Stretching her arms to the ceiling and shaking her hands limply at the wrist, she then wiggled her hips, jutting forward and backward in a suggestive fashion. It was a step she’d seen Edna Mae perform that always earned a chorus of howls. Now the eyeballs watching her were filled with awe instead of disdain.
Adding to the show, she bent at the waist, folding in half like a Chinese noodle, and hugged her knees, showing off her flexibility. But then, a hard nudge in the hip sent her flailing. Suddenly, she lay on the floor, sprawled facedown, tipped over like a clumsy cow.
“Damn it!” she yelped.
One of the girls had pushed Honoree in the backside. She scrambled to her feet.
“Why’d you do that?”
The girl with the polka-dot bandanna grinned. “Your butt was in my face.”
Honoree stepped to the girl. Chest to chest. Nose to nose. “You didn’t have to knock me down.”
The ribbons of the girl’s scarf flopped over her eyes like a puppy dog’s ears. She blew them out of her face. “I barely touched you. You lost your balance. So, back up. The dance master could walk in here any minute, and he doesn’t like seeing his girls fuss.”
Honoree frowned. “Dance master? Who’s that?”
“The choreographer,” said a girl with narrow eyes. “He makes up the steps and shows us the routine.”
“Most importantly, he chooses the girls to hire,” said Polka Dots.
Honoree’s heart tripped. “Doesn’t an invitation from Mr. Buttons guarantee a job in the chorus?”
“You’ve been listening to the rumors,” Polka Dots said. “It doesn’t always work that way.”
“I’ve been in this room on three separate occasions and didn’t get hired,” said the girl with finger waves so evenly laid they appeared drawn in with a paintbrush.
“Quite a few have left this room disappointed,” Polka Dots said.
“The dance master makes the final decision,” Finger Waves added. “He rehearses the dancers and stages the routines. He ain’t gonna hire someone he can’t work with.”
Honoree wanted to throw up. She had counted on this being a sure thing. She turned to Polka Dots. “Are you sure the dance master decides? At Miss Hattie’s, the owner hires the chorus girls.”
“Miss Hattie’s?” Polka Dots turned, and the ribbons of her bow covered her eyes again. She swiped them away. “Never heard of a Miss Hattie’s. It’s not on the Stroll, is it?”
The other girl looked at Honoree with new curiosity. “How’d you get an invite to this audition? Nothing but the best chorus girls on the Stroll got an invitation. You must be damn good, or someone made a mistake.”
A slender man entered the room, tapping the tip of a cane on the floorboards. He didn’t introduce himself. The way the girls cowered, he didn’t need to say his name. They knew who he was.
Wearing suspenders over a blindingly white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the dance master had an ageless face. His blue-black skin had no lines, no sagging flesh, no dark shadows beneath the eyes, although he was not a young man.
“Line up,” he said, using his cane as a pointer for emphasis.
Everyone sped to a spot and formed rows and divided into even groups. Polka Dots grabbed Honoree’s wrist and tugged her to the side.
“Stay close to me. You hear?”
The dance master stood in front of the room, facing a wall-length mirror. “We’ll start with the opening routine.” He flung his newsboy cap on top of the piano and demonstrated the steps. Then he tapped his cane on the floor again and pointed at three girls at the far end of the line. “You there. Go see Zelda.”
The girls gasped. Immediately tears streamed down flushed cheeks.
“Go on now.”
Gulping down sobs, they fled the room.
Honoree jabbed Polka Dots in the shoulder. “What did they do wrong?”
“Born too short. They’d mess up the line.”
