I showed everyone where to go for meals, where to play tennis and boccie ball, and then directed them to some of the best hiking trails on the property. Ruthie looked rather exhausted after all the walking, so I took everyone toward the main lodge, where lunch was being served.
* * *
Reluctantly, in early June, I’d informed Ziegfeld that I’d be getting married at the end of the summer and after that would no longer be able to perform in the Follies or the Frolic or any show at all. I’d justified it to myself with the promise of seeing the world—Paris, Florence, London. I’d wrapped up the June show, spent almost all of July at the camp throwing one monthlong party and planned to return to the show for my grand finale toward the end of August, one week before my wedding. Everyone would be there for my final, farewell show. I tried not to think about it too much by maintaining a steady stream of visitors. As one group left, another arrived, so I never had a chance to dwell on this decision that I’d grappled with for months. The constant visitors and the constant party, as well as the hooch that I drank pretty much continually, helped to ensure I wasn’t too saddened by it all.
* * *
Lunch was served, drinks kept flowing, and by four P.M. that afternoon I was knockered and needed a nice long siesta so I could rouse and get the party started again for dinner.
“Mother,” I called out rather loudly when I got up to walk back to my cabin and saw her sitting on a carved wooden swing and looking out to the lake. “Are you having fun?”
I plonked down next to her and the swing shuddered in my clumsiness. She shook her head but didn’t take her eyes off the lake.
“What is it?” I asked, wishing I’d gone directly back to my cabin, where my head would be hitting the pillow at this very moment.
“What are you doing, Olive?” she asked with a sorrow in her voice I wasn’t expecting. I’d thought everyone was having a grand old time. “And what is all this?” She motioned to the cabins and the main lodge.
“I thought you’d love it here,” I said.
“Why are you making all these changes, flattening the roof so you can sunbathe, shipping claw-foot bathtubs up the Hudson River, a bar at every corner? It’s absurd, how much does that even cost you?”
“What difference does it make how much it costs? We’re getting it ready for the wedding,” I said. “That’s what you wanted for me, isn’t it, for me to get married so you wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore?”
She shook her head. “You’re drunk all the time.”
“I am not drunk,” I said, trying to sound as sober and as offended as possible.
“Is this what you gave that poor baby up for, this life of debauchery?” she said in a low whisper.
“Mother,” I said, looking around to see if anyone was nearby, “don’t speak of such a thing again.”
My mother slowly peeled her eyes off the lake and glared at me.
“What choice did I have?” I asked. It was the question I’d been asking myself over and over ever since Archie had proposed. It was the question I’d been trying to quiet, to ignore with a constant flow of new guests to the camp and a constant flow of champagne. It wasn’t until I fell for Archie that I could even fathom what it could mean to have a baby; but now it was too late, and worst of all, he didn’t even know the truth. No one did, not even my mother.
“I don’t know, Olive,” my mother said, standing up from the swing. “Maybe I led you astray—it just seems as if it was all for nothing.”
* * *
All the champagne I’d consumed seemed to have drained from my veins, and I felt horribly sober. I couldn’t be alone with my thoughts in the cabin, but I didn’t want to be around any of our guests either. I walked through the towering pines to the farm to find Jose or Eugene. I’d asked Eugene to organize a group hike the following day, and I thought I’d take my mind off things by checking on the itinerary. He wasn’t there. No one was there, in fact.
There were eggs in the coop, but I wouldn’t have anything to carry them in on my way to the kitchen. I’d hoped to see Lady in the stable, but she was out in the field with the other horses. She looked rounder, her stomach fuller and dropping.
“Can I help you with something?” Eugene asked, startling me as he rounded the horse stable with a bucket and a rake, sleeves rolled up, galoshes caked in mud.
“Oh, you gave me a start!”
“I apologize, ma’am. I was just refilling the horses’ feed.”
“I was only wondering how Lady’s feeling.”
“She’s started walking about quite a bit now,” he said. “Doesn’t want to stand still, you see that?” He pointed out to the field, and sure enough she was pacing. “That could mean a couple of days or even less now,” he said. “I think after today we’ll have to separate her from the rest.”
“Why?” I asked.
“If she foals with the other horses around, they might get too close. We had a mare foal a few years back and the male got up close and stepped on the little one’s leg. We had to put her to sleep before the foal was even a few hours old, very sad day that was.”
“Oh, Eugene,” I said, suddenly overcome with sadness. “That’s just terrible.” A chill came over me and I looked around to see where I could sit for a minute.
“It was sad,” he said, beginning to rake out the stable. “Sorry.…” He looked back at me, seeing the pain in my face. “Sorry, you see things like that happen all the time when you’re with the animals this much, probably a bit startling to regular folk. Have I upset you?”
“No, no, I’m fine. I’m sure you see all kinds of things.” I felt a sudden desperation to get back to the privacy of my cabin. “Let me know how it goes with Lady,” I called out as I backed away. “I’d like to know when things start happening.” I walked briskly back to the cabin, hoping I wouldn’t see anyone.
I couldn’t get through the door quickly enough. I shut it behind me, bolted it and then, wrenched by heavy sobs, crumpled to the floor. Everyone was here at the camp—my friends, my theater girls, Alberto, my parents, even my brothers. Archie would be here in just a few days, and our wedding plans were coming together. My grand finale would be a huge success and a final celebration of my time as a Ziegfeld girl, and yet everything felt so horribly, horribly sad. I loved Archie so very much, but I was leading him, unknowing, into a trap. Into a cruel, deceitful lie.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was two weeks before the wedding. The sunbathing roof deck was complete, the cabins freshly painted, seven of the sixteen bathtubs had been shipped and pulled up the banks to the cabins by some thirty men, then installed. The rest would have to wait. A steamboat full of orchids would arrive from Manhattan a few days prior to the wedding, along with a shipment of hooch. The only thing left for me to do was go for a final fitting of my wedding gown in Manhattan and bring it back to the camp.
That and my final performance.
Archie had been at the camp with us for the past two weeks, rolling up his sleeves and working with the staff to ensure that everything would be perfect. While he’d originally planned to join me in Manhattan for my final send-off, he now needed to stay behind and await the special delivery by way of Canada to ensure that our wedding wouldn’t be dry. I understood the precariousness of the situation; it would be a middle-of-the-night delivery and Archie felt he should be there in case of any mishaps. So I asked Alberto to accompany me to the city, and we’d be back before the guests arrived for the wedding.
We took Archie’s railcar—it had been put to great use that summer, shuttling our friends back and forth. Alberto’s friends Chester and Michael also rode back to town with us. We were all dog-tired from the week’s activities. As soon as the first leg of the trip was complete, Chester said he planned to sleep the rest of the way. I probably could have benefited from the sleep, too, given all the wild parties I’d been throwing, but I was too eager for my performance. I’d have three days to rehearse and then, showtime.
Al
berto and I sat at the table and chairs by the window. I tried to read a story in an old issue of McClure’s, but I kept reading the same few lines over and over.
“Archie is a good man, Olive, very welcoming,” Alberto said. “Nice of him to put up with all of our canto forte.”
“I know, he’s very patient.” I thought of all the late nights by the fire, Alberto, his friends, and me singing our lungs out. “Though he has to allow me to let it out somewhere, especially now that I’m giving up the stage.”
Alberto shook his head. “You told me when we first met on the lake, that you would never give it up, you said he would never ask you to.”
“I know.” I nodded. “I didn’t think he would.” I looked out the window and sighed. “But things are different now. I didn’t know back then that I would be in love with him the way I am now. I didn’t know that I’d want this life, companionship. Until I met Archie, I honestly thought it wasn’t for me. But now I can’t imagine my life without him.”
Just this week Archie had spent two full days pitching in with the workers, painting the guide boats, repairing loose boards on the deck and making sure all the chairs at the boathouse were in good shape for picnics. He told me he wanted everything to be perfect for me and all my guests.
“I don’t want a lifetime of flings, Alberto. Now I know what’s possible, and I don’t want to lose him. Don’t you want that kind of companionship, especially as we get older?”
Alberto looked thoughtful. I followed his gaze to the sleeper carriage, where Chester was resting. We’d never spoken of such things, but I knew there was more than a simple friendship between them.
“Sometimes you can’t have everything that you want,” he said.
I understood what he meant, but it wasn’t my place to press him to tell me more.
“Will you have children, Olive?” His question got my attention, and I turned, silent, to face him. Alberto waited patiently for me to answer.
“No,” I said in a whisper.
“Archie, he doesn’t want a family?” Alberto seemed struck by this.
I shook my head. I couldn’t speak of it; the thought of it all made me want to curl up in shame.
“Olive, if Archie wants the babies, then I understand. Of course there is no way to be Ziegfeld girl and have the babies. But if he doesn’t, then why you have to stop—why? You can go on, Olive, you don’t have to waste this talent.”
“It’s complicated, Alberto,” I said. “It’s just far more complicated than that.”
“I don’t understand, Olive. Why can’t you have your love and also have your life, why you have to choose?”
“Because he doesn’t want me dressing that way. I think it will be an embarrassment to his family if I am this show girl, entertaining other men when we are man and wife. Most of the girls leave the show when they marry.”
“I understand, but you are not those other girls. I just worry that you will be unhappy. When I don’t sing I am infelice, miserabile. I might as well go away and morire if I cannot sing.”
I felt the same way. All summer I’d been putting on a show, hosting as many people as possible, inviting all my theater friends so that we could re-create the thrill of performing at the camp, so I could feel that camaraderie that I felt in the dressing room and backstage. I’d been drinking and drinking to make everything louder, more rambunctious, to make the everyday moments spectacular. I knew I should stop, but I wanted to shock people, I wanted people to talk, I wanted word to travel back to the city about what fun everyone was having, just as word had traveled about the shows when I was in Manhattan. But I knew it was all a farce, something I was doing to trick myself into believing that everything was going to be okay, that everything wasn’t going to change.
“Just being a wife, Olive, it’s not enough for you. I’ve seen it before, you won’t be happy. Maybe you should have the babies, at least it will keep you occupied.”
“Alberto,” I snapped, “can we please stop talking about it?” But as soon as I said it, I regretted it. I’d offended him with my outburst. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so brash, but can we change the subject?”
He nodded and went back to reading his paper.
“Well,” he said after a few moments, “maybe it won’t even matter. If this country’s economy va in bagno the way my friend Roger tells me, then the theaters will be first to go.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Here.” He tapped the page he was reading.
A CRASH IS COMING AND IT MAY BE TERRIFIC, the headline read.
“I’ve met him,” Alberto said. “Roger Babson, he’s molto intelligente.”
“I’ve heard Archie and his friends speak of him recently—he’s the statistician, right? They said he’s full of baloney. Apparently he’s been saying the same things for years and years.”
“‘Sooner or later a crash is coming, and it may be terrific,’” Alberto went on. “‘Factories will shut down, men will be thrown out of work, the vicious circle will get in full swing and the result will be a serious business depression,’” he read out loud.
“Yes,” I said, “that is quite depressing. Can we talk about something more uplifting?”
“‘There may be a stampede for selling which will exceed anything that the Stock Exchange has ever witnessed,’” he continued reading. “‘Wise are those investors who now get out of debt and reef their sails.’” Then he looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
“Alberto, please, you are boring the pants off me.” I sighed.
“If he’s right, we are in big trouble,” he replied, showing me with his hands just how much trouble. I couldn’t help smiling at his lovely Italian way. “No one goes to the theater or the opera when men are losing their jobs, I can promise you that.”
I leaned in and read the article over his shoulder. “President Hoover doesn’t seem concerned. Look,” I said, “he says the market is sound, and he’s the president of the United States of America.”
“After your wedding, I will go to Europe and I will stay some time. I fill my schedule with European tours for the next year or more. You should try the same. If you want, I arrange a meeting for you and my European booker next time he’s in town.”
“Alberto, I told you,” I said. “This is my grand finale.”
The words hung heavy in the air between us. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, and we both stared straight ahead, the gravity of my statement sinking in. After a while he turned his eyes back to his paper, and I looked out of the window, filled with a sense of dread.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
What a wonderful feeling it was to walk through those familiar heavy glass theater doors and into the dressing room. Relief swept over me when I saw my mirror and dressing table in the corner—someone had decorated it with flowers and even made a banner with my name on it. I’d been gone for two months already, but mercifully they didn’t let me see if my corner had been assigned to one of the other girls. At least on the surface, it was as if I’d never left.
“She’s baaack!” Gladys called out the moment she saw me, then Pauline, Lillian and Lara ran to me as if I were a long-lost friend.
“You silly girls,” I said, loving the attention, wrapping my arms around them, “I just saw you at the camp.”
“I know, but it’s dull without you here with us,” Lara said.
“And with Ruthie gone too,” Pauline said, “it’s just not the same around here.”
“She’s right. Ziegfeld just brought in twenty new ponies for the upcoming season,” Lara whispered. “Half of them don’t look much past sixteen!”
Gladys sauntered over and took my hand. “Will you all stop gossiping and give the poor girl some space?” And with everyone following alongside, she led me out the door to the rehearsal room, where we sat down to put our shoes on. “So, tell us everything. Have you been practicing for your wedding night?”
“Oh, Gladys!” I said. “You don’t change.”
“Hey, I almost forgot,” I said. “I brought gifts.” I had with me a box filled with little bottles of maple syrup. I’d written the name of each of the girls on tags tied with ribbon to each bottle. “Gladys, Lillian, Pauline,” I said, taking out the first three. “These are from our sugar maples at the camp. Eugene tapped the trees last spring and we still have some left. You all have to come back up in early spring when the snow melts, we’re going to have a sugaring-off party when the sap starts to run.”
“My goodness, Olive,” Gladys said. “You’re turning into a darling little farmer.”
“Well,” I said, bristling slightly. “Makes for a fine maple bee’s knees.”
“What, no honey?”
“That’s right—our barkeep makes them with maple syrup instead, lemon and plenty of gin.”
“Now that’s more like it.”
* * *
Along with some of the old standards, Howie had updated the choreography of one of my favorite acts to make it fresh—a sassy number that felt very apropos. It featured me and all the girls going shopping, each girl pulling me in a different direction. The set was much improved, too, like a real department store. We danced from a makeup counter to a jewelry section, each girl wanting advice for different reasons. I was needed and wanted by each of them, but I had to keep pulling away, checking the time, and eventually I made my way up that famous Ziegfeld spiral staircase. At the top Eddie Cantor stood in silhouette, waiting. I kept running back down a few stairs, just one more thing to attend to, but eventually I reached the top. In the spotlight, I sang a final farewell number at the top of the staircase and then joined arms with Eddie and together we walked down the other side of the staircase. One final kiss to the audience and we exited stage left.
The Show Girl Page 21