The Show Girl

by Nicola Harrison

  We ran through all the numbers over and over, and it felt so good to be moving, dancing, singing. It reminded me of those early days when I first joined the Follies and worked so damned hard every day to get caught up, to be as good as the other girls, to perfect that Ziegfeld walk. How quickly I’d made friends, how generously they’d welcomed me—me, the new girl from Minnesota.

  Because I’d been away from it for two months, my body felt less malleable than before, and by the end of the day my muscles ached and my feet pounded. But I loved the physical reminders that I was back where I wanted to be, doing what my body craved.

  My mind had been full lately, spinning and churning with thoughts of the wedding, thoughts of Archie, our future, my future, my final show and the aftermath, but for those few days of rehearsal I tried to push all that out of my mind. Just enjoy this time with the girls, I told myself, relish this last performance, you’ll face whatever comes next when it comes.

  We went out for dinner on the first night, but after being out of practice, I was too dog-tired to rehearse all day and dance all night, so we piled into Pauline’s place in Inwood—the same apartment I’d shared with Ruthie—and stayed up late chatting instead.

  “You are so lucky, Olive,” Lara said when we were sitting on the living room floor drinking hot cocoa that Pauline fixed for us. “Archie’s not just rich, he’s handsome, too, and he seems like he’s really in love with you. How’d you find one with all three? Everyone I know settles for two, sometimes even one out of three.”

  “He’s one heck of a guy,” I said.

  “And you don’t have to do this anymore,” Lara said.

  “What’s ‘this’?” I said.

  “Performing, making money, sitting on the floor with us girls.”

  “But I want to do this,” I said, “I wish I could do it forever.”

  “No, you don’t,” Gladys chimed in. She had made it clear for some time now that she wanted to find the perfect johnny to take care of her.

  “I do,” I insisted. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  “You say you do, but we’re getting on, Olive, you’re just about in your mid-twenties and I’m…” She paused. “Well, no one needs to know the exact details, but I want to leave show business on my own time, not get kicked out of here to make way for those young ponies coming in.”

  “Ruthie settled for one out of three,” Pauline called out from the kitchen.

  “That’s not true,” I said. “Lawrence is a good fellow.”

  “Sure it’s true. Lawrence loves her a good deal, but he’s not a looker, and he’s not rich.”

  “Who cares if he’s rich?” I said. “And he’s a looker in Ruthie’s eyes, and that’s all that matters.”

  It felt good to be back with the girls, but talking about Archie made me miss him. What I didn’t miss was hearing the desperation in these girls’ voices, the idea that they all needed a man to rescue them, take care of them, provide for them. They were all so beautiful and talented, and Ziegfeld did have a way of drawing out each girl’s individual talents, I’d give him that. I just didn’t believe that we needed someone to save us. We’d all made it this far, many of us had made sacrifices to become Ziegfeld girls, and if I was going to leave it behind and marry Archie, it was because I was in love with him and I wanted to, not because I needed to.

  * * *

  The final performance was on Friday night, and it had barely seemed to begin before it was time to start climbing those stairs for the finale. Alberto and Chester were in the front row, Ruthie and Lawrence were a few rows back, and I recognized so many other faces. I felt beautiful in the costumes again. I wore a beaded white figure-hugging dress. It was weighty and glamorous, its beaded tassels tapping at my thighs as I took each step. At the top, I turned and looked down at it all, 1,702 seats, a full house, the look of expectation on every face in the audience. They’d given me so much, this sea of people, night after night, warming me with their applause, sending vibrations through my bones with their cheering. I’d been loved by all these friends and all these strangers. I sang my final lyrics with passion, and I couldn’t have wished it to go any better, there wasn’t a stronger note to leave on: the audience roared, they stood, they applauded. I breathed it all in, aware that it was all about to end. Did I really have to let this go? Did I really have to leave all this behind? I swept my right arm out to the audience, reaching from left to right to capture the thunderous percussion of applause, and then my left arm, sweeping across the theater from right to left. Both arms now outstretched to either side, I raised them up. I felt so victorious, my body absorbing it all one last time. I closed my eyes and the applause kept coming, and while I loved it, relished it, I pictured Archie’s face, smiling, his hand reaching out and taking mine, and I felt a separate sense of peace. Opening my eyes again, I mouthed, “Thank you,” then I linked my arm with Eddie’s, descended the staircase and walked off the stage into the wings.

  * * *

  After the show, the girls took me out and we danced all over town. It was as if it were going to be my last night ever in the city—which of course wasn’t the case—but despite that moment of calm onstage, something in me began to feel frantic, delirious, desperate. The final performance had come and gone, and now I had to think about my future. I loved everything about Archie, but every time I pictured walking down the aisle toward him, standing there smiling, his eyes shining, proud and handsome, I started to feel anxious and scared.

  I danced with some gent at the Rand and almost let him kiss me, for God’s sake. I was being reckless, and I wasn’t even sure why. When it nearly happened, I quickly took myself off to the ladies’ room and confronted myself in the mirror. What are you doing? Get a grip on yourself. But after returning, I was handed another drink and pulled onto the dance floor, and I let the music and the hooch lure me back into the night.

  I don’t remember going home. It must have been at some ungodly hour, I’m pretty sure the sun was already up. I vaguely recall one of the girls, or maybe two, hoisting me up the stairs. All I know is that I woke up on the living room floor in Pauline’s apartment. Lara and two new girls, whose names I couldn’t even recall, were strewn about me, one in an armchair, one on the floor, one on the sofa.

  I woke before the others, and I should have gone back to sleep, but I couldn’t. My mouth was as dry as sandpaper, and I needed to stop the pounding in my head. From the minute I awoke I had that uneasy feeling, unsettled. I tried to get comfortable, hoping it was just that we’d barely eaten dinner, too focused on having fun, but all I could think was that I had to get out of that apartment. I didn’t want to talk to the girls about the final show, about what would happen next, about the wedding.

  I fumbled around in the curtain-drawn darkness, even though it was surely past noon. I changed my clothes, splashed my face with water and tiptoed out the door and down the stairs. I’d promised to visit Ruthie before heading back to the camp, since she wouldn’t be able to travel again for the wedding. The sunlight stung my eyes as I blindly hailed a taxicab.

  * * *

  “Hello, darling,” Ruthie said as I reached the landing of her fifth-floor walk-up somewhat out of breath. “You look terrible.” She took me in her arms and gave me a good long hug. I had to reach over her firm, protruding belly and stick out my rear to hug her, and once I was there, I didn’t want to let go. “Come on in,” she said, taking my hand. “Can’t have my new neighbors seeing you in this state.”

  “Oh, Ruthie, I feel terrible. I’ve got a wooden mouth and about twenty carpenters in my head.”

  “Well. You had a lot to celebrate. Sit down, I’ll make you some tea.”

  I sat at the kitchen table and looked around. Her apartment was small and sparse but clean and on a quiet, tree-lined street. You could see the bright green leaves of the treetops right outside her kitchen window.

  “It’s lovely here, Ruthie,” I said, taking it all in, then looking at her, noticing for the first time
how much she’d changed. I’d seen her at the camp just a few weeks before, but it was as if I hadn’t been paying attention then. From the back, her figure was still slim; it was just her belly that had grown. Her face was fuller, rounder, but it made her look younger and more innocent, cheerful.

  “We haven’t decorated yet, I’m still trying to get the hang of this whole being-a-wife business.” She laughed. “Look, Lawrence bought me a waffle iron.” She pointed to a metal contraption that took up almost her entire countertop. “I haven’t a clue how to use it.”

  We both laughed, but it made my brain hurt, so I put my head in my hands and squeezed my eyes shut.

  And then I stayed there.

  I could hear Ruthie pouring the water into the teapot and the clunk as she took cups down from the cupboard. A ripple of emotion rose up from the pit of my stomach and began pressing at the backs of my eyes.

  “Oh, honey,” she said with a sigh. “What’s the matter? You really didn’t want to leave the show, did you. I could tell by the way you were carrying on at the camp.” She sat down across from me and pulled my hands away from my face. “I know how much the theater means to you.”

  I tried to speak, but a big sob came out instead. “It’s not about the show,” I finally managed. “It’s Archie.”

  “What about Archie?” she said, shocked. “I thought you were madly in love.”

  “I am, we are … that’s the problem.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I looked up at her worried face and felt trepidation at saying it out loud for the first time, to anyone. But she was watching me expectantly.

  “I’ve been lying to him all this time.”

  “What do you mean? About what?”

  “I can’t have children,” I whispered.

  The worry lines on her forehead softened and her expression changed from one of concern to one of pity, shock.

  “I can’t have children,” I said it again, louder. “I didn’t think I’d ever want to, and now I do but I can’t, and I haven’t told Archie, and he wants a family, and I’m going to trap him, and I’m never going to be able to give him what he wants. I love him so much, and yet I’m going to ruin his life, crush his dreams.” Tears streamed from my eyes. “And I hate myself for it all,” I cried, “for everything I’ve done! And when he finds out the truth, he’s going to hate me too.”

  The words seemed to be spilling out of me, and I realized that I was losing control. I felt horrible and yet compelled to keep telling her the awful truth.

  “Oh, Olive,” she said. “But how do you know? How could you possibly know such a thing?”

  “Because I gave my baby away,” I said, sobbing loudly, realizing how dreadful it was to be saying this to Ruthie, only a month away from giving birth herself, how despicable I must seem. “I got pregnant by some man in California and I gave that poor baby away when she was just days old, and I had just turned twenty, and, oh, Ruthie, there was all this blood!”

  “Olive!” She pulled me to her and held me tight, but I couldn’t stop.

  “They said something tore, my uterus, I think—and I’m pretty sure it was my punishment. God took one look at me doing this inexcusably cruel, selfish thing, and he punished me by damaging me, so I couldn’t do it again to another innocent baby.”

  At last I fell quiet. Ruthie sat back, took a deep breath and, probably without even realizing, rubbed her belly with both hands. “Let’s keep God out of this, shall we?” she said gently. “What’s done is done. You weren’t married, you would have been disowned, and you probably couldn’t have taken care of a baby then, anyway.”

  “Of course I could, I just didn’t want to. I wanted to perform, I wanted to live my life, I wanted the pregnancy to be over as soon as possible so I could move to New York and follow my dreams. And now I have this beautiful life all laid out ahead of me and I can’t live it. It’s all going to be a big lie, and”—the tears started filling my eyes again—“Archie has no idea about any of this.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him, I was scared I’d lose him.”

  Ruthie stood up and poured me some tea, added several spoonfuls of sugar and some milk and set it down in front of me.

  “I thought Archie didn’t even want children,” she said.

  “That’s what I thought when we first met.”

  “How old is he, anyway? Thirty-eight?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, he should have gotten started earlier.”

  “But he did. He had that awful tragedy with his first wife and their child,” I said, “and he told me that ship had sailed for him. But after we were going together for some time he started to change his tune. He started saying he could imagine what it would be like to have a child with me, he said he felt happy and hopeful. And then he didn’t stop talking about it, planning our future, and I just let him. And, honestly, I felt the same way he did. I never could have imagined having a child before I met him, but now”—the tears welled up in me again—“I think it would be the most beautiful thing in the world.”

  Finally talking about this with Ruthie, after two and a half years of keeping the secret pushed down deep inside, made all my regret and remorse rise up to the surface.

  “I never thought I could give up the stage. I used to think it was the only time that people approved of me, that the only time they truly loved me was when I was performing, when they’d stand up and clap their hands together with such enthusiasm, and at the Frolic when they’d slam their mallets on the table, and I’d feel the vibrations. That, Ruthie, that felt like love to me, that felt like the best kind of love there was. I thought it was the only kind of love I’d ever need.”

  Ruthie nodded slowly. “And then you met Archie.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And then I felt what real love was—true and connected. Archie makes me feel like the most adored woman who ever lived. And last night, when I was singing that final number, and they were all clapping away, and I was taking it all in, I thought, This is nice, how very kind of them to appreciate me like this. And then I thought, I can’t wait to tell Archie about it, I can’t wait to be in his embrace again, to lie next to him in bed, to hold his hand.”

  Ruthie sighed. “You have to tell him, Olive.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to be honest with him.”

  “If I tell him, I’ll lose him, I know I will. He’ll be repulsed by what I did, sending that sweet baby off into the world alone. Oh God, when she was so helpless.” It was as if I were realizing the magnitude of it all for the very first time, and another wave of sobs rose up in me.

  I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure. “There are plenty of young, beautiful, capable women who would gladly marry him and bear his children,” I said, trying to be realistic.

  “Oh, stop that kind of talk. But Olive, I’m telling you, if you walk down that aisle and then he finds out afterwards that you kept this from him, then you will most definitely lose him. You might be married, but he won’t trust you. He may not be able to forgive you, and then you’ll be alone in a loveless, resentful marriage for the rest of your life. You both will. Tell him now, Olive. You have to, it’s the only way.”

  I nodded. I knew she was right, I just didn’t know if I could.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  When I returned to the camp a few days later, it was quiet. Plants had been delivered and set up around the property, giving the camp a tropical feel. An inviting aroma of baking came from the kitchen. I didn’t see Archie, who must have been out with one of the guides. We’d had so many guests all summer that I’d almost forgotten what it was like to hear the birds, the gentle rustle of the breeze in the trees and the stillness. In less than a week the wedding guests would start to arrive, staying at the camp or at Paul Smith’s Hotel. We’d get caught up in the hosting and the entertaining, and we’d have few moments to ourselves, and then the wedding would be upon us, an
d I’d be walking down the aisle. Archie would be standing under the trellis, the lake in the background, and he’d be smiling and … I shut my eyes. Stop it, just stop thinking, I told myself. I needed a distraction. Everything was too quiet, too still.

  I changed out of my city clothes and put on my trousers and my galoshes and walked down to the farm. Eugene was there, and when he saw me approach his face broke into a huge smile.

  “Is there news?” I asked.

  “There is,” he said. “She had a filly. Come and see.”

  I slowly approached the stable and peeked my head into the stall. Lady stood proudly next to her foal, who was skinny, all legs, her coat fluffy like a rabbit’s. She had almost exactly the same markings as Lady—golden brown, three white feet and a white spot on her nose.

  “Oh, Eugene, she’s magnificent.” I wanted to reach out and touch her.

  Lady stepped forward, pushing the foal slightly behind her as if to protect her from me.

  “It’s okay, Lady, I’m just looking,” I said.

  “She’s been tending to her, watching over her while she sleeps, the little one hasn’t left her dam’s side.”

  “When was she born?”

  “Yesterday. Lady barely needed any help, she knew exactly what to do. The filly came out hoofs first, her nose resting on her legs, back up, just as she should. They bonded right away. Little one nursed quickly, and she stood herself up within thirty minutes of being born.”

  “A strong one,” I said quietly. “I knew she would be.”

  “Once she stood, she was a bit too excited, wobbling around her dam for a good hour, getting used to her legs. She didn’t want to get any rest, but Lady got her settled. You should be able to go in there soon and see them, but we’re letting them alone for now.”