by Mary McHugh
“We’re ready,” Gini said. “Just show us what to do.”
Pat reached over and patted Ranger, who bumped her nose against her hand. I’m really a dog person, but this cat had already won me over. She was so sweet and approachable. I patted her too.
“Could I hold her?” Pat asked. She’s the real cat lover in our group. She even fell in love with a kitten in Brazil and was going back to get her when she was older.
“Of course,” Nevaeh said. She put a couple of cat treats in Pat’s hand. “Give her these. She’ll be your friend for life. They taste like chicken, they tell me.”
Ranger nibbled up the little treats and licked her lips. “Meow,” she said and jumped on the floor to lap up some of the water in her bowl on the side of the stage away from the dancers.
“We know how hard you Rockettes work,” Tina said. “We’re here to knock ourselves out. Put us to work.”
Nevaeh smiled. “Yell if you need a rest,” she said. “Sometimes we forget how tough this can be.”
Another Rockette stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m Danielle Jennings,” she said. “Welcome. I know it’s hard, but once you get into it, it’s really fun. It’s dancing, after all. I’ll help you with the exercises that will limber you up so the routine will be easier.”
She was about five feet, six inches tall, had brown hair, a smiley face, and a body that seemed a little rounder than the other Rockettes’. That surprised me because they were all so rail-thin I wondered if they ever ate anything but lettuce leaves.
Tina shook her hand and said, “We really need the exercise, Danielle. We’ve never done such exacting dancing before. Usually we just fling ourselves about, and it’s different every time. We have a lot to learn.”
“Don’t worry,” another Rockette said, moving in closer. She was also beautiful, with blond-streaked brown hair and cheekbones to die for. “We’ll show you how and work with you until you get it right. I’m Andrea Shapiro. I’ll help you work around your Santa outfits. Sometimes they get in the way because of that blasted stomach, but I can show you a few tricks to avoid that.”
“I think Glenna said something about getting rid of those stomachs so the costumes wouldn’t be so heavy,” Tina said.
“Glenna’s not here anymore,” Marlowe said. “And if we have to dance in forty-pound costumes, so do you.”
“Cool it Marlowe,” Andrea said. “We’d all be better off without that extra weight.”
“As I said, Andrea,” Marlowe said. “I’m in charge now. I decide whether to keep them the way they’ve been or change them. Got that?”
“Got it,” Andrea said. From the resentful expression on her face, I gathered she wasn’t crazy about Marlowe either.
There was silence for a minute and then Gini spoke up. I held my breath. I could see a little problem here between Marlowe and our outspoken Gini.
“We’ll do whatever we have to do,” Gini said, “including wearing these jackets.” She paused and then asked, “Is there any news about what happened to Glenna?” When there was no answer, just nervous glances among the Rockettes, Gini said, “Are we just going to ignore the fact that she’s dead and rehearse as if nothing happened? I mean, she fell into the wheels under the stage. How could that happen?”
Marlowe’s stare at Gini was so icy we could feel the chill all over the huge stage. “Of course we’re devastated that Glenna is no longer here,” she said. “She was our leader, after all. But we have work to do. The Christmas show takes every ounce of concentration and physical strength we have.”
She moved closer to Gini. “What’s your name?” she said, her tone unfriendly, almost menacing.
“Gini Miller,” our fiercest hoofer said, standing her ground, not backing away.
“We are crushed that she’s not with us anymore, of course, Ms. Miller,” Marlowe said. “But the fact is, the show will open in a month and we have a lot of work to do to get ready for it. People expect the Rockettes to be perfect, and you can either work as hard as we do or leave. I never understood why we needed another group to dance with us anyway.”
Tina spoke up immediately. “Marlowe,” she said in a conciliatory tone, “we love being part of the Rockettes and are thrilled that Glenna asked us to be in your show. We appreciate the fact that you’re keeping us on. I promise we’ll work hard not to disgrace you. We’ll add a little something different to the Christmas show. A little humor. I think you’ll be pleased.”
Marlowe relaxed a little. She almost smiled. The Tina charm worked its usual magic. “Well, I hope you know what you’re getting yourselves into,” she said. She turned her back on us and spoke to the three Rockettes who would be helping us. “They’re all yours, guys. Do your best.”
With that, she left the stage and our three teachers all talked at once, trying to reassure us that it wasn’t that bad, that we could do it, that Marlowe was a little uptight.
“A little uptight!” Gini said. “She’ll burst if she gets any more rigid. Is she always like that or does she just dislike us?”
“It’s not you Hoofers, Gini,” Andrea said. “She’s against anything Glenna set up. We’ve never had any outsiders in our shows before, and Marlowe doesn’t like changes in our routine.”
“We want to be as good as you are,” Gini said. “Just show us what to do and we’ll do it.”
“Let us show you the Santa routine,” Nevaeh said, “and then we’ll teach it to you step by step. Okay?”
“Sounds good,” Tina said.
Andrea switched on the music. The three Rockettes stood one in back of the other, step-step-kicking in a slower, more lumbering fashion than they usually danced. They held a bell in each hand and jingled them in time to the music raising them over their heads, then bending over and ringing them, then standing up, moving in unison, kicking but not as high as they normally did. I could see why we were chosen to do the Santa Claus part. It was slower, a little easier.
Gini noticed too. “How come you moved more slowly than you usually do?” she asked.
“It’s because we’ll be wearing these darn forty-pound Santa costumes we told you about,” Andrea said. “We look and dance like fat Santa Clauses. Our faces—yours too—will be covered with white beards and we have these stomachs sticking out that definitely slow us down.”
“But it works,” Nevaeh said. “We have eight numbers in each show and most of them are our regular fast, high-stepping Rockettes deal in minimal costumes. But this one is a change of pace that the audience always loves. They cheer and clap for this number more than any of the others.”
“Is that why Glenna asked us to be in this part of the show?” Gini asked. “Because it’s not as demanding as the other dances?”
“I don’t really know if that’s what she had in mind,” Nevaeh said tactfully, “but it kind of makes sense, don’t you think? No reflection on you guys, but it’s taken us years to perfect all our dances in this Christmas show. I think you’ll be glad yours is a little slower.”
“You’re probably right,” Gini said. “Will we get a chance to rehearse in the costumes?”
“Definitely,” Danielle said. “Those costumes are really difficult to dance in, so you’ll get plenty of practice.”
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Pat said, “but I’m glad we have a slower dance. I was worried about keeping up with you. You’re so fast . . .”
“And so perfect!” Janice said. “This way, if we make a mistake, it will just be part of the Santa Claus fat act.”
“Don’t think you can make a mistake,” Andrea said sharply. “You have to be perfect too. Slower but not sloppy. Can you do that?”
“Of course we can,” Tina said. “Let’s not waste any more time talking about it. Show us what we have to do.”
“Well, first,” Danielle said, “you have to do some exercises to limber up a little. Unless you’ve been dancing every day like we have, you have to get your muscles in shape. Did I mention you have to wear heels when yo
u dance? Also when you rehearse, so you get used to them. You don’t have to wear them today, but starting tomorrow—heels and your Santa jacket.”
Gini groaned. “You’re kidding! A fat suit and heels. How do you do it?”
“It gets easier after a while,” Danielle said, giving us an encouraging smile. I liked her a lot. She seemed to want to help us.
“Did you bring workout clothes with you?” Andrea asked.
“We’re wearing them,” Tina said.
We all stripped down to leotards and leggings under our tops and jeans. I was glad we had them because this sounded like it was going to be one long, sweaty day.
And it was. Danielle started us off with head rolls, shoulder rolls, arm swings, and side bends. This isn’t so bad, I thought. I can do this.
I was really getting into the side bends when Danielle had us move our whole bodies around and around. Sort of a circular, all-encompassing side bend. Knee hugs were next, followed by slide lunges and calf stretches.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ve been easy on you so far.”
We all groaned. “That’s your idea of easy?” Gini said.
“Compared to this next move,” Nevaeh said. “Now I want to show you our scoop. It’s to stretch your hamstrings. You’ll feel it when you get home tonight, but it’s the most valuable of all our exercises. Here’s what you do: Put your weight on your back leg and stretch the other leg up off the floor. Then reach toward that foot that’s up in the air and scoop your arms toward you like you’re scooping up a whole bowl of ice cream. Then you switch legs and do it again. Got it? Let’s see you try it.”
I was wobbly at first, but after a few scoops, it was better. I could see that this Rocketting was going to take a lot of grunting and groaning before we were through. I wished she hadn’t mentioned ice cream, though, because I could have used a large dish of chocolate fudge chunk.
After the scooping, we did push-ups and leg raises and running in place. Then we did some backward jogging. Don’t ask. We worked out on a treadmill, on an exercise bike, and did sit-ups. By the time Danielle finished with us after an hour, we were panting and praying for a rest.
Finally, she stopped, mopped her neck with a towel, and smiled.
“Okay, you guys,” she said. “go take a shower, grab some lunch, and be back here at two o’clock.”
I was so relieved to hear that there was some place we could shower and that I would have time for lunch with Mike that I almost hugged her. I called Mike on my cell and asked him if he was free.
“Of course,” he said. “Meet me at Bryant Park Grill as soon as you can get there.”
I showered and dressed in record time and ran over to the restaurant on Fortieth Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. The Christmas gift booths were being set up around the park in front of the restaurant. When I walked in, the stunning woman behind the entrance desk smiled when she heard I was meeting Mike and led me to a table by a window where he was waiting.
“Thanks, Houri,” he said to her. He kissed me before I sat down.
“You’re all rosy,” he said. “You look beautiful.”
“It’s a wonder I’m not bright red,” I said. “Mike, I’ve never worked so hard in my life. By the time we finish this job I’ll have lost twenty pounds.”
“Then eat up,” he said. “I love you just the way you are.”
“What’s good here?” I asked.
“Everything,” he said. “Try the Caesar salad with chicken. It’s really good. Or the crabcakes. They have a great smoked-salmon scramble with asparagus, caviar, and brioche. Or there’s a wild-mushroom ravioli you’ll never forget.”
I ordered the crabcakes from a friendly waiter who shook hands with Mike and said, “Good to see you again, Doc.”
“You too, Doc,” Mike said, and then explained to me after he left: “His initials are MD so I call him ‘Doc’. He’s a really good guy.”
That was so Mike. It was wonderful to be with him. To be with someone who liked me—loved me, in fact—and wanted to be with me and didn’t get mad at me for anything. He made friends everywhere he went.
“So what’s it like, being a Rockette?” he asked
“Hard work, but fun,” I said. “It’s just—oh, Mike—it’s just that I never thought in a million years that I’d be dancing with the Rockettes, in Radio City Music Hall, in New York, in their Christmas show. After all those years of sitting out front and marveling at their precision, their perfection, their incredible dancing. And now, for just a little while, I’ll be one of them. Who would have thought?”
“If anyone could be a Rockette, it’s you,” he said. “Mary Louise, you can do anything.”
I looked at this man, this handsome, kind, loving man who thought I could do anything and wished once again that I could spend the rest of my life with him instead of grouchy old George who found fault with everything I did.
The waiter brought our lunches. My crabcakes were so good I waved to the waiter to come to our table.
“Do you think you could get me the recipe for this salad, Doc?” I said. “It’s so good.”
“Of course,” he said and went back to the kitchen to get the information I wanted.
We talked for an hour about my dancing, the twins he delivered in the middle of the night, about New York and all the things we should see since I would be there every day, about my children and his children and my Hoofer friends.
“Since you’re such a big carousel fan,” he said, “We have to go down to the new one in Battery Park.”
“What’s it like?” I said, always ready to add a new carousel to my collection.
“It’s unbelievable,” Mike said. “There’s a whole bunch of fish going up and down and around and around in what looks like a glass fish tank. You ride on a seat in the middle of the fish for about three or four minutes and this great music plays—Mozart, Prokofiev, beautiful. You’d love it.”
“And so would David,” I exclaimed. “I can’t wait to tell Pat about this. We could take him there the next time he’s in town. Can two people fit into one fish?”
“A grownup and a little child can fit. David would probably have his own fish.”
“Pat would have the best time. She loves David so much. He’s like her own child.”
There was still some time left before I had to go back to the theater, and I knew what I wanted to do. Mike’s talk about the fish carousel reminded me of a merry-go-round I loved, one very close by.
“Mike,” I said and stopped, embarrassed.
“What is it?” he asked, leaning forward and putting his hand on mine.
“One of the reasons I love this restaurant,” I said, “is because there’s a carousel in the park.”
“I’ve seen it,” he said. When I didn’t say anything else, he looked at me. “And you want to go on it, right?”
“I do, but if you don’t mind, I want to go on it by myself,” I said. “I don’t know why. I just do.”
“I understand,” he said. And I knew, being Mike, he did. “Come on. I’ll walk you over there, and then I’ll go back to the hospital.”
* * *
He paid for our meal. When the waiter came to pick up the check, he gave me the recipe for crabcakes. I thanked him and said goodbye to Houri. Mike and I walked the short distance to the merry-go-round I loved in Bryant Park. We threaded our way through the little tables and chairs in the park, through people working on a computer or talking to a friend or eating a slice of pizza until I got to my favorite carousel, just about to start on its next ring-around.
I don’t tell everybody this. Just certain tuned-in-to-life people. I find a merry-go-round everywhere I go and ride on it. I sort of collect them. When I climb up on one of those horses and the funky organ music starts to play and the carousel starts its joyful round, I’m back in my childhood.
There was one near us when I was ten that had brass rings to reach for. I thought of them as gold rings. That’s kind of my philosophy of life: Always r
each for the gold ring. When I was a child and managed to grab one, I got a free ride as a reward. It was hard to actually grab that ring because the carousel flew by so fast, so it was all the more an accomplishment. I always felt I had earned that free ride.
My life, especially since I started dancing with my friends, has had lots of gold rings. Trips to Russia and Spain, to Paris and Rio, to say nothing of the deepening friendship with these incredible women. No brass rings any more in most carousels, including this one, but I didn’t care. I could pretend I caught one.
I bought my ticket from Mildred, who knew my name because I had been there so often. I climbed up on my favorite horse, a gold and white steed, lovingly hand-painted like the rest of the horses on this carousel. I had given him the name Blythe Spirit. There were only a few other people riding with me, all of them children with their mothers. I held onto the pole in the middle of my horse, and soon the music started. It was Edith Piaf singing “Padam, Padam, Padam.” Perfect. Just like the one in the Tuileries in Paris when we were there dancing on the Bateau Mouche.
The horse rose up and went down. The carousel turned, and I could see Bryant Park, the little statue of Goethe, the office buildings around the park, the people walking by who weren’t the least bit surprised to see a woman in her fifties riding a merry-go-round in the middle of the day. It was New York. One of my favorite things about that city is that you can do just about anything you want as long as you don’t kill anyone. Nobody really reacts very much. They’re all doing their own thing, and it’s fine with them if you want to do yours.
The ride was only about five minutes long. I reveled in every second of it. I was no longer a wife and mother and responsible adult. I was that little girl again, riding a magic horse, reaching for the gold ring.
When the ride was over, when the music had stopped, when my childhood was over, I climbed down, patted Blythe Spirit on the nose, and went back to the theater.
RECIPE FOR CRABCAKES
Serves eight light eaters or four very greedy people.
1 lb. fresh crabmeat