“Miss Shine, you’re leaving theFrolic?” a newspaperman asked.
“Just for a short time,” I said. “My talents are needed elsewhere.”
“Where are you going?”
I looked at Ruthie. I could never remember the name of the damned place.
“The mountains,” I said.
“The Adirondacks?” he called out.
“That’s right—the Great Camps await.” We climbed into the car, and I didn’t know what the other passengers must have thought, but we were certainly a loud and cheery bunch to put up with.
“Not bad,” Ruthie said once we took our seats. “It’s only a few cars away from first class.”
As the train pulled away from the station, my stomach clenched—I was anxious about leaving theMidnight Frolicbehind yet slightly intrigued about the adventure ahead. And then there was Archie. It felt strange to leave town without seeing him again. I suppose I thought I’d bump into him somewhere or that he’d make another attempt to see me, to explain himself. But nothing. It was as regretful as it was infuriating. I felt so foolish. I tried to push the thought of him out of my head, but it was hard to let those feelings go. Maybe this trip to the mountains was a blessing, a welcome andnecessary distraction from the humiliation I felt at letting myself get carried away.
As we settled into our seats on the train, everyone in our group seemed to have a nervous energy about them. It was only seven fifteen in the morning but by eight thirty, we were already getting rowdy and one of the girls started singing “The Best Things in Life Are Free,” quietly at first. Some of the other passengers shushed her, but that just motivated the rest of us to join in. By tenA.M.we were all getting into it, and Ruthie pulled me with her into the aisle, serenading me with “Ain’t She Sweet” in a deep, manly voice. I played along, dancing between the seats and down the aisle. In no time almost everyone was up, dancing, singing and being rambunctious. The conductor came through and told us to quiet down, which we did for a few moments, but then we started singing to him, and we just got louder as soon as he left.
Word must have traveled because riders from other cars came down to ours to see the spectacle for themselves, and that just seemed to spur us on—the growing audience feeding our desire.
Just before noon Howie passed Ruthie a flask, and she took a swig, then passed it to me. “Hey, looks like we have some admirers,” she whispered, nodding to a couple of gents smiling in our direction who looked as if they’d come from the first-class car.
Ruthie gave them the eyes and one of them held up a martini glass as if to say, “Bravo!” I was surprised to see them serving that kind of hospitality even in first class—this was a public place, after all, and the rail service could be shut down for serving hooch on board.
“I’m intrigued,” Ruthie said. “Let’s go and say hello.” She took my hand and sauntered up the aisle to meet them.
“Good afternoon,” one of the gentlemen said, kissing Ruthie’s hand and then mine. “We heard there were some beautiful ladies making this train ride a heck of a lot more enjoyable in car number seven.”
“We’re just practicing our numbers,” I said.
“We’re Ziegfeld girls,” Ruthie added.
“Yes, you are!” the other gent said, raising his eyebrows. “Say, why don’t you pay us a visit in our car? It’s not too shabby and there’s more where this came from.” He took a sip of his martini.
“Okay,” Ruthie said. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Olive?”
“Sounds like the berries.”
The gents went first, one opening the door to the next car and the other holding open the door to ours. I felt the rush of fresh, cool air as we crossed over into first class. We’d been so preoccupied with all the singing and dancing that I’d barely noticed the lush green trees lining the Hudson River outside the windows. Steamboats were chugging along in both directions, and it was surprising to see such beauty just a few hours outside of Manhattan. I’d grown so accustomed to the buildings and the concrete and the bright lights of the city.
“Don’t jump,” the gent said as I stood between cars for a while, taking it all in.
“It’s just so beautiful.” I stepped in through the next doorway.
First class was quite an improvement over our standard train car. There were dining tables and booths, and people were playing cards and sipping tea. It looked ever so elegant and civilized, though not nearly as fun as ours. We walked through two more cars, one dining and lounge car, and then we reached what seemedto be the end. I looked around, confused. They held open the next door.
“There’s more?” Ruthie asked.
“Isn’t this where the conductor sits?” I asked.
“We’re riding in our colleague’s private car,” the first chap said, a little too proudly. “He owns it.” Geez, these guys really seemed to want to impress us, and that type of thing always left me cold. “You won’t want to travel any other way after you experience this.”
It was like stepping into a Moroccan jewelry box. Mahogany wood lined the walls, with a plush floral carpet underfoot. A set of deep red velvet chairs embroidered with bursts of petals, and fuchsia cushions with silk tassels, formed a cozy reading nook. Above it was an intricately carved wooden panel creating a canopy. Music played gently, and when I peered farther into the car I realized it came from a small live band set up in the corner. What kind of place was this? I marveled. I’d been transported to some exotic location in the Far East.
“Come on,” the men said, eagerly checking our faces for approval, “we’ll introduce you to the host.”
I could barely take a step without fixating on yet another detail—the ceiling was painted in red and green paisley—I never would have imagined a train car could look like this.
