The rhythm took hold of her limbs.
She grabbed the strand of pearls around her neck, gave them a sassy twirl, and belted: “I’m gonna dance at the Dreamland Cafe!”
A shadow stepped from the darkness.
Honoree gasped. “Archie?” Her knees turned soft as tissue paper. She pushed the button on the wall, lighting up the room.
“For crying out loud!” Honoree yelped.
“Sorry to interrupt, ma’am.” A brown-skinned girl with big brown eyes stood, shaking like a skinned cat in winter.
“You scared the heebie-jeebies out of me.” Honoree crossed to the opposite side of the dressing room. The ragamuffin might be one of them crazy colored girls from down south. Only the other week, Honoree had a fearsome episode when one of ’em tried to grab her purse on State Street.
“I’m sorry.” The girl kicked at the sawdust, worn boots ready to fall apart. “Didn’t mean no harm, ma’am.”
Judging from her mud-caked clothes and bruised jaw, Honoree guessed the girl had fought her way from the Mason-Dixon Line to Chicago. “You’re supposed to make a sound when someone enters a room she thinks is empty.”
“I thought you saw me. I was sittin’ right there.” She pointed a shaky finger at a stack of burlap bags.
Honoree’s mind had been so full of the Dreamland Cafe, she would’ve missed Jack Johnson in a prizefight. “I didn’t ask where you were sitting.”
The girl’s eyes grew as round as MoonPies.
“You best hightail it outta here before Miss Dolly shows. She doesn’t tolerate no squatters.”
“I’m no squatter. My name is Bessie Palmer. I’m the new chorus girl Mr. Graves hired.”
Honoree’s throat pinched as if someone had grabbed her by the tonsils. Why would Archie hire a new girl? Had he heard the rumors about the audition? “Archie didn’t hire you.”
“Yes, he did. I can prove it.” Bessie dug into her coat pocket. “This is my contract. This is Mr. Graves’s signature.”
Honoree glanced at the papers. “I don’t care what you’re holding in your hand. Your legs are too short. Nose too broad, and you’re two shades too dark.”
Ugly words. Honoree expected to draw a slew of tears for her trouble, but Bessie raised her chin.
Honoree snatched the paper from Bessie’s hand and stared at the crumpled page. “These are the same paragraphs Archie called a contract when I signed one two years ago. When did he hire you?”
“Last week.”
Honoree handed her the contract with a sigh of relief. Archie had hired Bessie days before Honoree had heard squat about the audition.
“Don’t you believe me?” Bessie’s voice was as shaky as Jell-O.
Honoree shrugged but did not reply. The ragamuffin could stew for a few minutes—the price to pay for scaring Honoree half to death.
The other chorus girls would arrive soon, and this might be her only chance, without curious eyes watching, to pack up her costumes, makeup, and new coral-pink gown, a gossamer silk number, with rhinestones and tassels hanging from the hem.
She sat in front of the mirror, but Bessie stood behind her, chewing on her lip like a meal.
“What are you staring at?” Honoree demanded.
“I wanna ask you a question,” the girl said in a small voice.
“Go on, then. Ask.”
“I need a costume.”
“Goodness, gracious. Didn’t Miss Dolly give you a costume?”
