“What is it?” I peeled the silk sleep mask from my eyes and had to shield them from the sunlight streaming in the windows as Ruthie swept back the curtain. “What are you doing, you crazy girl, I need to sleep.”
“Sleep later! You’re inThe New York Times. They adored you!”
“The New York Times?” I grabbed the paper from her hands and stared at it in amazement. There I was in black and white, gliding through the air, the stage lit up behind me, reaching one arm out to a silhouetted man on the dance floor with a ribbon in his hand. The title read, “Olive Shines! Ziegfeld’s Beauty Reaches New Heights.”
“The latest edition of Florenz Ziegfeld’s ‘Midnight Frolic,’ which had its twenty-fourth presentation of the season on Tuesday at midnight, before an audience that embraced all who live and move and have their being in Broadway, out-Ziegfelds all its predecessors. Like the others only more so, it is a show of beautiful women, frocks and tableaux designed for the businessman who is too tired to go home after the play.… Miss Olive Shine shone indeed last night with a dazzling solo followed by a flight to the dance floor as she surprised one lucky audience member with a dance, Mr. Archibald Carmichael, a businessman with interests in New York and Cincinnati.… One might search the world and not find anything quite as unique or lavish as this midnight revue.”
Ruthie and I threw our arms around each other and jumped on the bed. “I’m inThe New York Times!” I screamed with excitement.
“You really showed Ziegfeld,” Ruthie said.
“Ziegfeld? I showed everyone in New York!”
“You’re a true star now, Olive.”
I squealed with delight.
The following evening, as the ribbons flew out to the audience, I wished I’d remembered to ask a stagehand to bring me something to wear over my outfit. I’d been lucky the night before with Archie, but there was no telling if tonight’s “fisherman” would have the same manners or charm. I closed my eyes, waiting to be lifted offstage, and hoped for an instant that it would be him again, but then I felt the tug on the harness, a rough jerk, eager and greedy. It propelled me forward, waist first, and I almost fell off my elevated platform before the stagehand above quickly hoisted me upwards. For a few seconds I was awkwardly suspended in midair until the audience member began to pull me out toward him. I tried to rearrange myself more gracefully, but it was much more challenging, having gotten off to a wobbly start. When I landed, it was into the arms of a lanky gentleman grinning hungrily, with oily hair slicked back from his face in a harsh middle part. Grand, I thought sardonically, but then his date appeared by his side, clapping with excitement, and relief washed over me.
“A ménage à trois! How daring!” I said as I backed away from the man and into a more collegial formation. The girl was a charm, sweet and excited to dance. She looked lovely, too, in a long pale pink chemise with an ornate silver-beaded V in the front. We held hands and began to dance, and when the music got going, she called somefriends over. They were far more fun than her date, but I encouraged her to bring him back into the circle and make a fuss. I was their dancing coach, positioning the two of them just so, then sandwiching him in the middle and nudging his feet to the right beat. Then I switched to her side, my hands on her hips, swaying them not too much, just the right amount. When I was sure they were all having a good time, I slipped away, scanning the room for Archie with no success.
I went backstage and dressed for the next act.
My feet were up for less than thirty seconds when there was a knock on my dressing room door.
“Flowers, Olive,” the stage manager called. I opened the door to a huge bouquet of long-stemmed red roses along with a flat rectangular box. “Two minutes to call time.”
On top of the box there was a note:
Dear Miss Shine,
Your performance and your company last night have rendered me an unproductive man. I’ve been thinking of you all day. Please accept this gift as a thank-you for spending your precious time dancing with me. I hope it will make your flying escapades more comfortable.
In awe and gratitude,
Archibald Carmichael
The box contained a gorgeous champagne-colored beaded and sequined evening cape. I placed it around my shoulders and looked in the mirror. It was absolutely stunning, the perfect fit on my narrowshoulders, falling just to my elbows. What a beautiful and extravagant gesture. Who was this man? I wondered. He’d seemed so down-to-earth when I met him at the speak in the Village, butThe New York Timesreferred to him as a businessman, and this cape definitely had the touch of uptown luxury.
Another knock on my door. “One minute.”
I spun around, looking at the beautiful craftsmanship from all angles in the mirror, excited now to think that he must be in the audience. Then I placed it carefully back in the box, next to my new red dress and heels that I’d brought for that evening in hopes of receiving an invitation.
But I didn’t receive an invitation from him that night, or the next night, or any night that week.
Within a week I was getting sick of the ribbon routine. Maybe because the first time had been such a thrill and the ensuing moments so dull in comparison. I’d worn my new red dress twice after the shows that week in anticipation of an invite to dinner, and both times it had gone to waste. The whole thing had put me in a sour mood. Archie had beamed when we danced together, he’d sent me a beautiful gift, and yet he apparently had no desire to spend any actual time with me. Does he think all I value in life is a pretty beaded cape? I found myself questioning. Doesn’t he want to know anything about me, who I am?
“What’s going on with you, Olive?” Ruthie said as I slowly put away my costumes for the evening. She was already changed and ready for a night out. “Are you still on the lookout for Mr. Handsome?”
“No.”
“Maybe he’s an out-of-towner or something.”
I rolled my eyes. He knew too many people to be an out-of-towner, though Emily had warned me that he traveled a lot.
“He’s probably married,” she said. “Come on, let’s find you someone else to have fun with.”
I’d been fooled before and thought I was better at sizing up men now, but maybe I was wrong. I just couldn’t understand his silence.
