I glanced at my father standing with his arms crossed, staring straight to the street, his lips pursed tightly into a downward frown. I walked over to him slowly.
“Olive, you were the best!” my brother Junior said, jumping in, hugging me. “The berries, I’m telling you, blew the rest of those girls right out of the water.” He was always my biggest fan.
“Aw, thanks, JJ, you’re sweet to say so,” I said, kissing his cheek. “I messed up a few steps in the final act, coming down that staircase.”
“I didn’t notice. Really,” he said.
“Wow, what a show, though,” George said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” I knew he’d be asking me about the ladies later.
“What did you think, Pa? I know it’s not exactly your cup of tea, but did you find something you liked in the acts?” I stepped in front of his gaze, trying to get his attention. “How about the pet act, Pa? We always laugh backstage when the dog asks his owner for a whiskey.”
He stood firm. “That’s enough now, Olive,” he said, straightening up even more. “We’ll talk about it when we get home.”
“But Ted, we’re going to dinner, remember?” my mother said, putting her arm through his.
“Not tonight, Doris, I said we’ll talk when we get home. Now all of you get in the car.” He walked to the car waiting at the sidewalk, got in the front seat and slammed the door shut.
I looked pleadingly at my mother, but she was defeated. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe he’ll come around at home. Come on, Junior.” She put her hand on my little brother’s back and ushered him into the waiting car. “I’ve got some bread and cheese, I’ll make us some sandwiches.”
When we got out of the car in Flatbush and closed the door behind us, my brothers made themselves scarce. My father took a beer from the icebox and my mother fixed herself a gin rickey and began assembling sandwiches at the kitchen counter.
“I don’t want you in that show, Olive,” he said, finally looking me in the eye.
“But, Pa—”
“No, Olive. You looked like a chippie up there, and no daughterof mine is going to parade herself around the stage like that for every man in Manhattan to drool at.”
“You’re talking about that one act, the stupid salad, but what about the others? They’re just good old fun, nothing harmful there.”
“I said I don’t want you in that show.” He grabbed the kitchen chair he was leaning on, lifted it a few inches, then slammed it down again. I stepped back. I hated it when he got like this, all blustery. I knew that any small thing now could push him over the edge and I didn’t want that.
“Teddy, relax, will you?” my mother said quietly. “Let me pour you a whiskey.”
“I don’t want a goddamn whiskey, I want my daughter to wipe that makeup, and that smug look, off her face and give me her word that she won’t set foot on that stage again.”
I rubbed the back of my hand across my lips. “I did wipe it off.…”
“Don’t you talk back to me,” he snapped, leaning into me, and I flinched just a little and wished I hadn’t. It showed weakness, it showed fear. “You heard that blotto in the audience calling out to you.”
“It wasn’t to me, he was just some drunkard, he was out on the roof, so far gone.”
“Oh, he was calling out to you all right, dressed up like a good-for-nothin’ harlot.”
“Teddy!” my mother said.
“Shut it, Doris.” He took a deep breath, and I could see he was trying real hard to keep a lid on it. He took another swig of his beer and shoved his hands down into his pockets as if to will them to stay there.
I was boiling mad. I was working so damned hard. When I was on that stage, I was bursting with life. How could a father not want that for his own daughter? Sure, Ziegfeld was glorifying us, he was dressing us up in the most elaborate and expensive costumes that had ever seen the lights of Broadway, and he made us feel like the most beautiful women in all of America, but he wasn’t exploiting us. I knew the difference. I didn’t care if a guy in the audience had the hots for me or not. I didn’t care if I was dancing for Prince Charming, someone’s grandmother or someone’s daughter. It was still the performing that made me soar. How could he not see that, how could he not be happy for me? I’d paid a price for being too naïve, too gullible, and I thought about that fact all the time, but that was my business. Now I’d earned some recognition, some appreciation, because of hard work. I hated that I couldn’t tell him this.
“Pa, I’m a trained singer and a dancer too now. You know this is what I’ve always wanted to do. Mr. Ziegfeld even said he was considering giving me a comedy song—he thinks I’m funny.”
“He thinks you’re funny?” he scoffed. “Well, I’m not laughing.”
I was keeping my voice down, I was choosing my words carefully, I was really trying not to send his hands flying, but inside I was reeling.
“You let Erwin follow his dreams,” I said quietly. My parents certainly hadn’t been happy when Erwin joined the navy, getting shipped off to Illinois just days after enlisting, but within weeks the talk in our house went from concern and disapproval to tremendous pride, and now that he’d been one of a few selected to transfer to a brand-new training facility in San Pedro, California, he was the one in the family who could do no wrong.
“Your brother is serving our country. Are you really comparing your song and dance to his patriotic duty?”
