Читать книгу The Showstopper - Mary Casanova - Страница 6

REBECCA LOVED THE Sabbath, which began with a traditional family meal every Friday night. When the cousins arrived home, the table was set for dinner, and the two candles in their heavy Shabbat candlesticks waited to be lit. Mama was wrapping freshly baked challah in a cloth, and the braided loaves of bread filled the kitchen with a sweet, yeasty fragrance. Rebecca wanted a slice that very moment, but she knew that she must wait until dinner, when a prayer would be recited just before the loaves were cut.

A knock came on the apartment door. Rebecca ran to open it. To her delight, Max and Lily stepped inside.

“Room for two more?” Lily said, flashing Rebecca a smile and planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Of course!” Papa replied. “Shabbat is for family.”

As the family moved their chairs closer to make room for the latecomers and Mama bustled about adding extra plates, Max threw his arm around Rebecca’s shoulders. “I heard about the strike and your brave speech.” Then he whispered in Rebecca’s ear, “Those acting skills come in handy, don’t they?”

Rebecca nodded, her cheeks growing warm. When she’d written a letter to the newspaper weeks ago, complaining about conditions at the clothing factory where her uncle worked, she’d never dreamed she’d end up reading it aloud to a large group of protesting factory employees. She’d acted confident and used a brave voice, despite feeling scared. She’d mustered that same confidence today at the Victory, hoping it might lead to new opportunities. She wanted to tell Max all about Mr. Hammerstein and the acting job, but she knew this wasn’t the time.

The dinner table overflowed with Papa, Mama, Rebecca’s twin older sisters, her brothers, Bubbie and Grandpa, Ana’s family, and now Max and Lily. Rebecca lit the candles, Papa prayed a blessing, and then everyone sang “Shalom Aleichem,” a song about welcoming angels of peace into the home. Rebecca smiled. It was as if God had sent her angels in the form of Max and Lily. Who better to help make her case for acting roles at Hammerstein’s theater than two film stars?

Through dinner, Rebecca couldn’t stop picturing herself on the rooftop stage. When she could eat no more and could no longer concentrate on the dinner conversation, she jumped in. “Mama? Papa?”

“What is it, Rebecca?” Papa said. Suddenly everyone fell silent as they turned their eyes to her. Rebecca glanced at Ana, who gave her an encouraging nod.

Rebecca took a deep breath and pushed ahead. “Ana and I were measured for costumes today at the Victory Theater, where Michael works.”

“Costumes? Whatever for?” Mama said, eyeing Rebecca with curiosity.

“We’ve been offered supporting roles onstage,” Rebecca said. “We’re even going to be paid for our work!”

Mama’s gaze flickered over to Michael, who didn’t say a word, much to Rebecca’s relief.

Ana and I are at least as sure about receiving payment as Michael is, she reasoned. The term flimflam fluttered through her mind, and she willed it to fly on by before turning back to her parents and pressing on. “The only thing we need, of course, is your permission.”

She didn’t realize how much she had been holding inside until she exhaled loudly. There. She’d said it.

She glanced at Max, who winked at her, as if reminding her that some things were still secret—like the film she’d played a part in, which was yet to be released. He rested his hand on top of Lily’s.

Bubbie, her gray wig slightly askew, didn’t hide her feelings. “Those Ziegfeld Girls who dance in their underwear and stockings—is scandalous!”

“Bubbie,” Max said, “not all roles on Broadway or in film are scandalous. Besides, the Ziegfeld Follies are in a different theater across the street from the Victory. Beckie and Ana aren’t being asked to be in the Follies, right?” He looked to Rebecca.

Grateful for his help, she smiled. “No, a supporting role in…comedy acts, skits, maybe some singing—”

“Vaudeville.” Bubbie spat out the word.

Max leaned back in his chair. “There are respectable acts even in vaudeville. It’s not the same as performing in a Broadway musical or playing a part for the films, but it could be a start. A place to practice acting skills.”

Rebecca shot Cousin Max an appreciative grin, and then turned her gaze to Mama and Papa. “Mr. Oscar Hammerstein himself sent us to be measured for costumes. He told us we could start work tomorrow,” she said. “It would be such a shame if the seamstress did all that work for nothing.”

“Girls,” Uncle Jacob said. “You know the Sabbath is day of rest.”

Ana nodded and finally chimed in. “Yes, Papa,” she said, “but we need money. And Michael already is working so hard.”

Rebecca nodded. “Just until Uncle Jacob and Josef find jobs,” she chimed in. “Every dollar we make will go to help Ana and her family.”

Bubbie pondered this for a moment. “I don’t like you work on Sabbath. But Ana’s family in such hard time now.” She looked to Michael. “You can look out for girls there?”

Michael nodded. “Yes. The girls can come and go with me. I make sure that nothing bad happen.”

Rebecca’s hopes rose as Bubbie looked to Papa. Papa and Mama looked to Ana’s parents.

Things are turning in our favor, Rebecca thought as she and Ana shared a hopeful glance. The less I say, the better.

…

Pausing beneath the gilded lampposts outside the Victory the next morning, Rebecca gripped Ana’s hand. “Let’s stop for a minute,” she said. “For our first rehearsal, we want to look calm and confident, not rushed.”

“Take your time,” Michael said, walking ahead, “but I need to get to work.”

“If there’s an audition,” Rebecca mused, “I could do something funny like I did on Coney Island. Or I could recite the speech I made at the strike site—standing up for the fair treatment of workers.”

“Maybe I sing song from spring recital,” said Ana.

They met each other’s eyes and shared a grin.

“I still can’t believe we got permission to come back!” Rebecca said.

“If…” Ana reminded her.

Rebecca nodded. “Yes, if.”

There were a lot of ifs. Their parents had agreed that Rebecca and Ana could return to Hammerstein’s theater, but only if Michael agreed that the roles were respectable for young girls. And they could work only until Uncle Jacob and Josef found work—or until school started in two weeks.

Rebecca drew in a gulp of warm city air. “Let’s go.”

Then the girls walked through the doors and up the stairs to try on their new costumes.

“I worked all night,” Mrs. Rothstein said, removing two blue outfits from a rack. She pointed to two dressing rooms. “Try them on.”

A few moments later, the girls stepped out in identical white blouses with puffed short sleeves, lightweight blue overalls, and long cotton stockings. Rebecca curtsied to her reflection in the full-length mirror. “Our costumes are adorable!” she said. “Even Bubbie would approve. Nothing scandalous!”

Mrs. Rothstein handed them each a pair of knee-high rubber boots. “Not easy finding sizes for you, but here you are.”

Boots? Rebecca’s smile shrank the slightest bit. The tall black boots were not pretty, and certainly not good for dancing. But, she thought, perhaps the costume was for a comedy routine. Boots like that could be funny, at least, even if they weren’t glamorous.

She pulled on the boots. They fit perfectly.

Mrs. Rothstein gave the girls an approving nod. “Okay. Now, up to the top with you!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rothstein!” Rebecca wanted to hug her. As she and Ana climbed the stairs, she practically skipped from step to step, forgetting even to watch out for rats. To the top! she told herself. We are on our way to the top!

…

Emerging from the stairway, Rebecca looked for Mr. Hammerstein, or someone who looked like a stage director, until a woman waving from outside the barn caught her eye.

“Over here, girls!” the woman called. Her white puff-sleeve blouse, red corset-style bodice, blue skirt, and white apron showed off an hourglass figure. “Mr. Hammerstein told me to expect you!” She waved them closer.

As they walked toward the barn, Rebecca looked back across the expanse of empty seats to the stage. “Mr. Hammerstein offered us supporting roles in the theater. Shouldn’t we be over there?”

The woman’s laugh was high and breezy. “Well, you’ve got ‘supporting roles’ all right! You’re just where you’re supposed to be. I’m Flora. What are your names?”

“Rebecca Rubin. But my friends call me Beckie.”

“I’m Ana Rubin.”

“Sisters,” Flora said.

“Cousins,” Ana corrected her.

Flora took a moment to study the girls from their boots to the crown of their heads. “You look perfect,” she said. “The question is, are you serious about chores? I can’t do all the farmwork myself.”

Chores? As Ana nodded, Rebecca could only look down at her clunky rubber boots. She had a sudden feeling they had made a terrible mistake.

“Do you like farm animals?” Flora continued.

Ana’s face lit up. “I love all animals!” she said, then her face grew serious. “Except rats. I am very frightened of rats.”

“Don’t worry,” Flora said soothingly. “You won’t be in charge of any rats here.” She put her hand on Ana’s shoulder. “You have a sweet accent. Where are you from?”

“Russia,” Ana said, her smile widening. “We do not have farms on rooftops in Russia.”

Flora laughed. “No, I suppose not. It’s unusual, even for New York City!”

“But I thought…” Rebecca began. She swallowed past a growing lump of disappointment and tried again. “I thought we were going to be onstage.”

Flora put her hands on her hips. “Everything’s a stage here, Beckie. This farm is a kind of theater. Customers come for the shows, food, and drink. That’s where I come in. They love to watch a Dutch maid milk the cow. I give them milk fresh from the bucket. They bring their children and spend hours enjoying this little piece of heaven on a summer evening. And it is your job to keep the farm tidy and in working order so that they may enjoy it.”

Rebecca’s heart slid down a few notches. There would be, she realized, no singing or dancing, no comedy routines—only buckets and boots and boring chores. “I think there’s been some mistake,” she blurted, holding back tears. “I’d better talk to Mr. Hammerstein.”

“No point in that,” Flora said matter-of-factly. “We may not be the Ziegfeld Follies, but we are one of the most popular stops in the city. If you want a job, this is it. Take it or leave it.”

“We take it,” Ana said enthusiastically before Rebecca could respond.

Flora smiled. “Good. I’ll show you around.”

Rebecca trudged behind Ana as Flora led them through the barn, past animal pens, and alongside one of the vegetable gardens. Their work, Flora told the girls, would consist of cleaning stalls, washing out milk buckets, pulling weeds, keeping goats brushed, and making sure everything was “shipshape” before the customers arrived. When they returned to the barn, she handed each girl a broom.

“May as well get started,” she said brightly.

Outside the barn, Rebecca flicked her broom halfheartedly at a small clump of hay. She was working up the courage to tell Flora she was quitting when she spotted a lovely young woman approaching. The woman’s dress had so many layers of soft green fabric that it made a gentle swishing noise as she came closer.

“Gee,” the woman said. “You look like you could be my little sister!”

“I do?” Rebecca gazed up at the woman’s heart-shaped face and the soft tendrils of auburn hair escaping from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. That face! Rebecca would know it anywhere. “You’re Olivia Berry!” she gasped. “Prettiest Shopgirl in New York City!”

“Shhh,” the woman said, holding a finger to her perfectly painted lips. “Call me Ollie.”

Rebecca introduced herself and Ana. Ollie smiled, and Rebecca understood instantly why Olivia Berry had won the contest. She was pretty in a way that somehow made you feel as if you’d been friends forever and ever.

“I’m here for my daily glass of fresh milk—for my complexion,” Ollie said, pressing her palm to her cheek theatrically. “It’s all the rage, you know.”

Rebecca nodded, mesmerized. “I’m not sure where…” she began. Flora had said something earlier about fresh milk, and Rebecca suddenly wished she’d been paying more attention.

“We are new here,” Ana explained.

“Follow me, girls,” Ollie said.

Rebecca and Ana put down their brooms and trailed behind her. Just then, Michael’s boss, Mr. O’Hara, appeared around the corner of the barn, adjusting the collar of his paint-splattered work shirt.

“Good morning, Miss Olivia!” he said.

“Good morning,” Ollie answered without even turning in his direction.

Mr. O’Hara continued in a lilting voice:

“‘Go and love, go and love, young man,

If the lady be young and fair.’

Ay, penny, brown penny, brown penny,

I am looped in the loops of her hair.”

Rebecca recognized the lines. Her teacher last year had loved to read poetry by William Butler Yeats. Mr. O’Hara’s singsong accent made the poem sound even more beautiful, she thought.

“Lovely, Mr. O’Hara,” Ollie said, not breaking her stride. It didn’t seem to Rebecca that she meant it.

With a flourish, Mr. O’Hara opened the door and bowed his head of red curls as Ollie passed, as if she were a queen. As he did so, a metal flask dropped to his feet. Thunk. Mr. O’Hara swept up the flask and sheepishly stashed it back in his shirt pocket as Ollie fluttered past him.

“You’ve not seen that, girls,” he whispered. Then he gave Rebecca a wink.

Rebecca looked away quickly. She was pretty sure that flasks like that were used for carrying whiskey and other strong drinks. Was Mr. O’Hara drinking on the job? She heard Bubbie’s disapproving voice in her head, and wondered for a moment if she should tell Michael. But as she hurried behind Ollie into the barn, she swiftly dismissed the thought. Telling Michael about Mr. O’Hara’s flask might make Michael decide their job was unsuitable for young girls. And thanks to Miss Olivia Berry, the job suddenly seemed much more interesting.

Inside the barn, a sweet aroma rose from the hay bales stacked against the wall. On the opposite wall, a row of low windows cast soft light onto a wide ceramic sink, counter, cabinet, and icebox.

“Hello, Flora,” Olivia said, her voice cheerful. “I’m here for my milk.”

“Hello, Ollie,” Flora said, rising from a wooden bench. She opened the icebox, and cold air rushed out. Six pitchers of milk filled the shelves. Flora withdrew a pitcher, filled a glass from the cabinet, and handed the milk to Ollie.

“I see you have new helpers,” Ollie said. “That’s perfect, because now that the Follies are in rehearsal every day, I won’t have time to come for my milk myself. I’ll need someone to deliver it to my dressing room at the New Amsterdam.”

“I could do that,” Rebecca offered quickly. If she couldn’t be onstage, getting closer to a famous performer would be the next best thing. And the Follies were just across the street, Max had said.

“Oh, Beckie, I’d be ever so grateful,” Ollie said, clapping her hands together. Then she sighed dramatically. “I’m so dreadfully busy learning dance steps for the Follies. Stage life is leaving me utterly exhausted!”

Flora rolled her eyes. “Such problems! Can’t someone from your own theater get the milk for you?”

“Sadly, there’s really no one at the Amsterdam I can ask,” Ollie said. “I haven’t made many friends yet among the Ziegfeld Girls. It’s…it’s very competitive. I’ve got my first big role in the new show, and there’s a lot riding on my performance. If the show’s a success, the sky’s the limit for me. If it’s not…” Ollie straightened her shoulders. “Well, I just won’t think about that. I’ve come too far to go back to waiting on customers in a shop.”

Ollie sighed again. “I could use some help—just until the new show opens on Friday. Is that too much to ask?”

“I suppose not,” Flora managed.

“Well, it’s settled then!” Ollie drank her milk, licked her rosebud lips, and set the glass on the countertop. “I’ll let the doorman know to expect Beckie at lunch. As Flora well knows, our doorman, Mr. Teller, is a tough nut to crack,” she said. “He has a difficult job. He’s always turning away men who claim to be madly in love with one of us Ziegfeld Girls. I swear, they come around like bees to honey!”

“I’m sure they do,” Flora said, her tone sour.

Rebecca’s thoughts bounced to Mr. O’Hara. She had wondered why Ollie had been so cool toward him, but now she supposed that with so many people wanting your attention, it might be hard to show your appreciation for everyone—even if they recited poetry for you.

Ollie suddenly squinted at Rebecca, breaking her train of thought. “Hey,” she said, “you look so much like my sister that I think you could pass in and out quite easily!” She patted her tiny green purse. “I’m able to pay, of course—sis. See you tomorrow then?” Her smile was like a warm hug, inviting Rebecca into her world.

Then with a swish of gauzy fabric, Ollie was gone.

Flora snorted. “She thinks the world revolves around her.”

Mr. O’Hara stepped into the barn. It was clear to Rebecca that he had been waiting outside, hoping for another glimpse of Ollie. “Flora,” he said, “you’re jealous. I’ll admit, that ethereal creature takes me breath away.”

Ana’s brow wrinkled. “What’s ethereal?” she asked.

Flora shrugged. “Beats me. Our dear Mr. O’Hara is always spouting fancy words and poetry. I think he makes half of it up!” She smiled a teasing smile, as if they shared a private joke.

Mr. O’Hara closed his eyes and grinned. “Ah, ethereal…means she’s so entirely perfect, so delicate, that she’s barely of this world.”

“You’ve lost your mind, Mr. O’Hara,” Flora said. “I knew Ollie before she was famous. We worked at the same department store. Just a regular gal. In fact, if I hadn’t told her about that ‘prettiest shopgirl’ contest, she wouldn’t be where she is today.”

“On that, we disagree,” Mr. O’Hara said. “Heaven sent, she is.”

Rebecca couldn’t help nodding. To her, Ollie really was heavenly, and it didn’t seem right that Flora, and the performers who shared the stage with Ollie, couldn’t see that. Still, Rebecca knew from her brief time on the film set with Max and Lily that actors could be fiercely competitive. Everyone wanted to reach the top—and there were only a few spotlight roles. How awful to work in a place where no one would be happy for your success! Rebecca suddenly felt protective toward Ollie.

“I can’t wait until our lunch break tomorrow—” she started.

Irritation flared in Flora’s eyes. “Girls, you work for me, but Mr. Hammerstein is the one who pays you. You must clear this with him first—after you’ve put in a full day’s work.”

The girls nodded, surprised at Flora’s sudden crossness, and left the barn to continue their work.

As she swept, Rebecca’s broom felt as light as a feather. With any luck, by this time tomorrow, she would see where Ollie and the Ziegfeld Girls performed. If only Mr. Hammerstein would agree!