Chapter Fifteen
After the show, the crowds that gather outside the Casino Theatre are even bigger than the crowds inside.
Men, mostly. Silver-haired gentlemen in dapper three-piece suits with walking sticks and top hats, younger fellows milling about, both their attire and their demeanors of a less distinguished variety as they call out their offers to take us to dine, to drink, to dance.
One of the younger girls in our cast, Penny May, pulls me aside, winding her thin arm through mine as we step out into the warm Manhattan night following the Saturday show.
It was a packed house. I’m looking forward to a few hours with the girls to cut loose and enjoy some carefree frolicking before it’s time to collapse into bed.
I’ve changed into a new dress of pale purple that hugs tightly at my curves, and though I’ve washed off a good amount of the stage makeup, I still feel dolled up and beautiful, young and buzzing with energy in spite of the hours I’ve just spent dancing.
“Don’t fall for that type,” Penny says with a jut of her chin, and I follow her gaze toward the nearby crowd of fellows who linger outside the theater’s back doors.
“What would I fall for?” I ask, gliding alongside Penny past the mob. Some of the gents hold flowers; some of them cry out for our signatures. One even has the gumption to ask us for a kiss.
“Stage-Door Johnnies and Champagne Charlies. I don’t have to guess what they think of you, dollface.” Penny gives a jaded roll of her eyes, then tilts her pretty blond head toward mine. “They promise the world, but most could barely afford to deliver a snow globe.”
I take this in, recalling the man in our dingy boardinghouse in Pittsburgh, inviting me in, talking about his grand home out in the country. Little has changed, I suppose; only, here in New York, the men talk faster and, when they can afford to, dress with more flair.
Penny and I fall into step together, making our way up Broadway with a small gaggle of the other chorus girls, but she speaks only to me as she says, “All they want at the end of the day is the hootchy-kootchy.”
I crumple my face at her odd expression. “The what now?”
Penny pauses her steps and, arm still linked with mine, throws me a teasing sort of look.
“You are too sweet, aren’t you?” Lifting an eyebrow, she fixes me with a look of mock sternness.
“You better smarten up, kid. I’m just saying: don’t get reeled in with lies or empty words.
No, you want to hook yourself a real man.
If he’s going to make you promises, then make sure he puts his money on the line for you.
Love, why, that’ll come and then go, real fast. But the greenbacks? That’s what keeps.”
I nod as though I’m entirely up to speed, and Penny seems content to leave it at that.
But in truth this is all so much to take in.
This, right here, is what I want: a girlfriend with her arm in mine, our glamorous heeled shoes clicking against the pavement of Broadway as we make our way through the bright New York City night.
Mamma at home, warm and fed, our days of privation feeling like a bad and receding memory.
And someday soon, enough money put aside to bring Kit up north to us.
Things, for the first time in quite a while, feel good.
Men with cash, men peddling grand promises, why, their flattery might feel nice. But for now, this is all I want.
—
The shows are fun and fast-paced, but the nights afterward—those are even better. That’s when we frolic and let loose, our playtime after the play. And because we are beautiful and young and starring in one of Broadway’s hottest shows this summer, Manhattan is our playground.
We leave the theater as a small mob most nights, strutting out together to a supper club, a dance hall, or sometimes Annissa’s apartment. One steamy night in late July, Dolly and Dinah talk me and Penny into joining them at a supper club on Broadway and Forty-fourth.
“Let’s go to Rector’s,” they say brightly, and we agree, falling into step behind the Goodhue sisters, who seem to attract admiring stares everywhere they go.
I can’t help but giggle—it feels fun to be in a group of such vibrant girls.
Even out of costume, the four of us make quite a scene, and the stunned crowds of Broadway cleave before us like the parting of the Red Sea.
When I spot our destination up ahead, it’s my turn to be stunned.
It looks more like a cathedral than a restaurant.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing over the doorway, where a great big electric beast hulks as though he’s just landed above the awning.
It’s like an eagle with wings, but it’s got legs like a lion.
“Why, that’s the famous Rector’s griffin,” Dinah explains. “It won’t bite; it ain’t real. Come on.”
But I’m still dazzled by the scene unfurling before us, and my friend can tell.
Dinah leans close, draping an arm over my shoulder as she says, “I remember how it felt, the first time I came to Rector’s.
I’d never seen anything like this where I came from, neither.
They don’t have places like this in Steubenville, Ohio. ”
I cut a sideways look toward Dinah. “Why, you’re from Steubenville? I’m from Pittsburgh.”
“I know you are, kid,” Dinah says.
“Near your hometown.”
Dinah tips her head to the side at a coquettish angle.
“My dear little Spanish Maiden, you’re not the only chorus girl who came east chasing dreams. Now, how about we enjoy this big city that is ours?
” Dinah winks, and then she grabs Dolly by the hand and together they charge toward the door of Rector’s.
Before I enter, I pull Penny close, tugging on her arm.
“Look!” I say, as I stare ahead at yet another new sight. “The door…it’s turning in circles.”
Penny’s pretty features form an indulgent grin. “It’s called a revolving door, Ev. First one in Manhattan. You’ll feel like a hamster running around a wheel.”
I watch the spinning glass door for a moment longer in appreciative silence before saying, “More like a mouse. A country mouse.”
Penny takes my hand in hers, gives it a gentle squeeze. “Well, then, let’s go, country mouse.”
Following her lead, I run through, giggling.
But once we’ve wound our way to the interior of the crowded place, I don’t want to exit.
I’m having too much fun. So I just keep on running, and Penny does the same, the pair of us wheeling round and round as the patrons in the restaurant watch our delight.
Eventually, we allow ourselves to be disgorged by the glass revolving door and we sail into the place in a fit of near hysterics.
My laughter doesn’t die down as Dinah places a flute of chilled champagne in my hands and declares she’d like to make a toast. “To the new kid. You sure are one quick study.”
“Hear, hear,” Dolly agrees.
“To Evelyn, the tiger’s stripes,” Penny adds.
I look at each of them in turn, my smile warming my cheeks as I take a sip of the bubbly drink.
I relish the feeling as the cool ribbon of liquid slides down my throat and into my belly.
For the first time in, well, perhaps ever, I have friends, people who see me, care for me.
It’s a thrill to think that on the stage where I found my light, where I’m told each night to take my place, I’ve maybe finally found it.
—
That evening I slip back into our room just after two o’clock, stepping quietly so as not to wake Mamma. But my efforts are useless, for she sits up in bed, and even in the dark, I can tell she’s scowling. “Florence, what is the hour?”
Mamma doesn’t love it when I return late, but because the shows let out just before eleven, and then we have to change out of our costumes and make our way somewhere, it’s often the early morning before I’m heading home. “It’s late, Mamma. Sorry. I’m getting in bed now.”
“Nothing good happens after midnight, and you know it. You’re better off coming home and resting, rather than tipping the bottles.”
I sigh at this, shimmying into my thin nightgown.
“I didn’t get into any trouble, Mamma. Promise.
I was with Penny and Dinah and Dolly the whole time, and I only had one glass of champagne.
” That’s what I always do—switching to soda water if I want something in my hand.
Tonight it was mostly Penny and me blowing off steam on the dance floor.
I may love to romp with the girls, but I’m not a fool.
As much fun as it is to be a chorus girl both on and off the stage, I do remember that it’s a job, and it’s all that stands between us and destitution.
But Mamma doesn’t seem to give me much credit. “You keep carrying on like this, your face will get puffy. Why, I bet you will be haggard tomorrow. And no one’s going to have much desire to look at that.”
I lower myself into bed with a thud, my happy feelings from just a few moments ago melting into the steamy summer night.
Mamma isn’t asking what I’ve been up to—where I’ve been, with whom.
She doesn’t care if I’m out getting debauched or corrupted.
No, what she cares about is that I might lose my fresh-faced beauty—and with that, our paycheck.
But that ain’t about to happen. I’m in good standing with the company.
Within just a few short weeks after I first took my place onstage as the Spanish Maiden, the raves are coming in.
I’m not deaf or blind; I hear how the audience calls out for me, how the Stage-Door Johnnies hooting and hollering out back are mostly calling my name as we all file past.