by Jill G. Hall
Varinska blew smoke from her cigarette. “Darlinks, I have something can help you jump.”
“Get it.” Rudy ordered.
She sauntered down the stairs while everyone waited. It was taking her ages. Maybe she had gone to Transylvania to get it. She came onstage with a funny-looking stick in her hand and handed it to Rudy.
“Mac brought on boat to Ellis. Used to hop all over even vhen big waves. One day, boing over railing.” Varinska lifted her graceful hand, raised it up, and dropped it to demonstrate.
“Show us how it works.” Rudy tried to hand it to her.
Varinska meandered toward her seat and threw back her head. “Not me.”
Winnie ran up onto the stage. “Let me try it. I might be able to add it to my act.” Drawing her skirt aside, she took it from Rudy, put her feet on the metal pedals and her hands on the top bars, and tried to hop like a bunny. But it wouldn’t budge.
“It doesn’t work.” Winnie scoffed.
“Needs lighter body.” Varinska looked at the group.
“Who else? Ping? Pang?” Rudy waved at the twins.
Their pigtails flew as they shook their heads.
Nobody volunteered. Clair began to formulate an idea.
Andre nudged her elbow. “Why don’t you try it?”
She stood up. “Rudy, I might know someone.”
“You do? Is he an acrobat?”
“Of a sort. He can jump higher than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“We need him for the eight o’clock show. Can you get him on the horn?”
“He doesn’t have a phone.” She shook her head.
“Then go find him, gal pal!” Rudy yelled.
Clair rushed out of the theater in hopes that Nook was still on the corner outside the Waldorf.
44
Clair rushed through the alley door into the dressing room.
“Did you find the acrobat?” Winnie yelled, sticking a Baby Ruth in her mouth and tossing the wrapper on the floor. The other girls stared at Clair with expectant eyes.
“No, I wrote down the address and asked the fruit vendor to send him to me right away.” Out of breath, Clair poured a drink of water from the pitcher.
Winnie asked. “Will he come?”
“Sure hope so.” Clair shrugged. She had considered going home to tell her father and Aunt June she’d be home late, but she knew it would be too hard to get away.
Andre flitted down the stairs. “An hour till curtain.”
Winnie retied her kimono sash and practiced her shimmy in front of the mirror. “I’m nervous. Rudy says there’s a Hollywood scout in the audience again tonight.”
“It must be that Clifton Marshall.” Bea smiled and looked at herself in the makeup mirror. The chorus girls twittered in a corner.
“Any last-minute mending?” Clair asked the group.
No one spoke up, so Clair used the time to straighten the costumes on the rack and dust the full-length mirror. She’d wait to tackle the floor tomorrow.
Varinska took a puff of her cigarette and tilted her head back, indicating that Bea should vacate the makeup mirror. The gypsy sat and pulled a flesh-colored diamond-shaped patch from between her eyes.
“What’s that?” Winnie asked Varinska.
Bea put a hand on her hip. “They’re called Frownies.”
Clair nodded. She had seen them advertised in the magazines.
“Keep vinkles avay.” From beneath her silk robe, Varinska pulled her rabbit’s foot on a cord from around her neck, dabbed it into talc, and powdered her face. She drew exotic points off the edge of her eyelids with a pencil and applied red lipstick. “Vith lights on stage I look younger.”
“It’s like magic.” Winnie giggled. “How old are you?”
Varinska gave her a sideways glance. “Ancient. Take care, darlinks. Hard life. You one day be dried fig like me.”
“No! You are gorgeous.” Clair smiled at Varinska. “And so talented. How did you learn to perform like that?”
Varinska turned her body around to the table, facing the girls on the bench across from her. She took a worn scarf from her pocket and removed a colorful deck of cards.
She spoke in her slow accent. “In old country, traveled in vardo, cart, shaggy black pony pulled it. Everything fit inside.” She shuffled the cards. “At stops, Papa played violin and Mama vould dance.” Varinska pointed to herself. “Pass hat for people coins. No coins, tiny hands—money, jewelry, vatches.” She wiggled her fingers. “Help self. Ve’d hurry, move on to next town. Mama sick, I took over dancing. Night, fire light, vere best times. Close to nature vas our vay.”
“What happened to your parents?” Winnie pursed her lips.
“Mama died, then Papa. Burned him in vardo as custom.” She shook her head, all the sorrow in the world in it.
Clair and Winnie locked eyes.
“How did you survive?” Clair asked.
Varinska raised an eyebrow. “Tell fortunes.”
Winnie clapped her hands with excitement. “Tell me mine!”
“Don’t do anymore.”
“Please?” Winnie begged.
“Vell for you, darlink, I vill.” Varinska wiggled her fingers again. “Give me something or von’t verk.”
Winnie handed her a coin. Varinska laid it on the table, held Winnie’s hand, and traced a line on her palm.
“Vear heart on elbow. See beeg man, little boy.”
Winnie giggled. “That’s funny. What else do you see?”
Varinska ran her finger along another line. “Love.” She touched an arched curved line. “Long life.”
Winnie smiled. “Clair’s next.”
“Could consult cards.” Varinska raised an eyebrow, nodded to her cards, and held out a hand.
“I don’t have a coin to spare.” Clair shook her head. Did she really want to know her future?
“Anythink vill do.”
Clair pulled a button she’d found on the sidewalk from her pocket and handed it to Varinska.
She set it aside and nodded. “Ask question.”
Clair swallowed. Did she dare ask about Mr. X? “Will I see him again?”
Winnie scrunched up her nose. “Farley! That’s a waste of a question.”
Ignoring Winnie, Varinska shuffled the cards and shifted them upside down on the table. “Cut them.” She looked at Clair.
The chorus girls and Ping and Pang gathered around to watch as Clair split the pile in half.
Varinska closed her eyes and raised a hand over the cards. “Vill see him?” Her low-pitched tone wavered as she repeated the question. “Vill see him? Vill see him?”
She opened her eyes and stared at Clair. Then Varinska flipped a card over and pointed to it with her polished fingernail.
The card had an upside-down man on it. Clair knew it had to do with death. Her stomach felt as if bats were flying around in it.
Varinska continued. “The Hanged Man—mysterious man. Trapped. Can’t get to you.”
Clair was disappointed.
“Someday he vill return.”
Clair suppressed a smile.
“I hope not.” Winnie giggled.
Varinska glared at her with an evil eye. “Cards tell truth.” She flipped over a card, paused, then turned over another. “Never before vitnessed these two together.”
“What does it mean?” Clair leaned forward.
“Shhh! Moon and Empress.” Varinska flipped over another card and an eyebrow shot up. Was she trying to hide an expression of surprise, or was it danger?
“I’m not sure vhat mean today.” She shook her head, returned the button to Clair, and gathered up the cards.
“Will you understand tomorrow?” Clair asked.
“Von’t vork that way.” Varinska shrugged.
“Are you sure? Then let me try another.” Clair pointed to the deck and handed back the button. “Will I ever learn my family secret?”
“One more card.” Varinska closed her eyes and turned over another card that had
a long stick with leaves sprouting from it. “Gardener. You must dig deep.”
“How?” Clair reached for Winnie’s hand.
“Dig. Very deep.” Varinska replaced her cards in the scarf and went out the back door.
“But how am I supposed to do that?” Clair called after her.
Andre came down the stairs. “Half an hour till places. Clair, there’s someone here to see you.”
She looked up, and Andre pulled a boy in front of him.
“Lookin’ for me, miss? I got your note. Everything okay?”
Clair ran over. “It is now!” She put her hand on his back and called, “Everybody, this is Nook. The lad I told you about.”
“Hip hip hooray!” The girls and Andre all cheered.
Nook gave a shy wave, and his ink-smudged face lit up with a gap-toothed grin.
Andre inspected Nook. “Help me clean up this ragamuffin before we show him to Rudy.”
“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Nook squirmed while Clair spit-bathed him as best she could with a handkerchief.
“I’ve got a job for you.”
Winnie found a Shakespearean costume in the back room, complete with a puffy white shirt, velvet doublet with gold braid, and breeches.
“Aren’t these girlie clothes?” Nook complained.
“No. Never you mind.” Clair rubbed a missed smudge on his cheek. Andre helped dress him.
Winnie held up a codpiece.
Nook sneered at it. “What’s that fer?”
Andre grinned at Winnie. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I should say not.” Clair laughed and brushed back Nook’s hair with her hands. “You are very handsome!”
Rudy came in. “Ten minutes till places! Everybody, we’ve got a full house. Did the acrobat arrive?”
“Here’s Nook.” Clair put her hands on the boy’s shoulders.
Rudy shook Nook’s outstretched hand and handed him the pogo stick. “Sorry, young man, no time to practice onstage. Andre, take him outside and see if you can teach him how it works.”
Andre escorted Nook out into the alley as Varinska slipped back through the door.
Rudy walked over to her with a frown. “Do I smell booze on you?”
“Dr. Johnnie’s Health Tonic. Have sore throat.” She coughed and sauntered over to the costume rack.
Rudy shook his head.
“It’s almost places,” Clair whispered, grabbing Varinska’s costume. “I’ll help you. Hurry!”
Winnie picked up the red band and started to wrap it around her waist, but it fell apart in two pieces. “Darn it, Clair, I thought you fixed this,” Winnie grumbled. The other girls, who were putting on their costumes, glanced over.
“I promise I did.” Clair examined it closely. “I don’t understand. It appears as if someone snipped right through it with scissors. Who would do such a mean thing?” She looked around. None of the performers would do anything like that.
Clair’s eyes landed on the open alley door. Andre? Could he be trying to get back at her all these months later for not allowing his painting to be shown at the ball?
Winnie stamped her foot. “But without the band, that trick won’t work. My act will be ruined, and it’s all your fault.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m certain I fixed it.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a bunch.” Bea’s high squeaky voice grated.
Varinska smoked her cigarette.
Clair held back tears. “I’ll come up with something.”
She rummaged through the remnants and plucked out a black ribbon too short to go around Winnie. Then she came across a silver swathe of satin that seemed about right. She draped it around Winnie’s waist and tied it into a big bustle-like bow in back.
“Violà!” Clair smiled.
Winnie turned her back to the mirror, shimmying her behind, waving the big bow back and forth. “It’s perfect. Even better than the other one.” She gave Clair a big hug. “I’m sorry I got mad.”
“That’s okay.”
“Places everyone!” Rudy clapped his hands as he came in. “Good luck. Wow them!”
This time Clair viewed the entire Rollicking Review from the wings. Rudy’s Cuties tapped in first, their phony-baloney smiles all teeth. Andre’s lone claps from the back of the theater prompted the audience to do so also. The girls did look cute in their Peter Pan–collared white blouses with black bloomers that hit the bottom of their knees. Their tap shoes clickety-clacked along. Clair moved her feet and hands copying them.
Next Ping and Pang somersaulted in. They rolled up, did handstands, and walked in a circle. Then they faced each other, set their feet on top of their heads, and clasped fingers to each other.
Before Winnie’s entrance she closed her eyes, inhaled a few times, and whispered to Clair, “Smelling yellow roses!” Then Winnie wiggled onto the stage. “Yes sir, he’s my baby!” She repeated all the matinee mistakes but emoted like a pro, pretending to be surprised each time. The audience clapped loudly, and she received another standing ovation.
As Nook boing, boing, boinged onto the stage in a zigzaggy fashion, Clair clutched her hands together under her chin, certain he would fall. He stopped in the center and sprang the contraption off the ground as high as it could go toward the catwalk. Next he did a flip, landed right side up on the stick’s point, and teetered there for a moment until it stopped.
His big eyes told her he was as shocked as the audience that leaped to their feet in applause. Nook’s grin grew wide, and he jumped off with one arm held over his head. Then he hopped back on the stick, bounced his way off the stage, and planted a kiss on Clair’s cheek.
“Hey!” She wiped it with her sleeve.
“Sorry, miss. I’m just so happy, I couldn’t help myself.”
45
Anne studied the Italian collage tacked to the wall above her daybed. She’d made it ages ago, after Sergio had invited her to join him in Italy the first time. The collage was a process piece, not something she would put in a gallery. Made from magazine travel pictures, it included hand-painted plates from Siena, a bottle of red wine, a couple walking hand in hand under a bougainvillea-covered trellis. That could be Sergio and her in a few weeks if she agreed to go.
She sang along to the Italian song mix he had sent. “Volare! Wo-oh. Volare! Wo-o-o-oh!”
It had been three weeks since she’d returned from New York. They communicated every day through text and FaceTime. He was booking flight reservations in the morning, and she had to decide whether she would join him or not. Even though he wanted to pay for the trip, she had saved enough for her incidentals, like museum passes and such.
It was the perfect opportunity, but she was frightened what would happen when they returned. After a trip like this she’d probably feel even more connected to him, and living apart would be even more excruciating. But she really wanted to go.
The itinerary included Milan and Florence, then a visit to his nonna in Tuscany. Anne worried that his grandmother wouldn’t like her. He did say she spoke English. Was she as sophisticated as Sergio and Bella?
Anne had seen an interesting article in the San Francisco Examiner that morning about a wealthy donor restoring the Roman Colosseum. She searched her coffee table until she found it:
Diego Della Valle, CEO of Tod’s, has given $33 million toward restoring the world’s most famous monument, the Colosseum, shifting responsibility for Italy’s preservation from gridlocked government to private philanthropists. Over three years, thirty restorers used soft bristle brushes and water to scrub the travertine back to its original ivory.
And she couldn’t even keep her bathroom tiles clean.
They have also so far restored one of the manually operated elevators that lifted animals up onto the stage.
She shivered, imagining the cheers of an enormous crowd as a ferocious lion jumped off the elevator. The lion roared as Sergio ran out from underneath a columned archway in full gladiator regalia, his olive-oiled muscles shining in
bright sunlight. Wielding a shield in one hand and a sword in the other, he pushed the lion farther and farther back until it fell down into the elevator’s trapdoor.
She texted Sergio: Will you take me to Rome, too?
He called her right away. “Ah, the Eternal City. I can fit that in the itinerary. I’m warning you though. It’s molto romantico!”
“That’s what I’m hoping for. I read about the Tod’s Colosseum restoration.”
“Yes. We are blessed. Fendi funded the Trevi Fountain redo, and now Bulgari is financing work on the Spanish Steps. Hopefully the scaffolding will be down when we’re there. Last time I asked my hotel clerk when it would be done, and he said, ‘I do not know. Even the pope does not know.’”
She laughed.
“Will you join me, please?”
“I have one question first.” She took a deep breath and paused. “When we get back, am I moving to New York with you or not?”
“Let’s wait and talk about it when we are there.”
“Are you sure we can’t discuss it now?”
“I don’t want to.” He sounded very definite.
“Let me think about it. I’ll text you within the hour.” She hung up and studied the article photos again.
She snipped out the iconic Colosseum shot from the street, one of the inside where the stage would be, and an inset map. She glued them all to construction paper. Visiting Rome would be fantastico.
Standing up to stretch, she glanced at the rhinestone shoes sitting on the counter and pictured herself tap dancing down the Spanish Steps like in an old Shirley Temple movie. She googled the Spanish Steps and Trevi Fountain, printed them out, and added them to the collage, too. Across the top she wrote with a sharpie: The Eternal City, Molto Romantico. She paused, then added, Let’s Go!
She took a photo of it, sent it to Sergio, and tacked the original onto the wall above the daybed next to the other collage, in hopes they’d give her romantic dreams.
46
Finally, Anne was in Italy with the love of her life! How lucky she was to have her own private tour guide: proud, knowledgeable, and gracious. How could she help but fall even more deeply in love with him than before? The one thing that kept it from being perfect was that she still had no idea what would happen to their relationship when they returned to the States. Would Sergio want her to move to New York or not? She tried to put it out of her mind, but it was hard.