Last Night at the Blue Angel: A Novel

by Rebecca Rotert

  Oh, God, stop it, said Skinny Edie, your lashes won’t curl if they’re wet.

  They dressed me, fixed me up, and I rehearsed with them. They decided to let me in on three of the big dance numbers, and though I already knew them by heart, it was much harder to move than I imagined with the weight of the costumes and the constriction. The costumes left bruises on my hipbones. I performed with them that very night.

  During one of the numbers, there was some skirmish in the bar and I forced myself not to look, though I could tell from the faces of the other girls there was cause for concern.

  When we got offstage the girls gathered and watched the crowd. Two men were handcuffed and being taken out of the bar by a man who I thought was a patron. Back in the dressing room, everyone was quiet.

  I whispered to Skinny Edie, What did they do?

  Edie looked up at the ceiling for a moment. There are city ordinances against two men touching, dancing. She peeled off her wig cap and rubbed her hand over her head.

  What will happen to them? I asked.

  They’ll be booked, charged, said Edie.

  Charged with what?

  Inmates of disorderly houses.

  Is this a disorderly house? I asked.

  Have a look around, someone behind her said.

  What will happen to them? I asked.

  Their names will be published in the papers, said Rita. And their addresses.

  Where they live happily with the wife and kids, said Edie.

  Edie, said Rita.

  And everyone was silent as they transformed themselves into everyday men again.

  CHAPTER 42

  I WENT TO THE club earlier than everyone else because I didn’t use wigs and it took me a long time to set my hair. Edie sat down next to me and handed me curler pins, watching me in the mirror as I rolled the last few curlers.

  Let’s go get a drink, she said.

  Like this? I asked, touching my hair.

  She snagged a scarf from the station next to her and wrapped it around my hair. There, she said. And besides, there’s nobody out there at this time. No one that matters anyhow.

  We sat down at the bar. Edie ordered us two gin and tonics. Heavy on the tonic for this one here, she said, pointing at me.

  The bartender made us our drinks, and Edie raised hers. To the end of your career, she said.

  I was about to drink but stopped. Come again?

  Edie smiled. You’re no chorus girl, she said, drinking.

  I considered this. Of course she was right.

  You think these queens are going to let you show them up ad infinitum? she said.

  I don’t show you up, I said.

  Edie eyed the other customers like she was looking for something, then leaned in to me and whispered, Hate to change the subject but you see the bloke at the end of the bar?

  I turned around in my seat to get a look at him.

  Edie pulled me back by the arm. God, child, you are about as subtle as a car wreck.

  I looked down at my drink.

  Here’s what you’ll do, she said. Touch the back of your neck and make like you’re doing a little stretch. Glance at him. Okay, try it now.

  I did what she said. A man perched on a stool in a brown coat. A full glass of beer in front of him.

  What about him? I asked.

  He’s a cop, said Edie.

  How do you know that? I asked.

  I know, she said.

  I looked at him again, trying to see what gave him away.

  So I have this crazy idea, she said, her eyes shining. You have a good, what, twenty minutes between your first number and the second, right?

  Yes. About.

  What if you were to come out into the house in between, say to fetch some more water for the gang, and you sidle up to our cop friend, she said, looking at me expectantly, as if to wonder whether or not I understood.

  And? I said.

  And, I don’t know. She tapped her finger to her lip like she hadn’t thought it all through yet. And you flirt with him, she said, as though it’s just occurred to her. You work your wiles on him.

  I considered this. Why would I do that?

  Edie leaned forward on the bar. It’s like this. All the cops have quotas. He can either arrest a bunch of nellies here at our place of employment OR some goon with a Beretta in his pants. Which would you choose if you were him?

  I scratched the place under my scarf where a curler pin was poking me and looked at the cop. So what is your idea exactly?

  She shrugged. Maybe if he had a friend in here, he’d ease up a little.

  Why me?

  Edie stood up, pushed her glass to the back of the bar, and sighed. Your looks betray how very young and dim you are, don’t they, kid?

  She put her hand on my shoulder. Think about it. A little friendly chatter is all. To soften him up a little. Honey, all we need is one of these assholes on our side. Just one. If folks keep getting arrested here, nobody comes; if nobody comes, this whole flock a chickens is out of work, including you.

  Later that night after we finished the first number, I went to the dressing room hot and excited, all my cells humming. I lifted my headdress off and tried to fluff out my hair where it had been crushed. Edie looked at me from her station, raised her eyebrows. I smiled at her, shrugged, and pranced out into the house.

  I couldn’t see him at first as I approached the bar. The bartender was busy with a cluster of boys talking all at once and the man had moved to a table. I wondered what to do. The bartender asked me if I needed something, so I asked for some soda water, started to walk away, glanced at the man, then smiled and waved, rushing over to him.

  I set my glass on the table and clasped his hand with both of mine. Oh, you MUST be Patrick, I said, shaking his hand vigorously until he struggled to take it back.

  You’ve got me mistaken for someone, he said, looking away.

  Oh, no! You’re not Patrick? Gosh, I’m terribly embarrassed. My friend Rita, she said her friend Patrick was coming tonight. Tall, handsome fella. Glasses. Shy, too, she said. And I saw you and thought, Well, that’s surely Patrick.

  The man put his hands in his pockets and looked around.

  Nope, he said.

  I perched on the chair. Mind if I sit a minute? These shoes are a bear.

  I’d rather you didn’t, he said, crossing his arms and looking at the door.

  Oh, you’re so right, I told him. I shouldn’t be out in the crowd dressed like this. Hardly dressed, you might say. I stood then, bent over in front of him, and smiled. My name’s Naomi.

  Is that so, he said, looking away from my breasts and back at them again.

  Baptized, I said, picking up my glass as he looked at my hands.

  He stared at me and breathed with his mouth open for a minute. James, he said finally. Baptized James. His mustache twitched.

  James, I said. The fisherman.

  That in the Bible or something?

  It most certainly is, I said. Are you a fisherman, James?

  Something like that.

  Well. Enjoy the show, I told him.

  As I made my way back to the dressing room, I saw Edie duck back in. She’d been watching me.

  Where’d you go? said Rita.

  Just to get a little soda water, I said. My stomach’s acting up again.

  Don’t go out there again, said Rita. You don’t understand how things work around here.

  I’m sorry, Rita, I said, as I walked to the dress rack to fetch my next costume. Edie stepped up next to me, smiling. Brilliant, she whispered.

  I know, I said.

  The next night I watched for James but he never showed up. I didn’t notice the tall blond who, like James, never touched his beer. The club was raided again and six patrons were arrested, including the guy that Edie loved.

  Why don’t they ever arrest the women? I asked them.

  They all looked at one another.

  Kitten, said Rita, no one cares what women do.
<
br />   Some of the other girls laughed quietly to themselves and I suddenly remembered that I was still, despite the feathers and glitter and heels, in a room full of men.

  CHAPTER 43

  THE BAR WAS half full for the next week. Back in the dressing room, the owner explained that he was going to have to dock our pay. The gang looked at him in silence.

  The way I see it is, either they’ll get the best of us and we close down, or they get bored and leave us be. Either way, we keep our chins up, right, ladies? he said, raising his arms.

  I walked out to the bar to get a drink. James was back in his usual spot, full beer in front of him. My robe was coming a little loose in the front and I let it. I saw James look and look away, so I tightened the robe, pretending to be embarrassed.

  Haven’t seen you around in a while. Did we bore you? I said, standing too close to him. The slightest lean forward and my breast would press into his arm. He adjusted himself like he wanted to move back but he didn’t actually move back.

  I’ve been busy, he said.

  With the fishing? I asked.

  With the fishing.

  I stood, fixed his collar, and told him, Well, I, for one, am glad to have you back on dry land.

  He flushed and stared and turned his beer glass. Yup.

  Maybe if you’re still around after the show, we could have a drink, I said.

  Maybe.

  After the last big dance number, I was quick to change out of my clothes and head to the bar. James wasn’t there. I was silly to think he would be.

  I grabbed my bag and coat and walked down the long hallway that led to the back door. I opened it, ducked my head into my collar against the wind, which was flaring down the alleyway, and there was James, leaning against the building, protecting his cigarette with his hand.

  What are you doing here? I asked.

  Holding up the building.

  How’d you know about this entrance?

  Well, you don’t use the front door, now, do you? he said.

  I began to walk.

  Can I buy you a cup of coffee? he asked, following me.

  No, I said, my chin high. I’ll need more than a cup of coffee. Were you not watching me tonight? I could eat a horse.

  Let’s go find you a horse, then, he said.

  At Mitchell’s Diner on Division I told James all about Soldier, Kansas, and asked him about his family. His parents were immigrants, too. Italians. They had wanted many children but only had James.

  Moved halfway across the country to escape my mother’s disappointment, he said, pushing up his glasses and laughing at himself.

  Me, too, I said. What a coincidence. Surely she’s proud you’re an officer of the law.

  James stared at me.

  Did you honestly think I didn’t know?

  I’m no actor, that’s the truth. He poked his pie with his fork. Not much of a cop, for that matter.

  What are you, then?

  What do you mean? he said.

  What would you do if you could do something else?

  He looked out the window and his mustache twitched. I began to understand this twitch as a replacement for smiling.

  I’ll tell you what. I got in a little trouble while back. Nothing serious. But for my punishment, the captain thought it would be clever to make me take pictures—mug shots, crime scenes—and develop them in the lab. He leaned in and said in a low voice, Best three months of my life. His eyelashes were so long they ran into his lenses, his eyes like a boy’s. His black hair colicky, beyond hope. I saved up and bought my own camera after that. I hate to admit it but it’s the one thing I get a kick out of, taking pictures.

  I’d like to see your pictures sometime, I said.

  When a person knows they’re being photographed. Well, it’s interesting, but it’s not them. I like to catch people unguarded. That’s the story. That’s the real deal, he said with a little twitch. He studied me when he talked, stared at my mouth, my ear, my fingers. I couldn’t tell if I had feelings for him but I knew that I loved his eyes on me. How boldly he looked at me.

  So become a photographer, I said.

  Too unsteady.

  He looked at my hair. I watched his face.

  James took a sudden deep breath. Hey, he said.

  Mm-hmm?

  You think the guys . . . the performers at the club would let me photograph them? You know, just for my own purposes. Not to bring any trouble. Heck, they could even use the photographs if they wanted. For promotion or something. What do you say?

  Don’t you want to photograph me? I said, striking a little pose.

  Nah. If I started photographing you, I’d never stop, he said, and I could feel the tension between us tighten.

  I see, I said. I better get home. My roommates worry.

  I’ll walk you to the El, he said.

  We walked in silence.

  I’ll talk to the girls at the club, I told him. It’s possible they might be willing to make some sort of arrangement with you.

  He smiled.

  We stood on the platform and looked for the train. James tapped both feet.

  Can I offer an opinion? I asked.

  Sure, he said.

  If you follow this little idea of yours, heaven knows where it will lead you. I folded my arms across my chest. You should believe me about this.

  Are we talking about taking pictures or are we talking about you?

  Either, I said.

  I could hear the train but I couldn’t see it yet.

  By the way, he said.

  Yes?

  Nobody calls me James. Name’s Jim. Please call me Jim.

  The train appeared in the distance.

  Jim, I said, just to hear it, and my heart pounded a little.

  Know what I think? he said.

  What?

  I think you’re going to let that train go on by and come home with me.

  We stared at each other and kept staring as the train stopped. Then we stood there while the doors opened and the doors closed. We climbed back down the iron stairs and walked to his apartment.

  It was a small, cluttered place, and I was so nervous I asked to use his restroom. I closed the door behind me. It smelled strongly of vinegar. A board had been placed along the length of the tub. At one end was a large machine like a giant telescope and next to that were three trays filled with the liquid that was giving off the smell. A big square black timer hung on the wall. Black-and-white photographs were strung up on a laundry line, pictures of buildings, windows, a dandelion coming up through the pavement, and one of a woman in a window.

  I looked at myself in the mirror.

  Go on, I told myself. Let him see you.

  CHAPTER 44

  OVER THE NEXT few weeks my costumes, which had always been plenty roomy in the waist on account of the fact they were made for men, became snug. I tried not to eat so much, but still. Several times I tried to let them out, but wound up making a mess and pinning them back together.

  One afternoon someone rang the apartment, a round woman on the stoop in the cold, holding a covered plate in her hands. I am the woman you helped. From the bus station. I am Polish. Your mother, too?

  I invited her in and brought her upstairs.

  I was going to write you letter to say thank you. I try. English is hard. I bring kolaches.

  What’s your name?

  Hilda, she said.

  We sat in the small kitchen and ate the kolaches. Have you found work?

  I work in factory. All day long I sit and make little hem on the side of flag. Same hem, new flag, all day long. In Poland when I am your age I make beautiful gowns for rich lady.

  At that, I ran for my costume and showed it to her. Can you help me? It’s too small. I put my hands around my waist.

  Hilda can fix anything, she said, removing the safety pins. I can get maybe two inches but you cannot get more fat. She whipped a measuring tape around my waist and bent over to read the number, touching her palm to my abd
omen and cocking her head.

  Not fat. You will have baby, she said, smiling broadly, patting me again. Your husband will be very happy.

  She sewed the costume while I stared at her, counting weeks and months in my head. My legs suddenly seemed to be made of ribbon, and as I sat there I began to cry—big, choking, gulping sobs. Hilda knelt beside me and put her arm around me, mumbling in Polish.

  Z przyjemnością, she said, touching my cheek. Be happy.

  It took me forever to set my hair that night. I became tired holding my arms above my head for so long and the bulbs made me sweat. I turned the lights out and stood in the dark while the bulbs cooled, my eyes adjusting until I could see faint bits of light coming off sequins here and there, and the cooling filaments in the vanity bulbs. It seemed I stood in the middle of a constellation, suspended in it.

  I unscrewed every other bulb at my station and turned the lights back on; there was less heat that way.

  Rita showed up and went to work on herself, humming as she did. She bounced when she walked and admired herself in the mirror.

  Finally she set down a powder puff and turned to me. Don’t you just feel so excited sometimes?

  About what? I asked.

  Oh, I don’t know. The future, she said.

  I thought of the future then I tried to not think of it.

  I have news but there are still a few bits to be ironed out. I cannot wait to tell you.

  I would settle for potentially good news, I said.

  She faced me. Oh, all right. You know Carl? Edie’s lover? Well, ex-lover, she said sorrowfully. He has an annual Christmas party. Anyone who is anyone goes. And I have procured you an invitation.

  How’d you do that? They don’t know me.

  I threatened to tell Carl’s wife about Edie, said Rita in a low, slightly ashamed voice.

  That’s awful. Why would you do that?