“That’s what I said, it seemed false, but she was adamant about it, she even brought in a newspaper clipping.” Lillian reached into her pocket and unfolded a cutout. She looked at it as if she weren’t sure she should show me.
“Just give it to me already,” I said, standing up and taking it from her hands.
MISS MOYER AND MR. CARMICHAEL, PROMINENT COMMUNITY PLAYERS, ANNOUNCE ENGAGEMENT
I looked at Lillian, who stood nervously watching me, then I read some more.
Miss Lutz of 62 McKnight St. last night proved a delightful hostess to the members of her bridge club in honor of MissMoyer, who announced her betrothal to Archibald Carmichael of this city.
A huge cake, topped with a miniature bride and bridegroom, formed the centerpiece of the attractive table. A dainty luncheon was served with an elaborate display of daffodils and snapdragons, which complemented the decorations…
“Repulsive.” I crumpled the clipping in my hand and threw it across the room. “Who knows about this?”
Lillian looked worried and shrugged. “I’m not sure, there’s been quite a bit of talk.”
“To think that I wasted a perfectly good evening on him.” I tried to smile, act as though I didn’t care. “Thanks for telling me. Come on, let’s not be late.” I picked up my shoes, threw them in my bag and ushered her out the door.
I suffered through a week of silent humiliation. None of the girls at the theater said a word to me about it, though it was clear from the way they stopped talking about Archie completely that they’d all heard. When Ruthie brought it up back at the apartment, I told her it was old news and that it wasn’t worth our precious time. But it felt awful to have things end so abruptly before they’d even really begun, without any proper explanation or apology.
I didn’t go out after the shows at all that week; it was even hard to put on a big smile onstage. All I wanted to do was finish up my acts, go home and go to sleep. And I was furious at myself for feeling this way. I barely knew the guy, for God’s sake. Three times, we’d met only three times, but each time had left an imprint on me, a swell of excitement and longing that was all new. And more than that,I felt so ridiculous, embarrassed that I had put so much faith in this stranger, that I’d believed every word he said. How could he say those things and make me feel how I felt, and be carrying on with, not just carrying on, actually planning a life, with another woman. The whole thing made me sick.
During the intermission on Friday night’sFrolicthere was a knock at the dressing room door.
“Olive, you have a visitor.” The stage manager popped his head in. “It’s a Mr. Archibald Carmichael to see you.”
There was a gasp. The girls in the room spun around, watching to see what I’d do. In some way I wanted to see him, to let him explain himself, at least give me some pathetic excuse to make him look ridiculous and make me feel better about it all. But I felt all eyes on me and I was no pushover.
“I’m not interested in seeing him,” I said firmly. “Send him away.”
A moment later there was another knock. “Flowers, Olive, and a note.”
“I don’t want those either, tell him to take them with him.” I looked in the mirror and puckered my lips, checked my makeup and my hair. “The nerve of some men,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After all the good press following the newMidnight Frolic,I’d been approached by Albolene cold cream to sit for one of their advertisements. The money was good, but more than anything, I was excited about appearing in magazines and maybe even a well-placed billboard.
After rehearsal, I freshened up and reapplied my makeup—even though I knew I’d be having it all redone when I arrived at the studio.
I was about to leave for my sitting when Howie popped his head into the dressing room. “Ziegfeld wants to see you.”
“Now?” I checked the time. “Any idea what it’s about?”
“He didn’t say.”
I hadn’t been alone with Ziegfeld since the incident in his car. He’d commended the uptick in ticket sales at the late night performance in front of Howie and some of the other girls, and though he hadn’t singled me out as the reason, I’d felt he was pleased withthe new act. It was almost as if I hadn’t slapped him across the face. I even started to wonder whether he’d really tried to kiss me, or had it simply been a friendly kiss good night; but no, as I recalled the details, it was far more than that. I took the elevator up to the sixth floor to meet him, and I wondered briefly if he might even be calling me up to apologize, though I quickly dismissed that idea, imagining instead a request to rejoin theFollies. Or maybe he wanted to discuss a new number in theFrolic—though surely Howie would have been part of that conversation.
“Mr. Ziegfeld,” I said, standing the moment he opened his office door. “Nice to see you,” I added slightly awkwardly.
“Miss Shine, lovely as always.” Maybe it was all water under the bridge. “Thank you for seeing me. Please—” He motioned for me to enter his office, then he closed the door behind me and took a seat at his large dark wooden desk.
“How’s theFrolicgoing?” he asked.
“I’d say it’s going very well, Mr. Ziegfeld, don’t you think? The audience seems very responsive.”
“Yes, you’re doing good work, and Howie tells me the flying act was your idea?”
“I just thought it would be a whole lot of fun. We should all be having fun at all times, don’t you think, Mr. Ziegfeld, otherwise what’s the point in it all?” I was trying to be upbeat and cheery. No need for bad feelings or hostility. It hadn’t even happened.
