“Brandy. I’m only drinking brandy from here on out,” Ruthie said.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Didn’t you hear? One of the gals from theScandalsalmost died from some bathtub gin at a speak downtown.”
“That’s not going to happen here,” Archie assured us. “I’ll get you whatever you want, but I promise you this place has the good stuff.”
“That’s what they all say,” she said.
“They import wine from Europe and spirits from South America and Canada,” Archie said.
“Brandy,” she repeated. “No one can fake the smell and taste of cognac.”
“I’ll have a cherry on top,” I said with a smile.
“Two parts champagne, one part gin, one part orange juice, a dash of grapefruit and a trickle of cherry brandy,” Archie told the waiter, who wrote down the concoction. “My girl Olive here invented it,” he said.
“No, I didn’t, you did.”
“Okay, fine,” Ruthie said, “twist my arm. If it’s got brandy in it, I’ll have what she’s having.”
“A round for the table,” he said, counting the ladies I’d brought with us for the evening, as well as his friends who’d joined our table. “Make it ten, and bring these ladies a menu—they’ve been performing all night.”
Before long, some of the middle tables got pushed to the sides or taken out back to make way for a small dance floor in front of the jazz band. Once the girls had some food in their stomachs and some hooch in their veins, they were up and dancing. I hung back with Archie.
“I don’t want you to leave town again tomorrow,” I said. “I’m going to miss you terribly.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to leave, but I have to head back to Cincinnati if I want my company to keep running. Are you sure you can’t come with me?”
“You know I can’t. I’ve got shows every night this week. Who else would fly offstage if not me?”
“Yes, into another man’s arms,” he said with a schoolboy’s sulk.
“I landed in a lady’s arms tonight, and it was far more exhilarating than the sweaty palms of some apple-knocker from out of town. You can rest assured I’ve only got eyes for one big-timer, and that’s you.” I leaned in and gave him a kiss. He grabbed my chair and pulled it closer to him.
“Why don’t you stay at my suite in the Plaza while I’m gone—keep the bed warm?”
“It’ll cost a fortune to keep it while you’re gone, and I can stay at my own place.” The thought of waking up there, padding around ina plush robe and ordering breakfast in the room overlooking Central Park sounded dreamy.
“Olive, you must,” he said. “Besides, you’ll be doing me a favor—I’ve leased it for the whole year—I wouldn’t want it to sit unused until I return.”
I smiled. He seemed to mean it. “Well, if you insist.”
“Just promise me you’ll talk to Ziegfeld and ask for some time off. Next time I want to take you with me and introduce you to my friends and my family. My mother’s going to adore you—she’s a big fan of the arts.”
“I’d love to meet her.” The fact that he wanted me to meet his mother felt quite serious, but strangely it didn’t terrify me as I might have expected. In fact, it made me feel closer to him, and though I couldn’t quite picture what might lie ahead, something about the mystery of it all left me feeling excited. I was curious to meet the woman who raised such a thoughtful, generous and driven man. I’d seen how hard it had been for my mother to keep three boys on track, teaching them manners, instilling respect, helping them find their interests, which would hopefully lead to success, so even without meeting Archie’s mother I admired what she’d accomplished.
“And after Cincinnati I want to take you to Paris.”
I laughed. I didn’t mean to, but the two cities hardly seemed to belong in the same sentence. Paris sounded so much more evocative.
Archie kept on. “It’s a sin that you haven’t yet been.”
“Oh, Paris…” I put my hands on my heart. “It’s calling me—just be careful, because I have a feeling I’m going to fit right in there and might never want to return.”
“First stop, we have to go to the Folies Bergère—that was Ziegfeld’s inspiration, you know. And then the Louvre.”
“And the Eiffel Tower,” I said.
