I nodded, pretending not to care. I instinctively looked to his left hand. There was no ring and no telltale indent of a ring, but you could never be sure. There were a lot of things I’d do, wild things, reckless things—heck, I danced around on a stage almost naked most nights—but one thing I’d never do was get between a man and his wife. It was the utmost form of disrespect.
“And your family?” He was older than me, distinguished, and I wondered if he’d been married or had close family ties.
“You want to know everything, don’t you?”
“Just curious.”
“I’m not the most interesting subject at the table, you know. May I just say, I feel as if I’ve just won big at the races—all the money in the world. First I’m sitting in a dingy speakeasy downtown, marveling at how I managed to convince a stunning, poised and talented woman such as yourself to sit next to me at the booth. Next I’m pulling you toward me through the air, holding you in my arms, dancing with you, and now here I am, a week later, sitting across the table from you, enjoying a lovely evening.”
“Don’t think you can get out of telling me your life story that easily,” I said. “I’m not immune to flattery, but you have to hold up your end of the bargain.”
“Oh, I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but I fear it’s not nearly as entertaining as the story of your life thus far. Tell me a little something about you, so I don’t put us both to sleep.”
I gave him the truncated version of my journey to Broadway, not mentioning the parts I didn’t like to dwell on myself. I told him of my family’s move to Brooklyn, about my brothers and where I lived now.
I could tell from the way he spoke that he was worldly and well educated, and I had a sudden pang of concern that while he liked all that he’d seen of me so far, onstage and on the dance floor, if he really got to know me, I might be a big disappointment. I might not be fascinating enough for him, intellectual enough or cultured. While I’d always done well with vocal and dance training, I hadn’t excelled in school. I was smart enough, or at least I thought so, but I’d been an impatient, restless student.
“I hope to visit Paris someday,” I said. “Perhaps at the end of the season when I have a few weeks’ break between the shows.”
“I think you’d fit right in, it’s a beautiful city. Maybe I could take you?”
I smiled. “We’ll see.”
We didn’t go dancing that night. Instead we stayed at the restaurant talking until the wee hours, when we realized the only ones left were us and the barkeep, the poor guy struggling to keep his eyes open. Archie drove me back to my apartment and walked me all the way to my door. I felt like a teenager, my heart racing, the energy of our evening buzzing through me. He brought his face to mine, and our foreheads touched ever so slightly.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” he said quietly. I thought our lips would meet, I hoped they would, but instead he kissed me on the cheek and squeezed my hand. “I hope I can see you again soon,” he said, and then he turned and walked away.
CHAPTER TEN
I’d never felt giddy excitement over a man before. You wouldn’t know it from meeting me—my reputation for being loud and chatty and flirtatious seemed to precede me—but that was all just for fun. I liked to make people feel good about themselves, I always thought it darb that you could make someone’s whole night just by giving them a little attention, and it gave me a sense of power to know that I had that ability. But as far as actually wanting to take anything further than a little harmless flirtation, no thank you. I didn’t have the time or inclination. Ever since I let that studio executive put his hands all over me, and the rest, I’d been completely turned off by the idea of intimacy altogether. And yet here I was brushing my teeth, trying to select my clothes for rehearsal that morning, and my head was in the clouds thinking about Archie.
It had been three months since I’d written to my mother, an obligatory note letting her know we’d left Inwood and had moved toan apartment on Fifth Avenue. But I had the sudden urge to speak to her, or at least feel as though we were speaking. I grabbed a piece of paper and my fountain pen.
Dear Mother,
I hope you, Papa, George and Junior are all well, and that you’ve heard from Erwin in California.
I wanted to write and tell you how wonderfully things are going here at the theater.
I briefly considered telling her about getting cut from theFolliesbut reassuring her that I was receiving great reviews in theFrolic,but I didn’t want to have to explain what theMidnight Frolicwas yet. Besides, with a bit of luck they’d all seen the article inThe New York Times.
Mr. Ziegfeld is treating us all very well—
That wasn’t entirely true. I closed my eyes and shook my head free of his advances in the car—this was not where I wanted my mind to wander, and it certainly wasn’t something I was going to share with my mother.
He insists on the very best costumes made of the finest materials.
My roommate, Ruthie—I know you think that the idea of a roommate is shocking but it’s really not all that unusual among theater performers—anyway, Ruthie is just lovely and has become a true friend. She’s shown me the ropes and has kept me out of mischief for the most part.
I wanted to cross out that last part—I didn’t want her getting any ideas, not after the last time. I let my pen hover above the page for a moment. Nothing seemed to be coming out right. I wanted to tell her about Archie, that was the real reason I’d wanted to write in the first place, but something in me resisted. I wanted to share my excitement, my feelings, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do so. I missed her, and I missed the way we used to talk. It was as if by making the choices I’d made, I’d become unlovable.
I folded the letter and left it on the bed.
The girls in the dressing room were all chatting when I arrived. They’d seen the roses and the note and they’d all seen me get dolled up and leave with a handsome stranger the night before.
Someone whistled when I walked in, and Lillian, Gladys and Lara rushed over to me. Ruthie, who hadn’t come home that night, looked over at me from her chair at the mirror and grinned.
“Tell us everything, Olive,” Gladys said first. “Did you go all the way?”
