“I’m not looking for him, I’m just exhausted, Ruthie, and my feet are pounding.”
The truth was I did feel disappointed. We’d danced only a few numbers and talked briefly, but there was something about him that excited me. There was an element of mystery about him, and the thought of him had kept me awake at night. I knew nothing about this man, and yet I was compelled to find some snippet of information, to spend another evening with him in the booth at the Pirate’s Den, except this time I wouldn’t have to leave.
“You do look tired. I hope you’re not coming down with something.” She put her hand to my forehead. My sweet Ruthie.
“You go on and have fun,” I said. “I’ll meet you back at the apartment, I just need to get some rest.”
We moved the ribbon act to the first half of the show because we added a new number in the second half—a celebration of the new Ford Model A. Rumors swirled about how Ziegfeld got the car up on the roof (some say it was a crane in the middle of the night), but he had managed to park that vehicle right in the middle of the rooftopstage. Rehearsals that week were an absolute blast and quickly got me out of my mood.
At intermission I walked into my dressing room, flung off my costume and lay on the couch naked except for my knickers. The ribbon act was over, but I was sweating and had to let my skin cool off before I’d be able to dress for the Model A.
A knock at the door. “Flowers, Olive.” The stage manager brought them in, white roses, and set them on the table next to me. I covered my breasts with one arm; it was all the effort I was capable of.
“Olive, put some clothes on.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m so damn hot.” I reached over and picked up the card.
Dear Miss Shine,
May I request the honor of your presence at dinner this evening? I will be waiting in front of the theater after the show in the hopes of a positive response.
With eager anticipation,
Archibald Carmichael
I smiled. What had I been so worried about? He just needed some time to come around.
In the second half, I put on one hell of a show. Knowing for definite that he was in the audience, I gave it my all. Everyone was going crazy—as much for the fact that Ziegfeld had achieved such a feat as for the shining car itself. We danced all over that thing, encircling it with our biggest feathers, then opening them up to reveal it, backbends out the window, sliding down the hood, singing “Happy Birthday” in the most seductive way we knew how. The crowd loved it—it was amazing how we could control the audience, the power we had as performers to make them laugh, cry, cheer. The mallets pounding the tables were the only percussion I needed.
“For the final act I want the flying device,” I told Howie. “Instead of doing all those pirouettes on the stage, right before my very last verse, raise me up on the platform, I’ll start the pirouettes there, and then I’ll continue them in the air and I’ll sing the last few lines from midair, then lights out.”
“Olive, we haven’t even practiced that. This is the final act, we don’t want to mess it up.”
“We won’t, I promise, I know it will work.”
Reluctantly, he agreed.
I wasn’t that good at pirouettes to begin with, I’d always been a better singer than dancer, but it must have been the adrenaline pulsing through my veins, my absolute will to wow them. Through sheer determination I spun up onto my toe, kept my body and legs firm and tight, whipped my head around and managed six full and almost perfect pirouettes before the platform lowered and I remained airborne. It worked just as I’d imagined it. After my final note, I threw my head and arms back and draped in the air as the lights went dark, then they slowly brought me back to the stage. The audience kept on cheering, clapping and calling out praise. After I’d detached myself from the harness, the lights came up again and I bowed and curtsied. I waved for all the other girls to come out from the wings, and we held hands and bowed together. It was a magical feeling toknow we’d managed to impress them once again and even more to know Archie had witnessed another roaring success.
I kept him waiting while I freshened up and dressed for dinner. Of course it was the one night that I hadn’t brought my new red dress, so I put on the old gold number that was always a hit, the one with the handkerchief hemline, dropped waist and beaded bust. He was waiting for me out front, holding his car door open. When I approached, he took off his hat, revealing his tousled brown hair, tamed, but not slicked the way most gents wore it.
“Miss Olive Shine,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it. “What a vision.”
“Thank you for the beautiful flowers, and for the stunning evening cape you sent, Mr. Carmichael.” It sounded strangely formal when I said it. I’d already been introduced to him as Archie, but he seemed so much more debonair this time around.
“Please call me Archie.”
“Archie,” I said as I climbed into the car. “It was a lovely surprise.”
There was something reserved about the way we were treating each other, not like our meeting in the Village. He wore a pristinely tailored navy-blue suit and his car was that of the wealthy, but his friends were bohemians from the Village. I couldn’t quite figure out who this fella was and where he belonged.
“I have to apologize for my delay in calling on you.”
“Oh, please,” I said, brushing away his comment. “I wouldn’t have been available on any other night.”
“Now, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, and I’d love to take you dancing after, but I was wondering if you might like to go somewhere a little quieter first, so we can talk and eat a good meal before I have to share you with the rest of the dance floor.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said. My stomach was growling after my performance.
