Читать книгу The Showstopper - Mary Casanova - Страница 5

“THANK GOODNESS YOUR brother saved us!” Rebecca said. Arm in arm with her cousin, Ana, the two girls climbed the stairs from the subway station. “I’d much rather visit a theater on Broadway than stay home embroidering doilies with our grandmother on such a warm day.”

Ana giggled, and then turned serious, adjusting her grip on the lunch basket she carried. “Yes, but is not good Michael forgot his lunch,” she said in her thick Russian accent. “With both Papa and my brother Josef out of work, my family needs money Michael will earn. How can he be hard worker if he has no food?”

“True,” Rebecca agreed. “He’s lucky he has us—and we’re lucky he forgot his lunch or else we’d still be at home pricking our fingers with our embroidery needles!”

“But Bubbie would be happy if we do needlework!” Ana teased.

“And we would be miserable!” Rebecca replied, throwing her arm over her forehead dramatically and making her cousin laugh.

The midday sun pierced Rebecca’s eyes. She stepped out of the flow of people to get her bearings and check the street signs. They’d made their route from the Lower East Side to 42nd Street, close to Times Square and Broadway. “We’re right where we should be. The Victory Theater is only a half block away!”

The sidewalk and street bustled with pushcarts and vendors selling fresh flowers, fruit, and tickets to Broadway shows. She and Ana wove past a group of ladies whose hair was tucked under fashionable hats and whose tight-waisted dresses skimmed their ankles. A boy wearing suspenders and a jaunty cap hawked newspapers at the corner. Businessmen whisked by in well-pressed suits and polished shoes.

“Ana, look!” Rebecca said, pointing. Towering four stories above them, the Victory Theater proclaimed its presence with huge letters along its rooftop. “That’s it!”

“Michael works there?” Ana said with awe.

Rebecca grinned and started toward the theater.

“Wait!” Ana stopped under the marquee of a neighboring theater. She pointed at a poster featuring the image of a young starlet with captivating eyes set in a heart-shaped face. Auburn curls framed her flawless skin and demure smile.

“I know her!” Ana exclaimed.

“All of New York knows her!” Rebecca said. She read the poster aloud:

THE PRETTIEST SHOPGIRL IN NEW YORK

OLIVIA BERRY

TO TAKE THE STAGE WITH

THE FAMOUS ZIEGFELD FOLLIES

AT THE NEW AMSTERDAM THEATER!

Oh! Rebecca dreamed of being a famous actress. And here was Olivia Berry—who just last spring was an ordinary girl working in a shop—with a show of her own. Such luck!

Rebecca lingered a second longer, trying not to feel envious. She reminded herself that she’d been lucky, too, when she’d recently gone to watch her mother’s cousin Max and his fiancée, Lily, act on a movie set—and stumbled into her own small role in the film! Those brief moments as a real actress had given Rebecca a taste for the stage, and now she wanted more.

Acting here on Broadway would be thrilling, Rebecca thought. On Broadway, unlike in movies, every song, dance, comedy skit, and magic show was performed live, right in front of the audience. Actors didn’t get the chance to do a second or third “take” on a scene. They had to get it right the first time, each and every performance. In Rebecca’s eyes, being live onstage was as exciting as being in a movie.

It could happen, she told herself. You never know when another unexpected opportunity might turn up! With a sigh, she turned away and gazed across the street at the Victory Theater, excitement zipping up her spine. “Let’s go!” she said, grabbing Ana’s hand.

Eyes open for fresh horse manure, speeding carriages, and honking automobiles, the girls hurried across the street. A white-haired doorman greeted them with a tip of his hat as they stepped up to the ornately carved double doors. “Are you lost, young ladies?”

“We need to deliver lunch to my cousin, Michael Rubin,” Rebecca said. “He’s a painter here.”

“I’ll see to it that it gets to him,” the doorman replied, reaching for the basket on Ana’s arm.

Rebecca thought fast, quickly stepping between the doorman and Ana. She was too close to a real Broadway theater to simply walk away! She longed for a peek at the stage, or a glimpse of a performer or two. “Thank you, sir, but he insisted that we deliver it in person,” she explained.

“And why is that?” the man asked, tilting his head.

Rebecca frowned and did her best to look serious. “Well,” she replied, “he said he has reason to worry that it may not reach him, and under no circumstances were we to leave this in anyone else’s hands but his. We promised!” She dropped her voice. “After all, sir, a promise is a promise.”

The doorman let out a long, slow breath, as if he’d heard this excuse before. “The painters are working on the rooftop,” he said, holding the door wide. “Take the stairs. The elevator is for patrons.”

“Thank you, kind sir!” Rebecca said. She hoped she hadn’t been too dramatic.

Ana elbowed her as they stepped inside. “Rebecca!” she whispered. “That wasn’t all true.”

“Just a little acting, Ana,” Rebecca reassured her. “It worked, didn’t it?”

The girls headed up the staircase, quickly at first and then slowly after the long climb began to steal their breath. Just as they rounded the last turn, a large rat skittered across the landing in front of Ana, making her jump and nearly drop the lunch basket. “Oh!” she cried. “I do not like rats!”

“Neither do I!” Rebecca answered, shrinking back. Ignoring the ache in her lungs, Rebecca raced up the remaining stairs with Ana. They burst through the door at the top.

Emerging into the bright sunlight, Rebecca caught her breath and stared, open-mouthed. This was no ordinary rooftop—it was a whole new world above the city! To her left, hundreds of seats fanned out in front of a stage, where acrobats practiced spins and flips. To the right, Rebecca spotted a flowing creek, a pond with boats, and what looked like a ruined castle. Beyond the open-air café at the center of the huge space, steps rose to an arching wooden bridge leading to a little farm that looked just like the ones Rebecca had read about in fairy tales. The barn looked almost like a house, with dormers and paned windows. Towering over the farm’s green gardens was a Dutch windmill, its sails spinning with a soft whup, whup, whup.

“Is this heaven?” Ana said, covering her mouth and holding back a giggle. “Oh my!”

“It’s beautiful,” Rebecca agreed. She turned toward the stage and was imagining herself there, doing a comedy routine, making an audience laugh, when Michael stepped out from around the stage’s backdrop. He took off his painter’s hat, exposing his straight brown hair, and waved the cap high above his head.

The girls followed him behind the stage, where a man was painting a scene of white swans amid blooming lily pads on a wooden backdrop. The scene looked so real that Rebecca almost thought she could dive into it. Michael spoke to the painter—a short man with weathered skin and a mop of red curls—before rejoining the girls.

“I ask to take break early. My boss, Mr. O’Hara, I want to keep on good side.” Michael laughed. “He is amazing scene painter. He has come far; he is immigrant, like us,” he said, nudging Ana. Then he reached for the lunch basket. “I am starving!”

The trio found a patch of shade beneath the huge flowerpots that lined the edge of the rooftop. “Please, share,” he said, pulling rye bread, sausage, carrots, and dill pickles from the basket.

Rebecca broke off a small chunk of bread. “You’re so lucky to work here!” she said.

“Not as lucky as Mr. O’Hara.” Michael held up his hand, fingers splayed. “He start here just five months ago. He work hard, and already is boss, called ‘head set painter.’ In America, you can be anything!” He grinned and took a bite of sausage.

“Take your time eating, Michael,” Rebecca said, enraptured by it all. “I want to stay here as long as possible.” She ventured closer to the railing at the edge of the rooftop and risked a glance toward the street, but it was such a long way down that it made her insides spin, and she looked away. Just as she sat down again, the nearby elevator doors opened.

A tall, square-shouldered man stepped out. Despite the heat, he wore a black vest, black coat with tails, and a towering top hat. He strode down the theater aisle and talked with the acrobat troupe onstage.

“That is Mr. Oscar Hammerstein,” Michael said. “He owns whole building and runs the theater. He hired me.”

Soon Mr. Hammerstein was headed in their direction, squinting curiously at Rebecca and Ana. “Girls, where are your parents?”

Michael jumped up and wiped his hands on his paint-splattered overalls. “Sorry, Mr. Hammerstein,” he said. “I forget lunch, and my sister and cousin, they bring to me.”

Mr. Hammerstein crossed his arms and studied the girls. Though his stare made Rebecca squirm, she held her head high and smiled back. This man owns the whole theater! she thought. This could be one of those unexpected opportunities.

“You,” he said to Rebecca finally. “You would be perfect for a supporting role here on the rooftop.”

“Really?” Rebecca held her breath. A thrill of anticipation bubbled up inside her.

Mr. Hammerstein looked to Ana. “Both of you. In fact, you can start tomorrow morning. Mind you, payday doesn’t come until the end of the week.”

“But tomorrow’s the Sabbath,” Ana said. “We’re Jewish.”

Rebecca shot her cousin a silencing stare. Yes, Saturdays were traditionally the day of rest for Jewish families. But things in America were different from Russia, where her cousins used to live, and this looked like a huge opportunity. Why ruin it before they even knew what it was?

Mr. Hammerstein harrumphed. “Well I’m Jewish, too, but that’s never stopped me from conducting business. I say treat every day like it’s the opening night of the performance.”

Rebecca nodded. “My father keeps our shoe shop open on Saturdays. I’ve worked many times with him when he’s needed help.”

Mr. Hammerstein nodded. “See? Good Jewish girls can certainly work on the Sabbath.”

“I’m sure my parents will let us come back tomorrow,” Rebecca declared. In truth, she wasn’t at all sure her parents—or Ana’s—would allow them to play parts on a vaudeville stage. Still, she thought, if you don’t act confident, you don’t get the part.

“Then you must get measured for costumes before you leave,” Mr. Hammerstein insisted. “You’ll find our seamstress, Mrs. Rothstein, on the third floor.”

“See you in the morning!” Rebecca said as Mr. Hammerstein turned and walked away.

“Rebecca!” Ana frowned. “I know you want to be actress. And I want job, too, to help my family. But you should not promise. We must ask parents first!”

Rebecca met her eyes. “Don’t worry, Ana. It can’t hurt to act hopeful.”

…

“Watch for rats,” Ana warned as they entered the stairwell again.

Rebecca shuddered, and they hurried down two flights to the costume shop on the third floor. Squeezing between racks of dresses covered in ruffles, lace, and sequins, the girls made their way to the fitting area. They passed a cutting table laden with bolts of sheer cloth and silky ribbon, and Rebecca couldn’t help running her fingers along the satiny fabrics. The costumes were as colorful as candy, she thought, and a hundred times more beautiful.

They found tiny Mrs. Rothstein in the center of it all, stitching the sleeves of a feathery jacket.

Rebecca greeted her. “Mr. Hammerstein said that he had supporting roles for us,” she explained proudly.

“Sit,” Mrs. Rothstein said, speaking around the pins she held between her lips. “You girls are not so important. I have other acts that come before you.”

Rebecca and Ana shared an amused look and sat down on a velvet couch in the corner. At last, the tiny woman set down the jacket and eyed the cousins from head to toe. Then she draped each girl with fabric and set about measuring and marking at expert speed. “Yes, good. Very good,” she said as she worked, her hands and body in constant motion. “Stand straight,” she told Rebecca, who was practically vibrating with excitement. “There. Good. Done.”

By the time Rebecca and Ana reached the lobby, Michael was waiting for them. Once the three of them were on the subway, Rebecca plopped on a seat beside Michael and Ana and sighed happily.

“I can’t believe this!” she said. “What do you suppose we’ll do onstage? Ana and I performed at the school assembly, so we’ve had practice singing, but perhaps we’ll have to learn to dance.” Rebecca paused for a moment. “Maybe we’ll need to audition so they can decide which roles we get.”

“If Hammerstein wants you in show,” Michael said with admiration, “he make it happen like Houdini. But convincing our parents not so easy.”

Rebecca turned to Ana. “We’ll talk to them during dinner tonight,” she declared. “But how will we persuade them?”

“We tell first about payment,” Ana suggested.

Rebecca nodded. “Good thinking. Keep it practical. Jobs and money.”

Michael lifted his forefinger in warning. “You girls be careful. Mr. Hammerstein, he not so honest, I am told.”

“Oh?” Rebecca said, not eager to hear anything that might dampen her hopes.

“I hear he fill whole Victory building with stolen goods. When big passenger ship stuck in harbor, Mr. Hammerstein, he find out and steal every rug, every furniture from ship for his theaters. What they call this, funny word…flimflammery?”

“Flimflum-what?” Ana asked.

“Flimflam. A kind of trick, I think,” Rebecca replied.

“It’s like this,” Michael said. He pulled a penny from the pocket of his overalls and held it up. “Let’s say you give me penny.” He closed his fist around the coin, made a rolling motion with his hands, and opened his fist again. The penny was gone! He opened his other hand, and there it was.

The girls laughed.

“If I make your penny disappear and give it back to you, what you call that?” he asked.

“Magic trick,” Ana said, beaming.

Michael did the trick again. This time, both palms were empty. “But if I make your coin disappear and you never see it again, what you call that?”

“Cheat,” Ana answered.

“Swindle,” Rebecca said. “Flimflam.”

Michael nodded. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the missing penny, and held it up. “I think Mr. Hammerstein like to keep other people’s money in his pocket. Believe me, I’m happy for job. But I feel better when he pay me the money.”

Rebecca crossed her arms and whispered. “Michael, would you mind not saying anything about flimflams to our parents? This could still be a great chance for Ana and me to get onstage.”

“Sure,” Michael said. “But if you get job, I say, keep one eye open.”