“Sure,” he said. “Everyone loves it, I don’t know what else you could do. What did you have in mind?”
The ribbon number was the final act before the first twenty-minute intermission and already something of a crescendo. As I sang my solo, five other girls, each holding the end of a ribbon, crisscrossed the stage, wrapping me up like a beautifully decorated maypole. Since I was already wearing nothing but silk and a thin chiffon negligee, the ribbons wrapped around me like a full-length corset. I sang about being tied down to some old, good-for-nothing dewdropper and yearning to be free from him. At the end, after the girls left the stage, I began to spin on a small circular disk that rose a foot or so from the stage. Slowly at first, the ribbons unraveled as I turned. In the original act, a fan blew from backstage, so that as my solo came to an end the long ribbons flew off my body in long, beautiful, colorful strands out into the audience, where everyone jumped up to grab one. When the curtain dropped, the stage rolled back to reveal a dance floor, and the patrons, already on their feet, began to dance.
“What if one of the ribbons is attached to me?” I said. “And when they all catch a ribbon, one patron will realize he’s got the one with me on the end of it. Kind of like fishing, then he can pull me to the dance floor, where I’ll dance with him until the next act. Wouldn’tthat be fun? And it gives every gent a shot, no matter who they are or if they were just here the night before.”
I had decided, after emerging from my afternoon bourbon haze the previous day, that I wasn’t going to be defeated by Ziegfeld or by getting kicked out of theFollies. Instead, I was going to excel in theMidnight Frolicmore than anyone could imagine, and I was going to steal the show. Each night, audience members were asked to vote for the girl they considered most beautiful and state why on cards handed out by the usher, and the girl with the most votes during that run of theFrolichad her salary doubled. I wanted that girl to be me, but it wasn’t just about the money. I felt more determined than ever to win at this. I’d prove to Ziegfeld that he needed me in his show, but I’d also prove to my father that I wasn’t going to make a wreck of my life just as he expected me to. I’d show my mother, too, that I could do anything I put my mind to, that there was more to life than just bowing down to your husband’s wishes. But most of all, I needed to prove to myself that the things I’d done in my not-too-distant past were done for a reason. I would succeed, I told myself, I had to.
Howie loved the idea of ribbon fishing. He rubbed his hands together. “What if we put you in the flying harness?”
“What, that contraption that Terry K straps into for her act—is that thing safe?”
“Perfectly, very secure. We’d put it under your attire, of course, so when the lucky fella pulls you toward him we’d lift you off the stage, and he can fly you to him over the audience, and we’ll deliver you right to him on the dance floor.”
“It’s darb! I love it!” I said, jumping up. “And then I’ll unclip myself from the harness and we’ll have a good fifteen to twenty minutes to dance while the stage set changes.”
“But wait a second,” he said. “You’re in the next act, too, you’ll need a few minutes to change and rest and have something to drink.”
“It will take me two minutes to slip into my next outfit. Don’t worry about me. I can go straight through.”
Howie looked as if he’d known I was going to say that. “It will be marvelous and Ziegfeld will think so, too.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Hey, I’m going to call around and see if we can get some press in here tonight. All the opening nights are history now, maybe they need something fresh to cover.”
The idea thrilled me. We began practice right away.
That night the ribbon act went off without a hitch. The adrenaline that ran through me leading up to that final moment of being lifted off the stage made me sing even better than I had before, with more passion and seduction and determination. When the fans turned on behind me, the ribbons flew forward and I was dazzled by the floating colors. I don’t know how it must’ve looked from the audience’s perspective, but from where I stood, it was as if I were in a storm of rainbow confetti. I stood, arms in the air, smiling, catching my breath, not even able to see the audience out front for the mass of dancing ribbons blurring my view. I felt a slight tug on my waist from the harness, and I began to lift off the stage. It wasn’t until that moment that I began to feel a pang of trepidation. Had I thought this through? It was one thing to sing and dance in front of allthese audience members, couples cheering, gentlemen leering, some perfectly delightful, I’m sure, but I had no idea who would be at the end of this ribbon. What if he was a drunk, hideous? What if he groped me? I tried to push my sudden reluctance out of my mind and positioned myself in an elegant midair drape as if it were the most comfortable thing in the world. The harness cut into my flesh, and my muscles ached as I maintained the seemingly easeful pose, but I could suffer it a few moments longer. I flew above the ribbons, which had mostly landed now, over the end of the stage and toward the middle of the packed dance floor. The audience roared and the room vibrated with the sound of wooden mallets pounding against tables—Ziegfeld’s gimmick for aiding applause-weary guests was put to good use that night.
I saw a well-dressed gentleman smiling broadly as he pulled me toward him with the ribbon in hand. In the glare of lights from above, I was relieved that he looked respectable and had a good silhouette, tall with broad shoulders. For there was no turning back—I was making my descent, and patrons on the dance floor formed a circle around us, clapping frantically. My toes touched down and I unclipped myself from the harness.
And when I stood there in front of him, I realized it was Archie, Archie from the Village! But impeccably dressed and far more polished than I remembered.
“It’s you!” I said, delighted at the sight of him.
“How lovely to see you again,” he said, smiling.
I suddenly realized I hadn’t given enough thought to my attire. Onstage it was appropriate, a barely there negligee at an untouchable distance, yet here I was, wearing next to nothing, in the arms of analmost stranger. As if he had read my mind, he slipped off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. I knew it would fall off the second we started dancing, so I put my arms through the sleeves and rolled them up.
“What a gentleman,” I said, and we immediately began to dance. Men and women filled in the floor around us.
When the music slowed down enough for us to talk, he pulled me in a little closer, but not too close, and I didn’t mind one bit.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Looking for a beautiful young lady I met a few weeks back at the Pirate’s Den.”
“Any luck?”
“Oh, I got lucky all right.”
He’d just had a shave that day, I could smell the clean scent of shaving foam when his cheek touched mine.
The music picked up again and we danced a fast one-step, and boy, this man really knew how to dance. He held me in a close embrace and took the lead around the dance floor. I laughed—he was as much a performer as I was. As we picked up the pace, the dance floor cleared out again, making room for us. The trumpet blared, the percussion sped up, and he spun me around the circumference of the floor. By the time he was done, I had to catch my breath. The audience applauded again, and we both took a bow. That was my cue—I had to be onstage for the next act—but I was reluctant to leave.
“Thank you for this wonderful moment,” he said. “May I see you again?”
“I hope so,” I said, surprising myself, then I dashed backstage.
The next morning, Ruthie ran into my room and leapt onto my bed.
“Wake up, Olive, wake up!”
