Читать книгу The Showstopper - Mary Casanova - Страница 7

THAT AFTERNOON, REBECCA put all her energy into playing the part of a perfectly happy farm girl. As she raked the chicken yard, a small orchestra onstage was practicing “The Little Ford Rambled Right Along.” The song had honking noises that made Rebecca giggle, and as she hoed between rows of beans, squash, and peppers, she couldn’t help singing along. At the end of each row, she took a twirl, pretending to dance with a partner. When the song ended, she stopped and fanned herself. That part wasn’t an act—being a farm girl was hard work. Even so, Rebecca thought, if it gave her the chance to deepen a friendship with Olivia Berry and see the famous Ziegfeld Follies behind the scenes, it would all be worth it.

When Flora gave the girls another chore inside the barn, Rebecca sighed with relief. It would be cooler out of the sun. “Parents won’t bring their children to watch me milk the cows if the stalls aren’t clean,” Flora said. “Every day, you must shovel them out, put lime on the wet spots, and fill the stalls with clean straw.”

“Lime?” Ana asked. “Like lemon? This is strange custom.”

Flora’s laugh was musical. “Not that kind of lime,” she said. “Here, I’ll show you.”

She removed the top of a wooden barrel and filled a metal scoop with white powder. “This is lime. It gets rid of that nose-pinching smell.”

Ana lowered her gaze to the floor. “I didn’t know this word has more than one meaning.”

Flora put her fingers under Ana’s chin and lifted it until their eyes met. “Don’t be embarrassed. You speak two languages. I only know English. Besides, your accent is adorable!”

Ana’s pink cheeks deepened in color, and as she smiled back at Flora, Rebecca suddenly felt outside the circle of a new friendship. Usually, she was quicker to make friends than shy Ana. But as she shoveled manure into a waiting wheelbarrow, she told herself it really shouldn’t bother her. If Mr. Hammerstein gave his permission, she was going to make friends with an up-and-coming Ziegfeld Girl!

When the wheelbarrow was full, the girls took turns pushing it along one of the winding paths toward the manure pile. Along the way, they passed a young man and woman rowing a small boat around the pond, and three young women working in a garden just beyond a group of small stone cottages. Along with woven floppy hats, the women wore blue overalls and white blouses. One of them looked up and waved enthusiastically at Rebecca and Ana as if they were lifelong friends. The girls waved back.

“The same costumes,” Ana whispered.

“It really is like playing a part onstage,” Rebecca said, wiping stinging sweat from her eyes. The thought made her feel a little better, and the good feeling stayed with her even as they struggled to empty the wheelbarrow into the manure pile.

On their return to the barn, customers were just beginning to arrive. Ladies in pastel dresses stepped off the elevator and opened their parasols. Their children looked freshly scrubbed, their cheeks pink and their clothes spotless.

Rebecca glanced down at her overalls and at Ana’s, both now spotted with muck. She held her head high and forced a look of contentment as they pushed the empty wheelbarrow to the barn.

Flora met them at the open door. “Oh, you two are so much more helpful than the other farm girls. They think they’re just part of the scenery. They forget that they actually need to work. Thank you, girls! You can talk to Mr. Hammerstein now. His office is on the first floor.”

…

As the girls entered his office, Mr. Hammerstein glowered at them from behind an enormous wooden desk. Rebecca coughed, as if to break free the question that suddenly felt stuck in her throat. “Excuse us, Mr. Hammerstein, but we need to ask you something very important.”

“So, ask,” Mr. Hammerstein said.

“It’s about one of your customers.” Rebecca explained Ollie’s request that she deliver a glass of fresh milk to the neighboring theater during their lunch break each day.

Mr. Hammerstein harrumphed. “That’s not what I am paying you for. Those Ziegfeld Girls are awfully high-minded, thinking they can get special deliveries on my dime. Absolutely not. Now go. And close the door behind you.”

Rebecca’s shoulders sank. “But…” She scrambled to come up with another way to ask the question—a way that might lead to yes instead of no. A way that would allow her to salvage the one good thing she’d found in this awful new job. But nothing came to mind. Mr. Hammerstein doesn’t seem like the kind of person you can convince, Rebecca thought, not once his mind is made up. Crushed, she took Ana’s hand and turned to go. On the way out, she let the door slam harder than she meant to.

“I guess I’ll have to find a way to tell Ollie,” Rebecca said as they started down the hall.

“Girls!” Mr. Hammerstein bellowed from behind the closed door. “Come back!”

“We are in trouble?” Ana asked, suddenly looking very worried.

“I don’t know,” Rebecca said. She turned the doorknob and stepped back in, bracing herself for a scolding.

Mr. Hammerstein was leaning forward on his desk, a freshly lit cigar between his fingers. “New thought,” he said. “A unique opportunity. It’s always good to keep an eye on the competition.” He flicked a bit of ash into a gold-embossed glass ashtray. “My biggest competition is Ziggy Ziegfeld and his blasted New Amsterdam Theater. No matter what I do, he’s always trying to one-up me. So, I tell you what. I’ll let you make your deliveries to Miss Berry if you—and I mean both of you—fill me in on what’s going on over there.”

“Both of us?” Ana asked. “But Miss Berry did not say—”

“I need as many eyes and ears on that place as possible,” Mr. Hammerstein cut in. “I want to know who’s onstage, what’s being practiced. I want to know what acts are coming before the public knows.”

“You want us to spy,” Ana said, crossing her arms over her chest. “In Russia there were spies.”

Rebecca stepped on the toe of Ana’s boot. Was she trying to ruin everything?

“I wouldn’t use that word,” Mr. Hammerstein said, taking a puff on his cigar. A cloud of smoke drifted in front of his face. “This is Broadway! I’m simply asking you to be my eyes and ears. Use some acting skills!”

Rebecca liked the word acting much better than spying.

“One more thought,” Mr. Hammerstein continued, leaning across the desk toward them. “I can fill your jobs—as well as a certain set painter’s position—at any hour of any day. In this city, there’s always someone looking for work.”

The girls looked at each other, sharing the same thought: He’d backed them into a corner. He was threatening their jobs—and Michael’s—if they didn’t agree. With Uncle Jacob and Cousin Josef suddenly out of work, Rebecca knew that Michael’s job was critical to Ana’s family.

Still, Rebecca allowed herself to smile. Mr. Hammerstein may have given them no choice—but he’d also given his approval. Tomorrow they would visit the famous Olivia Berry at the New Amsterdam Theater, and Rebecca couldn’t be more excited. “You can rely on us, sir,” she said.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll let Flora know that I have given permission for both of you to assist Miss Berry. I want you to take a full half hour every day for your delivery. Of course, that means you’ll have to work extra hard to get your work done at the farm.”

“A half hour?” It was even more than Rebecca had hoped for. “What if we get kicked out of the theater?”

“Act like you belong,” he said, “and everyone will assume you do.” Then he waved them out the door.

…

The subway train bounced along, careening around corners and squeaking at each stop. Smelling of the turpentine he’d used to clean paintbrushes, Michael sat by himself. The girls huddled together, going over their day.

“I can’t wait to find out more about the ethereal Olivia Berry,” Rebecca said. “I mean, she’s the biggest rising star in all of New York City, and yet she’s friendly to us.”

“To you,” Ana corrected her.

Is Ana envious? Rebecca wondered. Remembering how it had stung to feel left out by Flora and Ana earlier in the day, Rebecca tried to smooth things over. “Won’t it be fun for us to see what the Follies are all about?” she asked. “Mr. Hammerstein didn’t have to ask me to keep my eyes and ears open. I would anyway!”

“Mr. Hammerstein wants us to spy. Nothing good comes of spying,” Ana said, gazing out the window at the dark subway walls as they flew past. “We must tell parents.”