with the clasp, tipped out the tiny picture, and set the locket on the counter.

  The man—who must have been the pawnbroker, Teresa realized—glanced at the necklace and shook his head. “You won’t get much for this keepsake, miss. The diamonds, however . . .” He held a tiny magnifier to his eye and studied the diamonds. “Very nice.”

  “Maeve, please—”

  “Shh.”

  The pawnbroker pulled a black cloth from beneath the counter and set the diamonds on it. They winked like ice crystals on the velvet. “Fine craftsmanship.” The man handed Maeve some gold pieces, wrote out a receipt, and wished them luck. Teresa slipped the tiny photo back inside the locket. If she looked at her family now, she’d lose her nerve.

  Maeve thanked the pawnbroker and hurried them outside. Teresa tugged her friend’s sleeve. “Maeve—that’s crazy. What if someone else buys them? How will I pay you back?”

  “You’ll repay me when you’re earning three thousand dollars a week like Eva Tanguay.” Maeve’s lashes were wet. “Friends are more precious than diamonds.” She gave Teresa a quick hug. “No time to waste. We need a fabric store and some notions. We’ll be sewing like mad on the train. You can’t go west on America’s fastest train looking like a schoolgirl.”

  36.

  A few hours later, Teresa stood once again under the domed sky at Grand Central Station. She held the dogs while Maeve bought animal passes. The dogs strained at their leashes, tangling themselves up at Teresa’s feet. “Sit,” she said. “Stay.” They ignored her—except for Edna, who leaned against her leg and stretched out her neck, waiting for a scratch behind the ears.

  Teresa looked up. The stars sprinkled across the ceiling shone brighter than the real stars outside, hidden behind a scrim of clouds. So much had happened in the few days since she had arrived in New York, a green country girl. Now she was part of a troupe of performers headed west. Would she ever see her family again?

  Teresa glanced at the ticket line. The pink feather in Maeve’s hat bobbed closer to the ticket booth. A familiar voice sang out, “Meet me in St. Louis, Louis.”

  Edna and Dixie let out some happy barks as Pietro and his father hurried toward Teresa, satchels slung over their shoulders. They wore heavy overcoats, in spite of the warm weather, and Pietro carried a rolled newspaper under his arm. “Hello!” she cried. “You keep turning up.”

  “I could say the same to you,” Pietro said. “You made the cut?”

  “Yes. I’m one-third of the Singing Toronto Triplets—for six weeks, anyway.”

  Pietro shook his head. “Mmm, mm. You got your work cut out for you. That tall girl thinks she’s the cat’s meow. Guess you won’t need me on backup.” Before Teresa could think of what to say, Pietro held up two tickets. “Ready to go?”

  “We have our tickets. Maeve’s just finding out about the dogs.”

  “See you on Track Twelve.” As Pietro turned away, his rolled newspaper fell to the floor. It was tied with twine. “Pietro—you dropped something!” she called, but a big family hustled between them and Pietro disappeared into the crowd. “Dixie, fetch!” Teresa dropped Dixie’s leash. The terrier ran for the paper, picked it up, and trotted back. The ends of the paper swept the floor. “Good dog.” Teresa tucked it into her valise. Maybe she’d done something Pietro would appreciate, for once.

  Teresa clucked to the dogs. “Come on, boys and girls. Let’s get you untangled. We need to catch the train.” She moved among them, sorting out their leashes, glanced at the big clock that stood watch over the station—

  And froze.

  The policeman who had come to the boardinghouse last night stood under the clock, scanning the room. Was he looking for her—or for Pietro and his father? Was Papa still here? Teresa ducked her head and dragged the dogs toward the ticket booth, where Maeve was waiting. Teresa grabbed Maeve’s hat and plunked it down on her own head, pushing her curls up underneath.

  “Teresa—what are you doing?”

  “Hurry,” Teresa said.

  “Take it easy, Miss,” said the man behind the grate. “She needs to get her papers for the dogs. Plenty of time to catch the train.”

  “What’s going on?” Maeve whispered.

  The ticket seller handed over the dogs’ papers and Teresa yanked Maeve away from the booth. “The policeman’s here, from last night. Run!”

  They took off in a tangled mess of dogs and baggage. Maeve’s prop bag slammed against Teresa’s leg, nearly knocking her down. She caught herself and kept going, dodging passengers, steamer trunks, and porters pushing carts laden with bags. Was that a man’s voice, calling her name? She didn’t dare stop.

  They hurtled down a set of marble stairs and ran out onto the platform. A conductor put out his hand. “Hold on, ladies—do you have permission for these dogs?”

  Maeve waved her papers. “Yes—but my elderly aunt needs me. Please let me by!”

  The conductor protested, but Fido growled and he drew back. They dashed through the gate and onto a bright red carpet that ran alongside the train. Maeve peered over her shoulder as they reached the first car. “The policeman’s through the gate,” she said, gasping for breath. “I’ll take the dogs. Get on the second or third car. Hide in the lavatory . . . until we leave the station. I’ll handle him.”

  Teresa pushed through the door. “Do you think he’s after the Joneses?”

  “Warn them if you see them. Go.”

  Teresa ducked into the first car, pushed through the heavy doors, and dashed into the next car, where she found Pietro and Mr. Jones stowing their luggage. “Mr. Jones! Pietro!”

  “Why, Miss LeClair—what you all het up about?” Mr. Jones asked.

  “The policeman is here. The one who came last night—” How could she explain?

  Mr. Jones looked puzzled. “What’d we do wrong?”

  “He thinks you kidnapped me in Vermont,” she said. “Please hide.”

  “But you went of your own free will—”

  “Hush, Daddy.” Pietro grabbed his father’s sleeve and yanked him up to standing. “He gave us the evil eye at the Lafayette. Remember how I dragged you from the lobby? Come on. Leave our things. Lavatory’s at the far end of the car.”

  In moments, Teresa had locked herself into one dank, smelly toilet while the Joneses had somehow squeezed into another. She lowered the lid on the commode, sat with her bag on her lap, and waited. Passengers called out to each other on the platform, baggage scraped and bumped against the door, and railroad cars clanged against each other as trains came into the station. Would their train never leave? Someone knocked on the door. “Anyone in there?” a woman called out. Teresa didn’t answer. When the knock came again, Teresa made a retching noise, as if she were vomiting. “Disgusting,” the woman muttered. Then silence.

  Another knock, and a man’s brusque voice: “Police. Open up. I’m looking for a red-headed girl. A runaway.” When Teresa didn’t answer, the door handle waggled up and down. Teresa swallowed hard. This time, she might be sick for real. Surely the cop could hear her heart beating right through the door? A low growl sounded. “Hey—get this dog away from me!” the man shouted.

  More growling. Teresa grinned. Good dog, Edna!

  “Whose mutt is this? Hey—leave me alone!” Edna’s growling became a snarl. “All right, all right—good dog—I’m going—good doggeee . . .”

  The policeman’s voice went from bass to tenor and disappeared. Teresa clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter.

  “Board!” the conductor’s voice echoed along the platform. “All aboaarrd the 20th Century Limited, the most famous train in the world! Boooaard!!”

  Teresa shivered. Should she open the door?


  “Board!” The conductor bellowed one last time. The train lurched and the wheels screeched along the tracks.

  Teresa heard snuffling outside the lavatory door, then whimpering. The train was moving now, faster and faster. A quick rap sounded on the door. “Teresa? You can come out now.”

  Maeve. Teresa let out a long breath and unlocked the door. Edna jumped up, nearly knocking her down. Teresa squatted and wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck. “Good dog. You saved me.” Edna lapped at her face and wrists. “You’re not a ‘mutt,’ are you?” Teresa said.

  Maeve laughed. “She got away from me on the platform and chased after you. Sure scared that cop. He jumped off the train as it started to move.”

  “What about the Joneses?” Teresa asked.

  The small door to the other lavatory opened and Mr. Jones stumbled out, followed by Pietro. “Whew!” Pietro said. “That smelly hole’s barely big enough for one, much less two. We safe?”

  “You are,” Maeve said. The train leaned into a curve. Teresa grabbed for the back of a seat as Pietro nearly fell into her. Mr. Jones spoke softly. “Conductor’s coming.” They took off toward their bags.

  Edna led the way, head and tail held high, as Teresa and Maeve staggered through the aisles of each car, grabbing on to the backs of seats to keep their balance. Maeve had saved two seats facing each other. They cleared a space between bags and dogs and Teresa collapsed, leaning her head against the window. She pulled Edna close and scratched her between her shoulders in the spot that made her back leg thump. “Brave dog,” she said. “You’re our hero.”

  “That policeman was mad,” Maeve said. “He didn’t believe me when I said you had disappeared. And you were right—he was after the Joneses, too.” She settled into the seat across from Teresa. “Any sign of your so-called ‘triplets’?”