by Jill G. Hall
“My folks and I didn’t see eye to eye.”
Clair wasn’t shocked. “That’s too bad.”
“I heard you’ve had troubles, too.” Bea pointed to the sewing-machine girl. “Meet Dominique Swan.”
“Bonjour, new recruit!” She saluted Clair. “Didn’t I see you at the old Rudy’s?”
“Possibly.” Clair recalled Dominique dancing with Mr. LeRue. Clair wondered where he had landed, but didn’t dare bring up his name. Maybe later she’d ask about him and try to slip a description of Mr. X into the conversation.
“We’d better get a wiggle on. We’re on a tight schedule. Sit.” Bea put her hand on the bench.
Clair removed her gloves, put them in her coat pocket, hung her coat on a rack, and sat next to Bea, who handed Clair a piece of material. Clair laid it on her knee and ran her hands over the sash. The smooth satin reminded her of the pink corset, the one she’d worn that night with Mr. X.
Bea dumped a spool of thread, a packet of needles, and a heap of red sequins on the table in front of them. Clair had no idea how to get started. Bea sewed beside her, dark head bent over a long cape. Clair, too embarrassed to ask for help, picked up a needle and thread. It wiggled in her hand as she tried to poke it through the hole.
Winnie clomped down the stairs and jumped into the room. “Ta-da!”
That girl really knew how to make an entrance. With her voluptuous body, curly hair, and frilly frock, she resembled a pint-sized Mae West.
She kissed Clair, picked up the sash, and studied it. “Oh, no! You haven’t even started.”
“Sorry. I have no idea where to begin,” Clair whispered in her ear.
Winnie glanced at Bea. “Please teach her how. I’ve got to rehearse.” Winnie pranced with her arms outstretched and admired herself in the dusty oval mirror displayed on a stand in the corner. She mouthed the words to a song.
“Okay, here, I’ll show you.” Bea sighed loudly and adjusted her glasses. “Hold the needle up to the light. Lick the thread and slide it into the hole. Cut it and knot the end.” She picked up a sequin. “Put your hand under here. Hold the sequin and poke the needle through. Don’t prick yourself. These are tiny but sharp. Make sure to use your thimble.”
“I don’t have one.” Clair felt her face turn red.
Dominique stopped her treadle and blinked at Clair.
Winnie pranced over to a basket sitting on the table and pulled out a thimble. “Here, use mine.” She tossed it to Clair and returned to the mirror.
Clair observed carefully as Bea sewed the sequin to the band. She handed the cloth back to Clair. At first it was challenging, but Clair finally got the hang of it. It felt good to be doing something constructive with her time, plus the meditative rhythm of the in and out movements was relaxing.
After a while, the sparkle of the sequins began to hypnotize her. She gazed up and watched Winnie practicing her steps. They were more like gallops than the struts that Clair assumed were called for. Head down, looking at her feet, Winnie pushed her arms as if swimming a breaststroke. It might look better if Winnie held her head erect and moved one arm at a time—right forward, then left forward.
Clair didn’t want her friend to think she was criticizing her, so she held her tongue. Clair visualized her own body doing it that way: her long arms reaching toward the audience as if giving an invitation—an invitation for what, she wasn’t sure, but definitely something secret.
Winnie noticed Clair staring at her and shimmied. Clair laughed, bowing her head back to her sewing. The thread ran out, so she tied it in a knot and leaned down to break off the ends with her teeth. Bea shook her head and handed her a pair of scissors. Clair cut above the knot and started anew. After missing a few times, she managed to get a new length of thread through the needle and sewed on a new line of sequins.
She peeked back up at Winnie. With both hands on her hips and her body at an angle, Winnie threw each foot out wildly. Her stiff-legged kicks didn’t go very high. Clair instinctively knew that if Winnie bent her back leg, it would give the illusion that her other leg flew up higher. Clair had the urge to jump up and show her friend how, but she didn’t dare.
Winnie turned. “Is the sash done?”
“Almost.” Clair decided to be brave. “Maybe when you kick your leg, you could try bending the other knee?”
“What?” Winnie scrunched up her nose.
“Like this.” Clair stood and demonstrated.
Bea and Dominique watched with smirks on their faces.
Copying Clair, Winnie bent her back knee and kicked—and her other foot did go up higher! She grinned. “You’re right!” She practiced step touches, kicking with her back knees bent.
Clair sewed on the rest of the sequins and knotted the thread. “Done.” She rose and handed it to Winnie.
Bea squinted at the zigzaggy rows and loose loops, but Winnie shrugged.
“Never mind. No one from the audience will even notice.” Winnie held it around her waist.
Clair secured the snaps at the back. “It seems a bit snug. Are you sure it’s not too tight?”
“It’s fine.”
Feet tromped down the stairs, and two more girls came in. The petite one had short raven-black hair, and the other had auburn hair and a freckled face.
“Hiya, the rest of Rudy’s Cuties! Meet Clair.” Bea said.
The dark-haired one looked Clair up and down. “I’m Olga. What type of act do you do?”
“No act. Just sewing.”
“I should say so. I’m Henrietta.” The other girl took off her cloche hat and laid it on the table. “Rudy said half hour to places.”
“Clair, hang up the clothes after each performance and hand them out like this.” From a rack, Winnie gave black-and-white costumes to the four Rudy’s Cuties: Olga, Henrietta, Bea, and Dominique. They slipped on the bloomers, helped each other zip up their blouses, and strapped on their black shoes.
“That’s easy.” Clair would also do some tidying up when she had time.
A pair of identical twin girls wandered in.
“This is Ping and Pang, our Oriental contortionists.”
“Pleased to meet you,” they said simultaneously, and nodded at Clair.
The sweet things seemed to be about five years old. They sat on the ground in their white silk outfits. Legs splayed out, they faced each other, clasped hands, and stretched back and forth. Clair would definitely start with sweeping the floor first.
A muscular man in a tight-fitting leotard with a little skirt lurched in. “Who’s this luscious creature?” He dangled his arm over Clair’s shoulders.
She hunched and closed her eyes.
Winnie pushed him away. “Back off, Henry.”
“Yur just jealous.” He stumbled away.
The Cuties took turns putting their makeup on in a mirror surrounded by lights.
“Darlinks!” Varinska sauntered in.
Olga rose from in front of the mirror, and Varinska sat down. She appeared older without her makeup.
Rudy rushed in, looking dapper in his tuxedo. He grinned at Clair. “Hi, gal pal. Welcome to the new Rudy’s.”
“I appreciate you taking me on.”
“I never can say no to Winnie.” He grinned at his girlfriend and looked back at Clair with a frown. “It’s on a trial basis, you understand.”
Behind his back, Bea rolled her eyes at Dominique.
He clapped his hands. “We have a decent matinee crowd. Places! You’re going to be a big hit.”
The cast ran up the stairs sounding like an earthquake.
Rudy pointed to a handwritten poster on the wall. “Gal pal. Make sure to read the rules.”
Clair looked at Winnie expectantly, but her friend handed her a torn skirt. “You’d better mend this. I’ll go up for the opening number and come get you to watch my act. ”
Clair silently read:
Rudy’s Rules
1. No alcohol
2. Don’t eat in costume
&n
bsp; 3. No wearing costumes in public
4. Always be decent
5. If you can see the audience, they can see you
6. The show must always go on
Easy enough. She sat back down and picked up the skirt, but had no idea how to begin.
“Miss Devereaux!”
She looked up and there stood Mr. LeRue in the doorway, wearing a royal-blue velvet suit. His toupee sat crooked on his head.
Oh, dear God! She cleared her throat and pointed to her own hair.
Mr. LeRue turned his head, moved to the mirror, and promptly straightened the pompadour with his fingertips. He seemed dashing in a flamboyant blue jay kind of way.
“I’m sorry to hear your family has fallen on hard times,” his voice drawled.
Was he being sincere? “We’re getting by.”
“You don’t look any the worse for wear. How’s your father?”
“He’s doing the best he can. How’ve you been?”
“Tip-top!”
From above, Mordecai’s piano played, and she heard rhythmic click, click, click sounds, too. She looked up.
“Tap dancers.” Mr. LeRue put his hand on his hip, pointed his toe, and snapped his foot up and down.
“Are you in the show, too, Mr. LeRue?” she asked.
“Call me Andre. Dear me, no! I design the sets, props, and costumes.”
“I thought Winnie did that.”
Applause could be heard from above.
“She dabbles a bit. But I’m the one with the vision.” He put a narrow hand on his chest.
“Really?”
“Why yes! Rudy has given me carte blanche.”
Clair doubted that very much.
Even though Mr. LeRue was being nice to her, she still didn’t trust him. There always seemed to be trouble whenever he was around.
43
Clair straightened Winnie’s feathered bonnet and tightened it under her friend’s chin. “Are you sure you have to wear this? It might fall off.”
“Of course, I want to wear it.” Winnie pouted with a nod as the top-heavy hat precariously teetered.
“Have you practiced with it onstage?” Clair asked.
“No. It’s a surprise.” Winnie inspected herself in the mirror and straightened her bonnet, but all of a sudden, her rosy cheeks turned pale. “Uh-oh. I’m feeling woozy.”
Varinska came in. “Only stage fright.”
Winnie’s face broke out in a sweat. “What do I do?” she moaned.
“Breathe, darlink, breathe.” Varinska shrugged, lit a cigarette, and went out the back door into the alley.
“I’m thirsty.”
Clair handed Winnie a cup of water.
She took a sip with shaky hands and plopped down on the bench. “I can’t do it.”
Clair wished she had some smelling salts just in case. She looked at the rules. “Yes, you can! Rule number six—‘The show must always go on.’”
She blotted Winnie’s face with a handkerchief and grabbed her hands. “Look at me,” Clair said. “You’ve aspired to this your whole life. Now take a deep breath.”
Winnie inhaled.
“Let it out.” Clair wasn’t sure what to say next, so she let her instincts guide her. “What is your favorite flower?”
“Roses.”
“Mine, too!” Clair smiled. “What color?”
“Yellow.”
“Mine’s pink.” Clair softened her voice and spoke slowly. “Now close your eyes. Smell the intoxicating aroma of yellow roses. Breathe with me. In and out, in and out.”
Winnie’s breathing slowed, and after a few minutes, she opened her eyes and smiled at Clair. “I’m better now.”
“Are you ready to go upstairs?”
Winnie nodded. Clair put her hand on the small of Winnie’s back and guided her up. From the wings, they watched Ping and Pang lean back in their white leotards, put their feet on top of their heads, and roll around and around in somersaults. They exited behind the curtain. Winnie and Clair had to step aside to make room for them.
From the other side, Rudy came onstage carrying a microphone on a long cord, his rhinestone bow tie gleaming. “Ladies and gentlemen! Let’s give our Chinese contortionists, Ping and Pang, a big hand!”
Their pigtails flying, the twins sprinted back onto the stage, took deep bows, and ran off again. No two girls could be more adorable.
“Next up, we have a special treat for you. First time ever onstage, a big round of applause for the Wonderful Twinkle Toes, Winnie Waters!”
The band played her introduction, and Winnie shook her head. “I can’t do it,” she whispered to Clair.
“Yes, you can. Inhale the roses.” Clair tightened the hat’s bow beneath Winnie’s chin.
Winnie closed her eyes and inhaled and exhaled a few times, then turned toward the stage. “I’m ready.”
The band repeated the introduction, and this time Winnie stepped onstage. Kick step. Kick step. Her steps should have hit with the drum’s top hat but were off by a beat. Her voice was off-key, too. “Yes sir, that’s my baby.”
Center stage, Winnie faced the audience and kept singing.
Someone in the audience yelled, “Boo!”
Oh, poor Winnie!
Winnie froze and Clair’s hands flew to her face. After a few beats, Winnie curtsied hello like she’d practiced, but her hat fell at her feet and the audience tittered.
Winnie stared at her hat. Then she looked out at the audience, shimmied, and leaned forward, giving the crowd an eyeful as her voluptuous breasts practically fell out of her costume. The men hooted and whistled.
One in the back yelled, “Take it all off!”
Winnie’s face fell and she looked as if she might cry. Clair longed to run out there, put her arm around Winnie, and hurry her offstage. But Winnie turned and punted the hat in one fell swoop, like a football, into the wings toward Clair.
Winnie’s mouth broadened into a smile, her eyes brightened, and she continued to sing. “Yes sir, that’s my baby. No sir, I don’t mean maybe. Doo doo doo doot doot doot doo doo.” She moved her arms back and forth, hamming it up.
This time the audience wasn’t laughing at Winnie but with her. She took another bow. The red sequined sash ripped from her waist and fell to the floor. She got another round of laughter and Clair joined in, too. Winnie continued her routine to the very end and then skedaddled offstage. But immediately afterward, she danced back onstage and performed another chorus as the audience continued to applaud.
That girl couldn’t sing or dance particularly well, but Clair realized making it in this business wasn’t about talent but guts and gumption.
“Bada bing!” Rudy came onstage. “Yes sir, that’s my baby! Ain’t that Wonderful Winnie a dame?” He took and raised Winnie’s hand as she curtsied again.
The crowd stood on their feet, clapping and hollering with pleasure as Rudy escorted her offstage and handed her over to Clair.
“Oh, yes. Leave them wanting more, dear Winnie,” Clair whispered in her ear.
Arm in arm, Winnie and Clair watched Varinska’s gypsy finale, with a repeat of her speakeasy act. Clair was still mesmerized by the act, but it seemed a bit out of place in this gorgeous theater.
During the final curtain call, each act came out and bowed, but when Winnie returned to the stage, the audience jumped to their feet in loud applause. The whole cast joined hands, bowed in unison, and began to sing “Jeepers Creepers,” pointing to people in the audience. Clair almost dashed onstage to join in the fun.
After the curtains closed, Rudy said, “Everyone take off your costumes and meet me upstairs for notes in fifteen!”
Clair followed the cast downstairs and helped Varinska out of her costume and into a satin robe with a marabou collar and cuffs, one of Andre LeRue’s recent creations.
“Andre, this genius.” Varinska ran her hand down the smooth fabric and gave him a wry smile. She lit a cigarette and slid out the back door with Henry, the acrobat.
/> Clair began to mend the ripped sash. The chorus girls threw their costumes on the floor, put on wraps, and made their way back up to the theater along with Ping and Pang.
“Come on, Clair. Join us!” Winnie called as she started up the stairs.
“Let me finish this one last stitch. I’ll meet you there.” Clair tied a knot, cut off the ends, and laid the band neatly next to Winnie’s hat. She hung up the costumes as fast as she could and hurried up the stairs, not wanting to miss anything Rudy had to say.
Clair relaxed back into a cushioned seat next to Winnie, and Andre slid into a chair on the other side of her. The theater smelled of cigarettes, stale perfume, and body odor.
From the stage Rudy checked his clipboard and looked up with a squint. “Please turn off that spot and turn up the houselights.” He paused. “Thanks. Folks, I have good news and bad news. We are sold out for tonight.”
The group whistled and applauded. Clair couldn’t believe she was sitting in a real theater as part of the group.
Varinska strolled in and sat in the front row.
Rudy continued, “The matinee was okay, but tonight we need to wow them. I’ve put all my dough into this, and if we don’t make it, all of us will be out on our ears.”
“We’ll make it, Rudy!” Bea called, and the others chimed in, too.
Rudy continued, “Winnie, good save. The crowd loved you, but rule number four is ‘Always be decent.’ No vulgarity in my theater.”
“It was all in fun.” Winnie squeezed Clair’s hand.
The whole group nodded their heads.
“Just don’t get carried away.” He glanced at his clipboard. “Henry.” Rudy looked around and yelled, “Where is Henry?”
“He had to leave, sir.” Mordecai folded his hands in his lap.
“Where’d he go?”
“He didn’t say.”
“He’s fired.”
The room grew quiet.
“I told you, nobody leaves until after tonight’s show is over. Now we need an acrobat. Ping and Pang, can you add some flips to your act?”
Ping shook her pigtails. “No, we do contortion. Somersault, yes, feet on head, yes. Always foot or hand on ground.”
Pang ticked off on her fingers, “Contract says: ‘No jumping, flying, or flipping.’”