The Silver Shoes

by Jill G. Hall

  “When you see her, tell her of the change. Mordecai, Let’s get going!” Rudy yelled.

  “He’s not here.” Andre came up the stairs and onstage carrying the hoops. “I’ve checked everywhere.”

  Clair started down the aisle. Winnie smiled at her as she passed.

  “There you are, gal pal. Glad you are here.” Rudy pointed toward the piano.

  Thrilled to play for the show again, she sat on the bench and played a few scales to warm up her fingers while the Sallies lined up in the wings.

  Clair started to play the introduction when the theater door opened and Mordecai ambled down the aisle. “Hello, everybody!” He waved his short arms.

  “Where’ve you been?” Rudy bellowed.

  Even though Mordecai smiled broadly, he wrung his hands. “Couldn’t get out of bed. Musta had the croup. It came on suddenly, and I had to dash home.” Mordecai wiped his forehead with a kerchief. “I’m here now.”

  Rudy put his hands on his hips and stared at him. “That’s too bad, because Clair stood in for you and did a better job than you ever could.”

  Mordecai’s face dropped and he looked at her with forlorn eyes, his lower lip trembling.

  Clair felt like a deflated balloon and slowly stood up. “No, sir. Mordecai’s skills surpass my own any day. You should forgive him this one time.”

  Mordecai held his arm out. “I’ve never missed a performance before. Please, Rudy.”

  “Please.” Clair clasped her hands below her chin.

  Rudy scowled. “Okay. But don’t let it happen again.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Mordecai croaked, and made his way to the piano.

  Clair picked up his foot blocks from the floor and slid them back on the pedals.

  “Okay, Clair.” Rudy looked at her. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Not sure.” She could tell he wanted to keep her on.

  Winnie piped up. “She can do the Sallie’s routine backwards and forwards. Wouldn’t she class up the number?”

  Shocked, Clair’s breath caught in her throat. Winnie was right; she had done it a thousand times and had even mastered the final time step.

  “I don’t know.” Rudy shook his head.

  She might blunder. “I can’t do—”

  “You can!” Winnie walked down the aisle and laced her arm through Clair’s. “There’s the original costume we made for Bea before she gained weight.”

  “Gal pal. What do you think?” Rudy asked.

  “Yes! I can!”

  “Get ready. We’re going to open the house in a few minutes. Places in twenty!”

  “But I don’t have any shoes.” Clair pointed to her old boots.

  Winnie grabbed Clair by the hand. “We’ll work something out.”

  They traipsed downstairs. The place was a shambles again. Candy wrappers, street clothes, and newspapers were strewn on the floor.

  From above, Mordecai played “Puttin’ on the Ritz” and the Sallies tapped away. Winnie came out from the back room and handed Clair a box.

  She opened it and tears filled her eyes.

  Winnie smiled. “I had them order one extra large pair just in case.”

  Clair slipped them on, clasped the T-straps, and shifted her feet. “They’re a little snug.”

  “They’re supposed to be. They stretch over time.”

  As Clair took a step, a warm glow ran from the soles of her feet up to her heart and swirled there. It was unlike any previous sensation she recalled. She danced along with the music above. Step, heel, step, heel. Shuffle, hop step. Ball change, ball change. She loved making the sound of the taps. Breaking into a time step, she’d never felt so alive.

  Winnie clapped and helped Clair into the costume: blonde wig, silver moon cap, white blouse, black shorts. Her thighs were even visible. She wouldn’t think how her father would react if he knew. She was nervous enough already. Hopefully no one would recognize her in the blonde wig.

  Clair studied herself in the mirror. The two-inch heels made her even taller. Her height had always been a source of consternation, but not now. The taller you were onstage, the better you looked.

  In her costume, Varinska sauntered in, lit a cigarette, and eyed Clair. “Vell, vell.”

  Winnie giggled. “Clair’s our new Sallie.”

  “Break leg, darlink.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rudy yelled, “Places, girls. Hurry up!”

  “Varinska. You go on right after the Sallies.” Winnie applied makeup on Clair.

  “Vhatever.” Varinska traipsed up the stairs, and Winnie and Clair soon followed.

  Waiting in the wings, Clair walked through the steps. The audience’s muffled voices on the other side of the closed curtain could be heard, and her heartbeat sped up.

  When the Sallies’ music began, Clair stood as erect as a brass candlestick as Rudy had always instructed: shoulders back, head up. As she followed Dominique, Bea, Olga, and Henrietta onstage, Mordecai missed a note, but no one seemed to notice.

  Circle this way, now circle that way, Clair recited in her mind, and raised her arms. During the first chorus, her feet in their new shoes, she circled sophisticatedly like the group’s name implied. She tapped offstage, following the girls as they grabbed their hoops and shuffled back on again. But when it was her turn, she reached out for her hoop, and it wasn’t there! Andre moved his hands back and forth with an apologetic look on his face and a shrug.

  Rudy’s words rang in her head: Keep going! No matter what. She circled an invisible hoop, twirled in synchronized formation each wrist, then each ankle.

  After she did her last time step and took her bow, she ran down the stairs, collapsed on the bench at the table, and couldn’t stop crying. At least no one else was there. The others must be watching Varinska’s act. How could Clair have ever imagined she was Sallie material?

  Varinska finished her number and came down the stairs. “Never let see you cry.”

  “But I’m mortified. The hoop wasn’t there as if someone sabotaged me on purpose.”

  “Who vould do dat?” Varinska shrugged.

  Clair raced through the act in her mind. “Andre?” That portrait was so long ago.

  “He vouldn’t.” Varinska handed Clair a handkerchief. “Cry minute, pull together.”

  Clair dried her tears.

  “Always smile like dis.” Varinska demonstrated a blasé expression with a small relaxed smile and cool eyes. “Face say: No care in vorld.”

  Varinska lit a cigarette, stuck it in her ivory holder, and took a drag. “Rough up! Find tender spot, they poke till you break. Show me zat smile until sinks in.”

  Clair mustered up a grin.

  Varinska looked up at the ceiling. “Chin up. Show lovely long neck.”

  Clair tilted her head back, swallowed, and then said dramatically, “I don’t have a care in the world.”

  “You got.”

  “Thanks, Varinska. You’re the best.”

  Varinska gave a deep chortle. “Best at vhat?”

  “Everything. Dancing, singing, strutting.”

  “About self. Vhat vord? Con, con . . .” Varinska put red nails on her chest.

  “Confidence.”

  Varinska nodded. “Yes, con-fi-dence. Vith dat can do anything.”

  “I wish I could be like you.” Clair blinked tears off her lashes.

  “Darlink. No. Don’t vant dat.”

  “But you’re sultry, and your voice is so rich. You have star quality.”

  Varinska sat next to Clair. “Everyone hass special gift. I’m deep voiced, you soprano, voice like bird or angel. Heard hit notes so high, dead mama can hear in heaven.” She pointed to Clair. “Graceful body. Come up vith own act. Be star, too.”

  Varinska believed in her. Clair put on a true smile.

  After the last curtain call, Rudy said, “Good job. Gal pal, take smaller steps so the other girls can keep up with those long legs of yours.” He didn’t even mention the missing hoop.
/>   51

  Anne’s studio apartment was messy as usual, with mail overflowing on the counter, dirty clothes bulging out of her open suitcase, and several art pieces in process scattered throughout.

  “Ciao, baby! I’m moving to New York! New York!” she sang.

  She glanced at the collages above her bed. Their adventure had been dreamy, and she couldn’t wait to tell her friends about the engagement and move.

  When they had called her mother from Italy, Anne had been disappointed she wasn’t more enthusiastic.

  Her mother had said, “I’m happy for you. Plus you’ll be closer to us here in Michigan and can visit more often.”

  In her green dress and silver shoes, Anne now knocked on Mrs. Landenheim’s door. At the last minute, Anne thought to hide the champagne bottle for Bay Breeze behind her back. Mrs. Landenheim opened the door, and the Siamese threaded itself through Anne’s legs and scooted off.

  “I’m giving you my notice.” Anne smiled.

  “Notice to what?”

  “Sixty days until I move out.”

  “What? No!” Mrs. Landenheim groaned. Her basset hound eyes seemed to droop even further than usual. “You can’t leave! You’re my favorite tenant.”

  Anne couldn’t believe her ears. For the past few years, Mrs. Landenheim had nagged her about everything from treading the stairs too noisily, to letting the cat out onto the street, to being tardy with the rent. “I am?”

  “Of course. I love the fact you’re up there creating.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I do! Why are you moving?” Mrs. Landenheim frowned.

  “I’m marrying Sergio, and he lives in New York.”

  “But San Francisco is your home.”

  “Well, I love him and need to be with him.”

  “I can understand that.” Mrs. Landenheim beamed with a starry look in her eyes. “I’ve got it! Why doesn’t he move here? I’ll give you the bigger apartment.”

  “Thank you. But his job is in New York.”

  “I sure will miss you.” Mrs. Landenheim started to cry, shook her head, and closed the door.

  Anne blinked back tears. After all these years, the old lady did really care for her. Calling for a Lyft, Anne stepped out of the apartment building, but Mata Hari blocked the way.

  Anne jumped over her and turned around. “I’ve got great news. I’m moving to New York.”

  “Move! No way!” Mata Hari raised her rickety body fully upright, folded her fists on her hips, and glared at Anne. “You can’t move to New York. It is sooo big. The pollution out there is horrible for your skin.” She ran her fingers over a wrinkled cheek. “See? Mine is still smooth after all these years from the foggy moist weather.”

  “But I’m getting married.”

  “Married. Don’t be ridiculous. What for?”

  “Because I love him.”

  “That’s no reason. I’ve told you before: men are nothing but trouble. Since I got rid of my husband, I’ve been happy and free as a bird.” She raised her arms as if flying.

  “Here’s my ride. I’ve gotta go.” Anne frowned.

  She jumped in the car and sat back. Why couldn’t her friends be happy for her? At least everyone at Bay Breeze would be.

  At the house, she ran up the steps carrying the bottle of champagne.

  George opened the door with Lucky in his arms.

  “Hi, sweet one. Have you been a good boy?” Anne asked the puppy.

  George manipulated Lucky’s head to nod yes, and Anne gave the dog a treat from her pocket.

  Paul wobbled toward her on his cane. “Anne. You look glamorous—and I can really see you this time.”

  She hugged him. “You had the surgery, huh?”

  “It’s a miracle!” He chuckled.

  The white film was gone from his sky-blue eyes. With George leading the way, Anne and Paul looped their arms together and made their way along the marble floors.

  As they entered the library, Anne hollered to Fay, “Get out the champagne flutes!”

  “Brilliant.” Fay had been positioning gingersnaps on a Haviland plate next to the tea service and cups. Fay’s flamboyant dress twirled around her feet like a whirling dervish’s as she moved toward Anne.

  “I’ve got my own announcement!” Anne handed Fay the champagne bottle and helped herself to a cookie.

  “You’re pregnant,” Paul teased.

  “Not yet.” Anne laughed and showed off the ring on her finger.

  Fay grabbed Anne’s hand. “Blimey. Look at that! Did he get it at a thrift shop?”

  “No. It is vintage, though. Been in his family for eons.”

  “Who’s the lucky chap?” Paul sat in his easy chair with a smile, Lucky at his feet.

  “Sergio, of course.”

  “When’s the wedding? Will you have it here?”

  Anne settled on the sofa next to Fay. “Probably spring. We haven’t decided where we’re going to have it yet. As you know, my family lives in Michigan, and most of his is in Italy. However, my friends are here, and many of his are in New York. It’s very complicated.”

  “Wherever it is, give us plenty of notice so that we can all be there.” Paul nodded his head. “Marrying Sylvia was the best thing I ever did. May we at least host an engagement party for you here?”

  “That would be nice. We’ll see.”

  George set a tray with the ice bucket and champagne flutes on the desk. He carefully removed the cork and started to fill the glasses.

  “I’m sure going to miss all of you when I move.” Anne laughed.

  Everyone stopped and stared at her.

  Fay yelled, “Blimey! You didn’t tell me you had decided to move.”

  Lucky woke with a bark and did a flying leap into Anne’s lap.

  “Shhh!” She stroked his back. “Of course, I’m moving to New York. That’s where Sergio lives.”

  “Can’t he move here?” Paul asked.

  “No, his work’s there.”

  “What about your work?” Fay scrunched up her red lips.

  “Mine? Living there, won’t I be stimulated to grow and make new work?”

  Fay continued, “But you’ve been doing that here. As I’ve told you, you’re starting to make it here in San Francisco. And there’s that job opening at the museum you’ve applied for. Commute back and forth like you’ve been doing. There are lots of bicoastal marriages these days.”

  But I want to be with him all the time.” Anne didn’t even feel like drinking champagne now.

  52

  For the past three months, Rudy’s Ritzy Review had been doing quite well. Many nights they played to full houses. Clair had become part of the Sallies, and she realized on live stages mistakes happened all the time. It felt good, too, to be bringing home more income.

  Her father’s constitution had improved. He had a new crony at the local coffeehouse, and afternoons they met to play chess there. Aunt June seemed happy to have him gone. Their bickering over the smallest things had increased with his health. “The tea’s too cold. Where’s my book?” he’d complain.

  Clair hummed “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” donned her cloche hat, and adjusted it in the hall mirror. There was a knock at the door. Her father must have forgotten his key again.

  “I’ll get it,” she called to Aunt June, who was in the kitchen baking bread.

  “Farley!” Clair stepped back as he pushed his way inside.

  “Clair.” He nodded at her and removed his bowler. His droopy mustache had been shaved off, he’d lost his paunch, and the muscles in his upper body had filled out. It had been over six months, and she wouldn’t have recognized him if not for the too-sweet scent of his pomade.

  Aunt June hurried into the room.

  “Hello, June. Leland told me I could find him here. Where is he?”

  “At the coffeehouse around the corner. Why don’t you go down and find him?” She put her hand on Clair’s back.

  “I’d rather stay.” He pulled a cigar from his poc
ket and lit it with a match.

  Clair took her purse and coat off the hall tree and started for the door, but he caught her elbow.

  “Where are you off to?” His grip was firmer and his words more clipped than they had been before.

  “Work.” Clair tugged her arm away.

  “I’ll give you a lift.” He put his cigar in an ashtray. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, we have nothing to talk about.”

  He closed the door and stood in front of it. “Tell me more about this job of yours. A seamstress of sorts I’ve heard.”

  Clair nodded. “Yes.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Midtown.”

  “What exactly do you do there besides sew?”

  “Help with odds and ends.” She kept her voice calm. If she pushed too hard, she’d never get to the theater.

  Farley frowned. “A girl of your standing should not be out working.”

  “Things have changed. Even women do what they can.”

  June took Clair’s hand. “Yes, if it wasn’t for her job, we’d have starved long ago.”

  “I’ve got to go now or I’ll be late.” Clair tried again to push past Farley.

  He got in close to her, nose to nose. “We need to discuss this further.”

  “No, we do not!” Clair yelled. “Who do you think you are? Barging in like this and trying to tell me what to do.”

  “You are my betrothed!” He put his face close to hers.

  “Are you demented? That was long ago.”

  Aunt June stepped between them and put her hand gently on Clair’s forehead. “You seem to have a fever, dear. Let’s go to our room and you can lie down.”

  Farley stepped back. “It might be consumption. I’ll get the doctor!”

  “No need. She probably just needs a little rest.” Aunt June guided Clair into the bedroom and shut the door.

  Clair’s body shook with anger. “If he thinks he can sashay in here and lord it over me, he’s got another thing coming!”

  Aunt June whispered, “Settle down. Last thing you need is to get him all riled up.”

  “But I need to get to work.”

  June shook her head. “You should stay here until your father comes home.”

  “But everyone at work is depending on me.” Clair had been tempted to tell Aunt June the truth about her job but didn’t want her to have to keep that secret.