The Show Girl

by Nicola Harrison

  Out on the platform, we stood trying to catch our bearings. One black train car after another.

  “What car does it say on our tickets?” I asked Ruthie, assuming she knew her way around.

  “This way, ma’am.” The luggage porter ushered us to a car toward the end of the train.

  As we drew closer, we saw Howie and the girls waiting for us. They whooped and hollered as we got close. We were all dressed to the nines for our ride to the Adirondacks. We’d been given strict instructions that we were representing the Ziegfeld Follies from the minute we stepped out of our homes to the minute we got back. We were “the entertainment” at all times, not only when we were onstage. We should expect the press to take our pictures, and sure enough, we were approached by a photographer before we even climbed aboard.

  “Miss Shine, you’re leaving the Frolic?” a newspaperman asked.

  “Just for a short time,” I said. “My talents are needed elsewhere.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I looked at Ruthie. I could never remember the name of the damned place.

  “The mountains,” I said.

  “The Adirondacks?” he called out.

  “That’s right—the Great Camps await.” We climbed into the car, and I didn’t know what the other passengers must have thought, but we were certainly a loud and cheery bunch to put up with.

  “Not bad,” Ruthie said once we took our seats. “It’s only a few cars away from first class.”

  As the train pulled away from the station, my stomach clenched—I was anxious about leaving the Midnight Frolic behind yet slightly intrigued about the adventure ahead. And then there was Archie. It felt strange to leave town without seeing him again. I suppose I thought I’d bump into him somewhere or that he’d make another attempt to see me, to explain himself. But nothing. It was as regretful as it was infuriating. I felt so foolish. I tried to push the thought of him out of my head, but it was hard to let those feelings go. Maybe this trip to the mountains was a blessing, a welcome and necessary distraction from the humiliation I felt at letting myself get carried away.

  As we settled into our seats on the train, everyone in our group seemed to have a nervous energy about them. It was only seven fifteen in the morning but by eight thirty, we were already getting rowdy and one of the girls started singing “The Best Things in Life Are Free,” quietly at first. Some of the other passengers shushed her, but that just motivated the rest of us to join in. By ten A.M. we were all getting into it, and Ruthie pulled me with her into the aisle, serenading me with “Ain’t She Sweet” in a deep, manly voice. I played along, dancing between the seats and down the aisle. In no time almost everyone was up, dancing, singing and being rambunctious. The conductor came through and told us to quiet down, which we did for a few moments, but then we started singing to him, and we just got louder as soon as he left.

  Word must have traveled because riders from other cars came down to ours to see the spectacle for themselves, and that just seemed to spur us on—the growing audience feeding our desire.

  Just before noon Howie passed Ruthie a flask, and she took a swig, then passed it to me. “Hey, looks like we have some admirers,” she whispered, nodding to a couple of gents smiling in our direction who looked as if they’d come from the first-class car.

  Ruthie gave them the eyes and one of them held up a martini glass as if to say, “Bravo!” I was surprised to see them serving that kind of hospitality even in first class—this was a public place, after all, and the rail service could be shut down for serving hooch on board.

  “I’m intrigued,” Ruthie said. “Let’s go and say hello.” She took my hand and sauntered up the aisle to meet them.

  “Good afternoon,” one of the gentlemen said, kissing Ruthie’s hand and then mine. “We heard there were some beautiful ladies making this train ride a heck of a lot more enjoyable in car number seven.”

  “We’re just practicing our numbers,” I said.

  “We’re Ziegfeld girls,” Ruthie added.

  “Yes, you are!” the other gent said, raising his eyebrows. “Say, why don’t you pay us a visit in our car? It’s not too shabby and there’s more where this came from.” He took a sip of his martini.

  “Okay,” Ruthie said. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Olive?”

  “Sounds like the berries.”

  The gents went first, one opening the door to the next car and the other holding open the door to ours. I felt the rush of fresh, cool air as we crossed over into first class. We’d been so preoccupied with all the singing and dancing that I’d barely noticed the lush green trees lining the Hudson River outside the windows. Steamboats were chugging along in both directions, and it was surprising to see such beauty just a few hours outside of Manhattan. I’d grown so accustomed to the buildings and the concrete and the bright lights of the city.

  “Don’t jump,” the gent said as I stood between cars for a while, taking it all in.

  “It’s just so beautiful.” I stepped in through the next doorway.

  First class was quite an improvement over our standard train car. There were dining tables and booths, and people were playing cards and sipping tea. It looked ever so elegant and civilized, though not nearly as fun as ours. We walked through two more cars, one dining and lounge car, and then we reached what seemed to be the end. I looked around, confused. They held open the next door.

  “There’s more?” Ruthie asked.

  “Isn’t this where the conductor sits?” I asked.

  “We’re riding in our colleague’s private car,” the first chap said, a little too proudly. “He owns it.” Geez, these guys really seemed to want to impress us, and that type of thing always left me cold. “You won’t want to travel any other way after you experience this.”

  It was like stepping into a Moroccan jewelry box. Mahogany wood lined the walls, with a plush floral carpet underfoot. A set of deep red velvet chairs embroidered with bursts of petals, and fuchsia cushions with silk tassels, formed a cozy reading nook. Above it was an intricately carved wooden panel creating a canopy. Music played gently, and when I peered farther into the car I realized it came from a small live band set up in the corner. What kind of place was this? I marveled. I’d been transported to some exotic location in the Far East.

  “Come on,” the men said, eagerly checking our faces for approval, “we’ll introduce you to the host.”

  I could barely take a step without fixating on yet another detail—the ceiling was painted in red and green paisley—I never would have imagined a train car could look like this.

  We were ushered to a green velvet two-seater positioned against another wood-carved backdrop—this time lattice and Buddhas and suns and moons, and I don’t know what else, were all carved into the mahogany sculpture. I tried to compose myself and not appear so struck by the opulent decor.

  “Ah, here he comes, our generous host.” I unglued my eyes from my surroundings and turned to see the man walking toward us from the other side of the train car. “Miss Olive, and Miss Ruthie,” they continued, “please meet Mr. Archibald Carmichael.”

  “Archie?” I said, shocked, though my face mustn’t have revealed it because he smiled broadly, as if he couldn’t be happier to see me.

  “I was wondering when you’d look up and recognize me. It’s so lovely to see you again.”

  “What are you doing here?” I said abruptly, then took a deep breath. I refused to let him see that he’d hurt me. “This is so unexpected!” I gestured to the luxurious car.

  “It’s quite a place, isn’t it?”

  Ruthie was looking at me nervously, her eyes pleading with me to keep my calm, and the gents who’d invited us seemed even more perplexed.

  “So, you two know each other, it appears,” one said, trying to look cheerful, though more likely regretful that he hadn’t set his eyes on another dancer back in car number seven.

  “Yes,” I said. “We’ve met. Back in the city.”

  “I’m so
glad you’re here, Olive,” he said, taking my hands in his. “Traveling to the mountains, I presume?”

  I pulled my hands away, momentarily stunned; I couldn’t think where I was going. It was rare for me to lose my tongue or be flustered like this, but seeing him again had thrown me completely off balance.

  “We’re going to the Adirondacks,” Ruthie jumped in. “We’ve been invited to perform at a few of the Great Camps—Camp Sagamore, Camp Uncas, Camp Santanoni,” Ruthie said with a flourish. “We’re starting off at the Pines.”

  “Yes, the Pines Camp,” Archie said, looking pleased with himself. “That’s where I’m staying, with Anne.”

  Anne? The audacity!

  “What a treat for you,” I said. “Well, I suppose we’ll see you there.” I turned to head back to our car. “Thanks for showing us around, fellas. We should get back to our friends, they’ll be needing us for the finale.” I tried to laugh.

  “Won’t you stay?” Archie reached for my hand again, but I pulled it away, more abruptly this time.

  “Why, yes.” Ruthie stared at me. “We’d be honored to keep you company for a while.”

  I glared at her, furious that she wasn’t catching on to my desire to leave. Reluctantly, for Ruthie’s sake only, I took a seat.

  “Say, do you gents have any more of those martinis lying around?” Ruthie asked.

  “Sure thing, there’s a stocked bar back this way,” one of them said, pointing, and Ruthie walked off arm in arm with both of them toward the other end of the car, leaving me sitting on the green velvet, where Archie joined me.

  A tall, slim man in a black suit appeared immediately at our side and brought a small table to us, placed a white napkin on top and asked what we’d like to drink.

  “A coffee, please,” I said, wanting to keep my wits about me.

  “I’ll have the same,” Archie said, “with a shot of brandy.”

  When the man left, Archie turned to me and smiled, but I looked out the window. I didn’t know what to do. The way he was behaving, his gentle demeanor—relaxed and seemingly happy to see me again—suggested that he didn’t know that I knew about his engagement. Should I even give him the satisfaction of knowing the reason for my coldness? He thought he’d got away with having a fiancée in one state and a show girl in another. But now that we were going to be at the same camp, all would be revealed, and he didn’t even seem to care.

  “So, you own all this?” I asked.

  “Yes, for almost a year. It required a bit of work, but I think it’s looking pretty smart now, and it’s running smoothly too.”

  “How do you end up owning a train?” I said with disdain. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Not the whole train, just the train car—they hook it up to the back of the commercial trains and take us wherever they’re going. We can switch tracks and hook onto other trains at various points along the way, so we can get places faster. It’s more direct and it’s a much more comfortable ride. I use it to go back and forth to Cincinnati quite a bit, but this is only my second time taking it to the Adirondacks.”

  “Oh.” I attempted to sound disinterested.

  “Olive, I’m sure you’ve been busy, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he said. “Ever since our dinner.”

  “Is that so?” I said sarcastically.

  “You’re upset.”

  “Well, usually, my suitors don’t simply disappear after a first date.”

  “I’m so sorry. I tried to send flowers to the theater, during my last visit, I tried to see you, but I received no response. I thought it was you who’d disappeared on me.”

  “Ha!” I said.

  “I apologize, I was only in town for two days. I’ve been traveling back and forth to Cincinnati and I was hoping that I would see you this time in New York, but this trip came up, and I promised to bring some of my employees and some of Anne’s guests in my train car.”

  I couldn’t believe he was throwing this Anne woman’s name around like this. Was he trying to make me jealous? He could at least attempt to be discreet. I tried not to take the bait, I wouldn’t let him see that I cared, but I could feel my blood boiling.

  He reached over to take my hand again, but I swatted it away and picked up the coffee the waiter had carefully placed on the table, along with some biscotti.

  “Oh, Olive,” he said, laughing a little. He probably thought I was being ridiculous, and maybe I was, but all this rejection was really starting to hurt, first my family all but disowning me, then Ziegfeld kicking me out of the Follies, and now this. I stood up abruptly.

  “I don’t believe you for a second,” I said, louder than I’d planned, but the mention of this Anne woman infuriated me, so I kept on. “Secondly, I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with—maybe you think I’m just some frilly show girl who doesn’t know better. Maybe you think you can woo me with talk of Paris. Well, I assure you I am more than that, and I do not appreciate an engaged man trying to seduce me.”

  Suddenly the train car was silent. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to observe the row. If I showed him up in front of his friends, his colleagues, even his damned fiancée, then that was his concern, not mine.

  “I have far more respect for myself, and for womankind, than to go around stealing another woman’s future husband. It’s gauche, and it’s not my style. There are plenty of true gentlemen in New York City and I don’t need to waste my time on you.” I turned to leave. “Ruthie,” I called out, “I’m done here,” and I strode down the train car back the way I came. I pulled on the door but was astounded by how heavy it was. Those men had made it seem so easy earlier. I pushed down on the handle and pulled, but the weight of it or the wind outside made it impossible to open.

  Archie came up behind me. “May I?” he asked.

  “You may not.” I continued to tug on the door, putting all my weight into it.

  “Well, then please let me explain. Surely you’ll give a man that courtesy.”

  “There’s nothing to explain,” I said, fuming, not just at him but at myself, too. I hadn’t anticipated caring this much. And I certainly hadn’t expected to let it show. My cool and collected manner had utterly deserted me.

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll leave you to it.”

  I kept pulling on the door, a little shocked that he let me give up on him so easily. After a few moments, his butler or waiter or whoever he was came over and assisted me and I marched back to car number seven, where our crew was drunker and louder than before I left.

  * * *

  I was rattled. I felt as though I’d been dancing with a bouquet of balloons all around me in one of my Frolic numbers and all of them had exploded at once, leaving me half-naked and vulnerable with no prop for my act, stunned, with an audience staring back at me, expecting me to go on and perform.

  The whole thing stung. How disappointing and, worst of all, how stupid I felt. He’d lured me in with his good looks, his dark, seductive eyes, his confidence and sense of adventure. The thrill I’d felt when he’d pulled me toward him on the dance floor, the anticipation of performing those next few nights with a hint of a chance that he might be in the audience, watching me. I’d allowed myself to imagine what it could be. I’d startled myself imagining a second invitation to dinner and dancing, a third; he’d hinted at travel and I’d pictured it, the two of us setting sail for London, visiting Paris. This was something the other girls did, swooning over men they barely knew, sounding foolish as they spoke of marriage—but not me, I never had such ridiculous thoughts. I’d never met a man who could hold my interest, let alone one I could picture falling asleep next to night after night.

  I must have dozed off for a few moments, because when I opened my eyes Ruthie was back in our train car, sitting next to me. I took one look at her and then pretended to go back to sleep, shoving my face into the pillow I’d brought and leaning against the window.

  “Olive, don’t be sore with me. That Archie fella may not hav
e been a match for you, but my two guys were a heck of a lot of fun. You should have stayed, I would have shared.” She was trying to make me laugh, but I was too tired and still upset about the whole encounter with Archie. She should have left with me, showed support. But then again, why should my disgruntlement with a man spoil her fun?

  “I was trying to get you to stay so you could hear what he had to say. I think you needed to hear it from him,” Ruthie went on. “Did he at least say sorry?”

  “No.” I knew I shouldn’t be angry with her, but I couldn’t shake it. “No, he didn’t, he acted as if he’d done nothing wrong. And now I’m going to have to see him again at the camp. Good Lord, could things get any worse?”

  “It’ll be okay.” She wrapped her arms around me and snuggled in, using me as a pillow. “We’re only at the Pines for a few days, and you, more than anyone, know how to have a good time no matter what the circumstances.”

  “That’s true,” I said, looking out the window. “I am pretty good at that.”

  That night we stayed at a lodge in the middle of nowhere and the next morning a stagecoach collected us and took us to a steamboat that would cruise through the Eckford lakes for the rest of the day. I had glanced around for Archie as we left the train and again on the steamer, but his group must have taken an alternate route.

  The party started up again on the Horicon II—a handsome sidewall steamer with a huge paddle wheel on one side that slapped the water and propelled us north. Others from the train were also heading to parts of the Adirondacks, and as we all piled onto the boat people seemed to settle into either the covered furnished salon with open sides or the top deck. The sky was a beautiful clear blue, and it felt surprisingly freeing to be out on the water, in the fresh air.

  Our group settled on the lounge chairs outside on the deck, and I realized that when we traveled together—twenty women who weren’t afraid to break into song or dance at a moment’s notice—we could draw quite a crowd. And we did.