The Show Girl

by Nicola Harrison

  At intermission I walked into my dressing room, flung off my costume and lay on the couch naked except for my knickers. The ribbon act was over, but I was sweating and had to let my skin cool off before I’d be able to dress for the Model A.

  A knock at the door. “Flowers, Olive.” The stage manager brought them in, white roses, and set them on the table next to me. I covered my breasts with one arm; it was all the effort I was capable of.

  “Olive, put some clothes on.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m so damn hot.” I reached over and picked up the card.

  Dear Miss Shine,

  May I request the honor of your presence at dinner this evening? I will be waiting in front of the theater after the show in the hopes of a positive response.

  With eager anticipation,

  Archibald Carmichael

  I smiled. What had I been so worried about? He just needed some time to come around.

  * * *

  In the second half, I put on one hell of a show. Knowing for definite that he was in the audience, I gave it my all. Everyone was going crazy—as much for the fact that Ziegfeld had achieved such a feat as for the shining car itself. We danced all over that thing, encircling it with our biggest feathers, then opening them up to reveal it, backbends out the window, sliding down the hood, singing “Happy Birthday” in the most seductive way we knew how. The crowd loved it—it was amazing how we could control the audience, the power we had as performers to make them laugh, cry, cheer. The mallets pounding the tables were the only percussion I needed.

  “For the final act I want the flying device,” I told Howie. “Instead of doing all those pirouettes on the stage, right before my very last verse, raise me up on the platform, I’ll start the pirouettes there, and then I’ll continue them in the air and I’ll sing the last few lines from midair, then lights out.”

  “Olive, we haven’t even practiced that. This is the final act, we don’t want to mess it up.”

  “We won’t, I promise, I know it will work.”

  Reluctantly, he agreed.

  I wasn’t that good at pirouettes to begin with, I’d always been a better singer than dancer, but it must have been the adrenaline pulsing through my veins, my absolute will to wow them. Through sheer determination I spun up onto my toe, kept my body and legs firm and tight, whipped my head around and managed six full and almost perfect pirouettes before the platform lowered and I remained airborne. It worked just as I’d imagined it. After my final note, I threw my head and arms back and draped in the air as the lights went dark, then they slowly brought me back to the stage. The audience kept on cheering, clapping and calling out praise. After I’d detached myself from the harness, the lights came up again and I bowed and curtsied. I waved for all the other girls to come out from the wings, and we held hands and bowed together. It was a magical feeling to know we’d managed to impress them once again and even more to know Archie had witnessed another roaring success.

  I kept him waiting while I freshened up and dressed for dinner. Of course it was the one night that I hadn’t brought my new red dress, so I put on the old gold number that was always a hit, the one with the handkerchief hemline, dropped waist and beaded bust. He was waiting for me out front, holding his car door open. When I approached, he took off his hat, revealing his tousled brown hair, tamed, but not slicked the way most gents wore it.

  “Miss Olive Shine,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it. “What a vision.”

  “Thank you for the beautiful flowers, and for the stunning evening cape you sent, Mr. Carmichael.” It sounded strangely formal when I said it. I’d already been introduced to him as Archie, but he seemed so much more debonair this time around.

  “Please call me Archie.”

  “Archie,” I said as I climbed into the car. “It was a lovely surprise.”

  There was something reserved about the way we were treating each other, not like our meeting in the Village. He wore a pristinely tailored navy-blue suit and his car was that of the wealthy, but his friends were bohemians from the Village. I couldn’t quite figure out who this fella was and where he belonged.

  “I have to apologize for my delay in calling on you.”

  “Oh, please,” I said, brushing away his comment. “I wouldn’t have been available on any other night.”

  “Now, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, and I’d love to take you dancing after, but I was wondering if you might like to go somewhere a little quieter first, so we can talk and eat a good meal before I have to share you with the rest of the dance floor.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I said. My stomach was growling after my performance.

  We settled into a corner booth at Sardi’s at 234 West Forty-fourth Street, where I ordered Duchess Soup and a pork chop with potatoes and French fried onions. Archie ordered the sirloin steak and a Waldorf salad. He’d picked one of the few places that stayed open this late to serve dinner.

  “So, Miss Shine,” he said, smiling. He had a wide smile, a little crooked, giving him a playful, boyish look, despite having about ten years on me. “Tell me everything about yourself,” he said. “I’m dying to know.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  “Well, first, I must insist that you call me Olive if I’m to call you Archie, and secondly, you already know a little about me—where I work, that I sing, that I possess a gorgeous evening cape. Why don’t you tell me about you?”

  “Well,” he said, sitting up a little taller, “I’m from Cincinnati, but lately I spend many of my days in New York City. I have a suite at the Plaza.”

  “The Plaza?” This was no bohemian.

  “My business interests are both here and back home, and I find myself traveling quite extensively.”

  “Oh.” I nodded. “Perhaps you’re not who I thought you were.”

  “How so?”

  “When I met you at the Pirate’s Den you were with poets and artists. I just assumed you were one of them … but it sounds like you’re a businessman after all.”

  “Does that disappoint you?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to find out. The businessmen I’ve met thus far are a bit of a bore.”

  “Ha, couldn’t agree more. I collect art, it’s a hobby of mine, so I’ve become quite friendly with many of the artists along the way.” He leaned in as if to let me in on a secret. “They’re a terrible influence on me, but we do have an awful lot of fun.”

  I looked at him curiously. He was not what I’d expected.

  “Oh dear, I’m boring you already.”

  “You’re not. Go on, tell me everything, start at the beginning.”

  He laughed and shifted a little in his seat. “My first time traveling anywhere outside of Ohio was to New York. My parents didn’t have much, and I knew that if I wanted to make something of myself I’d have to head to the big city. So, at sixteen I got on a train and headed east in true Horatio Alger style.”

  “My brothers loved his books! I read a few of them too—boy from humble upbringing rises up through the ranks through hard work, determination and some heroic act of honesty or courage. Same story over and over in every book, but so good!”

  “I devoured those books as a boy. I basically mapped out my life based on them.”

  The waiter delivered my soup, creamy with vegetables peeking through. If Archie weren’t sitting with me I would have inhaled it, I was so hungry, but I forced myself to eat like a lady.

  “So, I worked as a clerk during the day and took night classes at Cooper Institute, and as things progressed, by the time I was twenty-six I was the proud vice president of a salt company. It was only a fledgling business at the time, but I got some partners, bought more interests and combined them into the National Salt Company. At the time, the United States was consuming thirteen million barrels of salt a year, and we were lucky enough to supply nine million of them.”

  “Wow, that’s quite impressive.”

  “We had
big plans to supply the whole world with salt, we were going to be the first international trust ever formed, but then the deal fell through.”

  “What happened?”

  “Now, that would definitely bore you—it just didn’t come together, but that was all right. I was thirty by then, and I’d made it in New York just as I’d hoped I might. I did well, but I wanted to see more, learn more, so I took two years off and went to Europe.”

  I carefully spooned some of the soup, scooping away from myself toward the back of the bowl the way my mother had taught me.

  “I knew that if I didn’t see the world, educate myself and do the things that fed and inspired me, then I would never do them, so I went to as many museums and art galleries as I could and met some wonderfully gifted artists. After two years away, I came back from Europe and got back to work. I formed Columbia Gas and Electric with a businessman I met on my travels, supplying natural gas and electricity to Cincinnati and its neighboring towns, and that’s what I do now.”

  “Here or there?”

  “Both. I was just in Cincinnati this past week, actually, or I would have called on you sooner.”

  I nodded, pretending not to care. I instinctively looked to his left hand. There was no ring and no telltale indent of a ring, but you could never be sure. There were a lot of things I’d do, wild things, reckless things—heck, I danced around on a stage almost naked most nights—but one thing I’d never do was get between a man and his wife. It was the utmost form of disrespect.

  “And your family?” He was older than me, distinguished, and I wondered if he’d been married or had close family ties.

  “You want to know everything, don’t you?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I’m not the most interesting subject at the table, you know. May I just say, I feel as if I’ve just won big at the races—all the money in the world. First I’m sitting in a dingy speakeasy downtown, marveling at how I managed to convince a stunning, poised and talented woman such as yourself to sit next to me at the booth. Next I’m pulling you toward me through the air, holding you in my arms, dancing with you, and now here I am, a week later, sitting across the table from you, enjoying a lovely evening.”

  “Don’t think you can get out of telling me your life story that easily,” I said. “I’m not immune to flattery, but you have to hold up your end of the bargain.”

  “Oh, I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but I fear it’s not nearly as entertaining as the story of your life thus far. Tell me a little something about you, so I don’t put us both to sleep.”

  I gave him the truncated version of my journey to Broadway, not mentioning the parts I didn’t like to dwell on myself. I told him of my family’s move to Brooklyn, about my brothers and where I lived now.

  I could tell from the way he spoke that he was worldly and well educated, and I had a sudden pang of concern that while he liked all that he’d seen of me so far, onstage and on the dance floor, if he really got to know me, I might be a big disappointment. I might not be fascinating enough for him, intellectual enough or cultured. While I’d always done well with vocal and dance training, I hadn’t excelled in school. I was smart enough, or at least I thought so, but I’d been an impatient, restless student.

  “I hope to visit Paris someday,” I said. “Perhaps at the end of the season when I have a few weeks’ break between the shows.”

  “I think you’d fit right in, it’s a beautiful city. Maybe I could take you?”

  I smiled. “We’ll see.”

  We didn’t go dancing that night. Instead we stayed at the restaurant talking until the wee hours, when we realized the only ones left were us and the barkeep, the poor guy struggling to keep his eyes open. Archie drove me back to my apartment and walked me all the way to my door. I felt like a teenager, my heart racing, the energy of our evening buzzing through me. He brought his face to mine, and our foreheads touched ever so slightly.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” he said quietly. I thought our lips would meet, I hoped they would, but instead he kissed me on the cheek and squeezed my hand. “I hope I can see you again soon,” he said, and then he turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I’d never felt giddy excitement over a man before. You wouldn’t know it from meeting me—my reputation for being loud and chatty and flirtatious seemed to precede me—but that was all just for fun. I liked to make people feel good about themselves, I always thought it darb that you could make someone’s whole night just by giving them a little attention, and it gave me a sense of power to know that I had that ability. But as far as actually wanting to take anything further than a little harmless flirtation, no thank you. I didn’t have the time or inclination. Ever since I let that studio executive put his hands all over me, and the rest, I’d been completely turned off by the idea of intimacy altogether. And yet here I was brushing my teeth, trying to select my clothes for rehearsal that morning, and my head was in the clouds thinking about Archie.

  It had been three months since I’d written to my mother, an obligatory note letting her know we’d left Inwood and had moved to an apartment on Fifth Avenue. But I had the sudden urge to speak to her, or at least feel as though we were speaking. I grabbed a piece of paper and my fountain pen.

  Dear Mother,

  I hope you, Papa, George and Junior are all well, and that you’ve heard from Erwin in California.

  I wanted to write and tell you how wonderfully things are going here at the theater.

  I briefly considered telling her about getting cut from the Follies but reassuring her that I was receiving great reviews in the Frolic, but I didn’t want to have to explain what the Midnight Frolic was yet. Besides, with a bit of luck they’d all seen the article in The New York Times.

  Mr. Ziegfeld is treating us all very well—

  That wasn’t entirely true. I closed my eyes and shook my head free of his advances in the car—this was not where I wanted my mind to wander, and it certainly wasn’t something I was going to share with my mother.

  He insists on the very best costumes made of the finest materials.

  My roommate, Ruthie—I know you think that the idea of a roommate is shocking but it’s really not all that unusual among theater performers—anyway, Ruthie is just lovely and has become a true friend. She’s shown me the ropes and has kept me out of mischief for the most part.

  I wanted to cross out that last part—I didn’t want her getting any ideas, not after the last time. I let my pen hover above the page for a moment. Nothing seemed to be coming out right. I wanted to tell her about Archie, that was the real reason I’d wanted to write in the first place, but something in me resisted. I wanted to share my excitement, my feelings, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do so. I missed her, and I missed the way we used to talk. It was as if by making the choices I’d made, I’d become unlovable.

  I folded the letter and left it on the bed.

  * * *

  The girls in the dressing room were all chatting when I arrived. They’d seen the roses and the note and they’d all seen me get dolled up and leave with a handsome stranger the night before.

  Someone whistled when I walked in, and Lillian, Gladys and Lara rushed over to me. Ruthie, who hadn’t come home that night, looked over at me from her chair at the mirror and grinned.

  “Tell us everything, Olive,” Gladys said first. “Did you go all the way?”

  “What?” I said, shocked. “No, I didn’t go all the way.”

  “Well, did you go halfway?” she insisted.

  “Give her a break, Gladys,” Ruthie called out, turning back to the mirror to fix her face.

  “Was he sweet?” Lillian asked. “Was he kind? He looked very handsome when he was waiting out front for you. We all went and had a peek.”

  “Yes, he was very sweet and very kind and very interesting, not a bore at all. I didn’t get home until the sun was almost up and we didn’t even go dancing.”

  “Did yo
u see his bedroom at least?” Gladys asked.

  “No, Gladys, I didn’t, what is the matter with you? We went to dinner and stayed out talking until the restaurant kicked us out. He’s a very respectable man.”

  “I know plenty of respectable men who’ll have their way with you on a first dinner date, and send you home with a diamond bracelet.”

  “He’s not like that,” I said, wanting to be done with all their questioning, wanting to get back to my daydreaming of how it had been, just the two of us, closing down the restaurant, intent on learning as much as we could about each other.

  “Come on, girls,” Ruthie said, saving me, “we’re all going to be late if we don’t get going.”

  Every night that week I waited to hear from Archie again, but just like before he kept me waiting. The girls kept asking, but by the end of the week their questioning slowed. It didn’t make any sense to me that he would act this way again. Why would a man express so much interest and then disappear? The whole thing made me uneasy.

  And then Lillian, our former roommate, who had kept the apartment in Inwood and enlisted two other girls from the show as roommates, showed up on my doorstep before morning rehearsal unannounced. I wasn’t particularly surprised—Lillian often preferred to stay in the living room at our place rather than trek all the way up to Inwood; it was closer to the theater, cleaner, and had an elevator that worked—but she usually made her decision late at night after a heavy evening of dancing.

  “Do you need to drop off some things before we head to the theater?” I asked as she walked in. She was petite, five feet two at most, and was a fantastic ballerina, her posture enviable, but today she looked hunched and stricken.

  “Everything okay, Lils?” I asked. “Big night out?”