The Show Girl

by Nicola Harrison

  One fella, Andrew Stark, made himself comfortable in an adjacent lounge chair and paid me particular interest. I was indifferent at first, still brooding over my encounter with Archie, but after a few glasses of champagne mimosas I began to let loose like the rest of the girls, allowing myself to flirt with him a little, letting him boost my dented ego. I introduced him to our crew of Ziegfeld girls, and he mentioned he’d seen our show many times.

  “I’ll be staying at Camp Santorini most of the time, my brother-in-law’s camp, you should come on over and let me take you for a spin on his boat.”

  “I just might,” I said. “We’ll be there performing at some point, so perhaps our days will overlap.”

  “But I’m at the Pines Camp for the first few days,” he said. “I’ll be visiting friends there.”

  “Me too,” I said, excited that I’d remembered the name. “At least I think that’s our first stop. There are so many Pines and Camps and strange-sounding names, it’s hard to keep track.” Howie was getting the girls riled up again, planning a singing competition on the main deck, and between the champagne mimosas and this gentleman’s attention, I was starting to feel a whole lot better.

  “Come on, darlin’,” he said, “let’s head downstairs to the lower deck where we can get a little privacy.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I’m comfortable here.”

  “But it’s so loud, I can barely hear your sweet voice.”

  At his suggestion, I linked my arm through his and took the staircase down to the lower deck, closer to the water, where the steam engine made a loud shushing sound and the rhythm of the paddle wheel drowned out the noisy patrons on the upper deck. I was feeling warm and friendly, but I could tell he was a fair bit more lit up than I was.

  “You are a hot little number,” he said as soon as we were at the back of the boat. There was no one else down there, and he leaned me against the railing. I let him kiss me. I needed to feel someone’s warmth and wished his urgency would soothe me. He tasted like gin. He held my head in one hand and slipped the other around my rear, pressing me into the railing. It reminded me of that night on the West Coast, the recklessness in me coming to the surface. I could tell what his intentions were, and for a split second I wanted that power, to give him whatever he needed. I wanted this stranger to need me, to desire me so badly. But the railing was digging into my back and his body was pushing hard against mine, and just as fast as it crossed my mind to give in, I pushed him away.

  “Steady on there,” I said, twisting my way out of his overly eager embrace. “We just met.”

  “I’m sorry, doll, you got me all worked up all of a sudden, you talking about your dancing like you did, and you being so damn pretty.”

  “That’s no way to treat a lady you barely know.”

  “I’m sorry, here, why don’t you sit down, take a load off.” He motioned to the wooden benches flanked alongside both sides of the boat. It was far less plush down on the lower deck, and I had a sudden concern that no one from my group had noticed I’d left or knew where I was. He had his back turned to me and was fidgeting with his trousers.

  “I’m going to head back up,” I said, walking toward the staircase. “And you should probably lay off that gin.”

  “Hey, wait. Please—we were just starting to have some fun,” he called out behind me. “I’m sorry. Come on back, please.…”

  What the hell was it with these men? What did they all take me for? I reeled at the thought of what had transpired in just a few minutes, going from flirting and light kissing to him pushing for something more. I wanted to curse him, but as I walked back upstairs, I had to admit to myself that I’d wanted him, too, even if just for a second, I’d wanted to feel something, anything.

  * * *

  The last few hours on the boat seemed long and arduous after that initial encounter, but fortunately that Andrew fella stayed out of my way.

  That night we stayed at the Blue Mountain House—a log cabin set up for travelers just passing through. It was a quaint and simple place, but it gave us a chance to get some much-needed sleep after two full days of travel. Sharing a bed with Ruthie, just after we turned out the lights, I finally gave in and asked her what I’d wanted to ask all day. “Did he say anything after I left yesterday?”

  “Who?”

  “Archie. Who do you think?”

  “Well, geez, Olive, you left his train car in such a huff that I wouldn’t expect you to care what he thought of you.”

  “I don’t care. But did he say anything or not?”

  “No. Not a word. No one spoke of it. I don’t think they dared after that scene you caused.”

  “He tried to woo me under false pretenses,” I said adamantly.

  “And you think that’s unusual?”

  “I thought it would be for this particular man.”

  “You hardly know him.”

  “I thought I did.”

  “Oh, honey…” She took my hand under the covers and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. We’ll find you a good guy, okay? I promise you.”

  “I don’t want a good guy,” I said. “They bore the pants off me.”

  “Okay, we’ll find you a bad boy, one of those you like from the Village. That’ll get your mind off him for a while.”

  “I don’t want one of those either.”

  “Well, what is it that you do want, huh?”

  I thought about it for a while, and the question perplexed me. “I really don’t know.”

  Ruthie gave me a hushed murmur; she was already almost dreaming.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Altogether it took two days and two nights to arrive at the Pines Camp. The final stretch of road was too rough for a car ride, so we were transferred to a couple of horse-drawn carriages for the last hour. As we bounced around on the hard wooden benches, I was kicking myself for agreeing to such a ridiculous journey. But then, as we got closer, it began to smooth out into a more groomed path.

  At around five o’clock we knew we were close because lanterns were being set up as we crossed the guest bridge. Everything was so still and quiet except for the sound of the coach wheels, the harnesses and the horses’ hooves striking gravel. Trail guides waved to us from the side of the road, and I waved back.

  “What are they doing?” I asked Eugene, a guide who’d been sent to collect us from the cars.

  “They’ve been waiting for us, so they can let the hosts know we’re arriving,” he said. “They run back to the camp now to alert them.”

  As the horses pulled us up over the hill, the clusters of pine trees opened up a little, letting the late afternoon sun stream in, and the camp appeared: quaint log cabins set on the shore of glittering Osgood Pond with a croquet lawn as its centerpiece. When we stepped out of the carriage, the smell of wood fires wafted up from the lodge and I felt a deep, healing peace from our surroundings.

  “Oh my,” I whispered, almost speechless. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

  * * *

  A woman in her early fifties approached our carriages wearing trousers, a collared shirt and a cardigan, looking completely relaxed.

  “Welcome to the Pines,” she said. “We’re all so excited that you’re here.”

  “Thank you for having us,” Ruthie said. The rest of the girls were the quietest I’d ever heard them—looking around in awe at the towering trees, the cottages dotted throughout the property, separated by bushes and pathways, each cottage glowing like something out of a fairy-tale book. All thoughts of mud and bugs and sleeping in tents immediately dissipated.

  “I know the journey up is treacherous, but I hope you’re feeling all right now that you’re here.”

  “We’re thrilled to be here—it’s been a real adventure,” I said.

  “Well, that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” She linked her arm through mine and led us toward the cabins.

  “I’m Olive Shine,” I said. “Really, this is magical.”

  “Oh, you’re Olive!”
she said. “I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you perform, but I’ve heard so much about you.” I smiled, wondering what she’d heard. “I’m going to send someone up to each of your cabins to show you where things are and make sure you’re comfortable,” she said, turning back so everyone could hear her. “I want you all to have a chance to rest after your long journey, then at eight o’clock we’ll be serving dinner in the main dining room. Will that give you enough time to dress? Does anyone need me to send one of my maids early to help you get ready?”

  We all shook our heads. “Gentlemen, do you need someone to come and brush your hair?” Ruthie asked Howie and Wallace, laughing.

  “I think we’ll be all right,” Howie said, shaking his head.

  “There’s a seamstress on the property, should you need anything mended while you’re here. A lost button, a dropped hem, ironing, anything you need, you just let us know and it’ll be attended to. Tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to settle in and take in some of the scenery and activities, I’ll show you the rehearsal space and the stage, and our butler, Mr. Ward, will go over the performance schedule.”

  “Thank you,” I said, grateful for the fresh air, the smell of pines, and her hospitality. “I’m so sorry,” I said as she delivered Ruthie and me to our cabin, “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Oh, my goodness, I was so excited to meet you, I completely forgot to properly introduce myself. Where are my manners? I’m Anne.”

  “You’re Anne?” I said, admittedly not careful at all in hiding my surprise. She was so much older than I’d expected her to be, beautiful and generous, but I suppose I’d expected Archie’s fiancée to be more youthful, more like, well, me.

  “I am,” she said softly—if she’d noticed my shock, she didn’t let it show. “My husband, Raymond, is inside with the other gentlemen, they’re all telling stories about their day out on the trails. It’s probably best you meet them when they’ve had a chance to freshen up and dress for dinner.”

  “Of course,” I said, stunned. Our hostess was the Anne whom Archie had mentioned on the train, but Anne was already married. I suddenly felt very foolish.

  “Remember, anything you need, just ring this”—she reached inside the cabin door and pulled on a string that rang a small bell—“and you’ll be attended to.” She’d barely even finished her sentence before a young man in brown trousers and a white button-down shirt stood at our side.

  “Yes, Madam Belmont?” He stood head down, waiting for her request.

  “Oh, nothing at the moment, thank you, I’m just showing the girls around.”

  “Yes, madam,” he said, and in an instant he was gone.

  * * *

  From the outside the cabins looked rustic and modest, and the interior was designed in the same spirit: wood-planked walls, bed frames made from knotted tree limbs, a stone fireplace. But upon closer inspection, I realized that nothing had been left to chance. When I lay back on the bed, it felt as though I were sinking into a pillow of the finest duck feathers wrapped in the softest, most luxurious cotton sheets you might find in a fancy hotel.

  “Look at this,” Ruthie called out excitedly from another room. I jumped up and found her standing on the screened-in porch. A huge tree trunk erupted from the ground and went straight out the roof, the rest of the porch and its furnishings having been designed artfully around it. A curved two-seater with a matching curved footstool wrapped around the tree’s base. I sat in it and admired a clear view straight out onto the lake, the boathouse just to the left and down a short pathway from where I sat.

  “Do you think they just didn’t want to cut down the tree?” Ruthie asked. “So they built around it?”

  “Looks like it,” I said. “It’s grand to be staying here. I thought we’d be in the workers’ cabins or something.”

  “Maybe these are the workers’ cabins.” Ruthie grinned. “What’s this?” On a table at the far side of the porch there was a welcome basket with a bottle of wine, chocolates and a book about the area. Behind that, there was an enormous bouquet of red roses with a card. Ruthie picked it up. “It’s for you.”

  I jumped up and took it from her.

  Dear Olive,

  I feel terrible about our encounter on the train, and it seems we’ve had a misunderstanding. Please can we find some time this evening to talk? I do hope you’ll forgive me for upsetting you.

  Please accept my apologies.

  Je ne peux pas arrêter de penser à toi. Amour de ton plus grand admirateur,

  Archie

  “Well, what does it say?” Ruthie was grabbing at the card, bouncing around me like a madwoman.

  “I have no idea,” I said, holding it above my head out of her reach.

  “What do you mean you have no idea?” she said, still jumping.

  “I don’t know—it’s in French.”

  “French?” She looked confused, and I handed it to her, resuming my place at the tree.

  “Je ne pew paz arr-et-air dey pen-ser a toy,” she read aloud. “I don’t know what it says either, but he sure sounds stuck on you.”

  “Well, maybe he is, but unfortunately for him he’s got himself stuck in another engagement.”

  She plucked one of the roses from the bouquet and inhaled deeply. “How on earth does anyone get their hands on a bouquet of roses like this in the mountains, anyway?”

  “I suppose if you have enough money you can get your hands on anything you want.”

  * * *

  Getting dressed in evening attire for dinner felt strange and unnecessary in the middle of the forest, but when we left our cabin the lanterns had been lit, creating a magical glow, and our guide, Eugene, was waiting to escort us to the main lodge. We met with the rest of our group on the way over, and as soon we entered the main room, Anne applauded and drew everyone’s attention to us.

  “Oh, how wonderful you’re all here,” she said. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our latest guests, the wonderful and talented Ziegfeld girls.” About twenty other guests turned and joined her in a round of applause. “We have the pleasure of their company at dinner this evening—please get to know one another.”

  I surveyed the room—magnificent tall ceilings with dark wood beams, an enormous wood fireplace set with grey stone that took up the entire back wall. The room was heavily decorated with taxidermy, including an owl, wings spread as if it were about to take flight and pick its prey from among us, and a giant grizzly bear keeping watch over the room.

  “Menacing, isn’t it?” Anne said as she walked over. “I shot him myself while traveling through the West.” She had a gleam in her eye and I couldn’t quite tell if she was serious. I tried to picture her, now in full evening dress, holding a gun and facing down a grizzly.

  “This is my husband, Raymond,” she said, looking up at the tall man beside her.

  “So kind of you to come all this way,” he said with a noticeable lisp that was endearing and somehow welcoming. I’d been expecting the owners of these properties to be snooty, but so far that wasn’t the case at all. “We can’t wait to see your performances—what a welcome change it will be.” He then introduced Howie and the girls to a few of the trail guides who’d be wilderness companions for the guests over the next few days, leading hikes, taking the men shooting and educating anyone who wanted to know about the area. Raymond explained that the guides served as professors of the wilderness, friends of the great outdoors, and they would be with us at all social occasions, during dinner and after, so we could continue the conversation into the evening. They’d grown up in the area and knew the terrain, the weather and the hunting patterns inside and out and were therefore treated with high regard. Raymond and the guides showed us around the room, pointing out different hunting trophies.

  “Archibald has been eagerly awaiting your arrival,” Anne said in a hushed tone, gently keeping me back from the tour. I tried not to act surprised at the mention of his name, or that he’d discussed me with her, but I casually glanced aro
und the room. “He’s in the far corner by the piano. Don’t be too tough on him, he can come off as a big shot because he’s so respected on the business side of things, but deep down he’s a real softy.” She smiled and I had to bite my tongue. I was not about to engage in this conversation with our gracious host. “Not the kind of softy that’ll be bouncing a baby on his knee, mind you, he doesn’t slow down enough for that kind of life, as you probably know, and he tells me you two are cut from the same cloth.”

  “Well, I’m a show girl,” I said a little roughly, though I knew my sharpness should be directed toward Archie and not Anne. “We don’t tend to have those domesticated bones in our bodies.”

  “He tells me you’re a city girl, but, boy, I hope you’ll feel the privacy out here is worth every minute of that long journey. Manhattan can be exhausting, don’t you think?”

  “Sometimes,” I said, knowing full well that her busy social life would be entirely different from mine. I thrived on the hectic city, the late nights, the secret speakeasies, the cramped and sweaty dance floors. She was speaking of society parties and philanthropic obligations and expectations.

  “Even when I’m in Newport, you’d better believe the gown I wear to dinner, the food I serve and the guests I entertain will be in the paper the next day. I don’t get a minute of peace. But out here it’s secluded, it’s protected, it’s hard to reach, and the press can’t get anywhere near me. I can wear what I want, when I want, and do whatever I please.”

  “Must be a relief.” I tried to commiserate, but I was the opposite. I welcomed the press writing about me, flattering me, telling the world what I was doing and encouraging them to get in on the fun. “How long do you stay out here in the summer?” I asked, trying to keep things light.

  “We arrive in July, then off to Newport at the end of August,” she said.

  “Must be a lot of work, though, to maintain such a huge property.”

  “Oh, we’re very lucky to have exceptional staff who live here year-round, and they keep us wonderfully self-sufficient. We have a small farm and gardens, and we grow our own vegetables, so we’re always ready for visitors. We’ve had scientists, writers, statesmen, actors, and even Ziegfeld girls,” she added, winking at me.