He looked lovingly at his wife and kissed her. “But the price I pay is high, the price I pay is such that at times, rare times, I must cut back on my performers to pay for the extravagance that I insist on showering on my girls.”
Was he cutting me out of the show? My heart sank, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was this it for me? I was only twenty-one. I had dreaded the very thought of getting older, my sagging breasts, my wrinkled skin, all the terrible things I’d been warned about leading up to the curse of one’s thirtieth birthday; but this was all happening too soon. I wasn’t ready, I wasn’t prepared. I hadn’t found a nice man to settle down with. I’d been too picky or hadn’t stuck around long enough. It was over. My life was over. I might as well shrivel up and die right there. I was so preoccupied with my disastrous thoughts that I barely heard what he was saying.
“My darling, you’ve gone white as a sheet.” Billie reached over and took my hand. Hers felt soft, like a baby’s hand, and it was dripping with diamonds. “He’s not telling you it’s over, listen to what he has to say.”
She could read my mind. Of course she could—she too was a performer and knew just as well as the rest of us what would happenwhen her time in the spotlight was up, except she’d played her cards right with Mr. Z.
“I’m saying,” he continued, “it’s just for a short spell, the rest of the season. You’ll still be in theMidnight Frolic.”
“I will?”
“Of course. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You are one of our star performers in theFrolic. In fact, with your spontaneity and feisty personality, it’s actually where I think you excel. But I assure you, you’ll be back in theFolliesin no time. I just have to pay off my debts to keep things running smoothly, and without any changes to our prime reputation as the most luxurious, most sophisticated show on Broadway, with the most luxurious, most sophisticated women.”
I sighed with relief. I hadn’t intended to show how much I needed him, but as the blood finally began to flow again, I jabbered on about how grateful I was and how indebted I was to him and to Billie and to all the girls in the show.
He paid the tab and escorted us to his awaiting car.
“I’ll drop Billie off first since we’re closest, then I’ll escort you home,” he said as we climbed in.
“Oh, you’re too kind, Mr. Ziegfeld, but really there’s no need.”
“I insist,” he said firmly, and the matter was closed.
I said good night to Billie, and she patted my hand. “Please don’t worry yourself with this, I’ll make sure he takes care of you,” she said.
As we drove across town to my apartment, we rode in silence for a while, and I wasn’t quite sure what to say. The evening of laughs and stories over shucked oysters seemed a million miles away now. I’d been put in my place somewhat—it was as if I were back to beingthe new girl, desperate for approval, willing to do anything to prove myself.
“You’re a beautiful girl,” Mr. Ziegfeld said, placing his hand on my thigh and rubbing it slowly. “I don’t want you to worry about a thing, do you understand? You’re a star, but I could make youthestar.” His hand moved farther up my thigh and he began to squeeze gently. “I want you to know I take care of my girls, in the best possible way.” He moved closer and my heart began to race. I put my hand on his and was about to move it off my leg, but I had a moment of panic—I didn’t want to insult him, I just didn’t want this. Instead my hand rested on his for a moment, almost as if I were encouraging it. He slipped his hand between my thighs and leaned in for a kiss, his lips already wet with anticipation, his mustache softer than the wiry feel I might have expected but foreign and unwanted all the same. He took my hand and moved it to his groin, hot, and hard, and repulsive. This man was at least thirty years my senior. I pulled myself away from him, and without even thinking, I raised my right hand and slapped him across the face.
“Mr. Ziegfeld!” I said, stunned at myself more than anything.
He looked at me, shocked, his thick eyebrows raised, as he brought his hand slowly to his face. “Why, Miss Shine, that is most unkind.” He moved away from me toward the window and looked straight ahead. “Most unkind after how generous I have been to you.” We were parked outside my apartment now. The chauffeur silently idled the engine and sat upright as if he weren’t there at all.
I stared at Ziegfeld, astonished at his behavior but more so at mine. What had I done? But what could I have done? I would never be so deceitful to Billie, even if some of the other girls were, and Iwould never compromise myself in such a way. And yet I couldn’t fathom what to say or do next. What would become of me now?
“I, I…,” I stammered, at a total loss.
“That’s enough now,” he said, still staring at the street ahead. “Go on, off you go.”
I got out of the car as fast as I could and heard them drive away before I’d even reached my front door. I walked quickly past the doorman and rode the elevator up to my floor, and as soon as the door closed behind me, I burst into tears.
I showed up for rehearsal the next day as usual. I saw Howie, the choreographer, in the corner talking to the percussionist, and I went to the opposite side of the room. The sun was shining in between the gaps of the ragged sheets that’d been draped as makeshift curtains. Even though I knew I’d been cut from my biggest scene in theFollies,I still held out a glimmer of hope that I’d be part of the chorus. We were working on a new dance, the Brazilian samba that had taken off in Paris, so I sat down on the floor and put on my T-straps with the short Cuban heel and rubbed the leather soles into the resin dust left over from the day before. Ruthie had gone in for an early rehearsal, so I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about getting cut, and I sheepishly kept my eyes down, taking my time to get ready so that no one would single me out. But it didn’t work.
“All right, line up, girls,” Howie said. Some girls were still adjusting and primping in front of the small mirror on the back wall, a few others were hurrying through the door, late. Ruthie winked at me. I stood up and got into formation.
“Uh, Olive,” Howie said through his teeth, as if that would decrease the odds of the other girls noticing. He nodded for me to follow him away from the others. “Mr. Ziegfeld said he spoke to you about this and that you understood you’d be taking a break. The horse scene was cut, no point in you sticking around for these small bit parts in the chorus, just come back at three for theFrolic.”
“Oh, okay. I thought, I wondered if I should still learn the samba for when—”
“He said no, not at the moment.” Howie felt bad for me, I could tell, pity in his eyes. “Don’t worry, it’ll work out, you know how Ziegfeld gets sometimes. He’s very loyal.”
“Loyal? I thought this was about money,” I said.
“Yeah, that too.”
There was nothing I could do. I should have known not to show up in the first place. I tried to exit the room without anyone noticing, but I felt the girls’ eyes on me, probably wondering if they’d be next or relieved that it was me and not them.
Out on West Forty-second Street, the stench of last night’s debauchery clinging to the sidewalk and coming up from the drains stung my nostrils and caught in the back of my throat. It was only nine thirty in the morning. I brought in good money being in theFrolic,but Ruthie and I had banked on the money from both theFolliesand theFrolicto afford our apartment on Fifth Avenue, and we had barely accounted for food or clothes in our budget because that was always taken care of. I started to panic. What was I going to do now that my pay had been cut in half? Ziegfeld said I still had theFrolic,but after that ride home the night before, I didn’t even know if that was still on the table. I felt desperate. It could all be gone justlike that, and for what? For refusing his advances? It was confusing. Technically he’d cut me from theFolliesat dinner, before he tried to put his tongue down my throat, but he’d also made it seem that I could be back on top,thestar, if I went along with what he wanted.
