“It’s Olive,” I said, my voice already starting to break. “I have a message that I need you to pass on to the rest of the family.”
“I’ll get Pa on the line, he’s in the living room.”
“No, no,” I said quickly, “just tell them, tell them to cancel their plans for the Adirondacks, the wedding is off.”
“What?” he said louder than I wanted him to. “What do you mean the wedding’s off?”
“What do you mean the wedding’s off?” It was my mother now, she must have heard Junior and grabbed the receiver from his hand.
“It’s over, Mother,” I said, the tears running down my cheeks all over again. “There isn’t going to be a wedding.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Not again, you’re not doing this to us, Olive, you’re not humiliating this family again. What did you do?”
“I… I…” I suddenly couldn’t speak. What could I possibly say to make her understand? “We can’t marry,” was all I could manage.
“You have to fix this, you do whatever it takes to fix this. He is a good man, Olive. You go back to him and you make it right, do you hear me?”
“I’m sorry,” I whimpered into the phone. “I’m very sorry,” I said, and I hung up the phone. I took a few deep breaths and then, before I could talk myself out of it, I picked up the receiver again. This time I called the New Amsterdam and asked Ziegfeld’s secretary, Mrs. Parham, to pass a message on to the girls. It was a painful and humiliating call to make, but at least this way I’d have to make only one call and the word would get out in time for them to cancel their travel plans.
On the train, I sat and stared straight ahead at the seat in front of me. My tears had finally run dry and my eyes burned. I was frozen. I couldn’t move. All I could do was try to consider what might happen next. I seemed to be able to think only a few hours ahead; everything else seemed insurmountable. Ruthie and I had given up our apartment months ago, and I couldn’t possibly face going back to my parents’ house in Flatbush—not now, with my tail between my legs, a failure just as my parents had predicted. So I decided to go to the Saint Agnes Residence, one of the boardinghouses for women that I’d heard a few of the theater girls mention. There were other boardinghouses around town, all strict with curfews, simple and affordable, but Saint Agnes was the only address I could recall.
I took a taxi from the train station and arrived on the steps at 237 West Seventy-fourth Street just before fourP.M.I should have known from the name that it was a Catholic house, but the sight ofthe elderly nun opening the door in her black-and-white habit sent me immediately back to Birdhouse Lodge, and I had a sudden urge to turn and run. I looked down at my trunk, which the taxi driver had left at my feet, and knew I didn’t have any choices.
“I was hoping you’d have a room available,” I said quietly.
“Come in, dear,” she said. “I’m Sister Dorothy, come and sit in the parlor and we’ll talk.”
I did as she instructed and, once I was seated, she sat across from me.
“Now, dear, it’s thirty-five dollars a month, you get your own room, shared bathrooms, three meals a day and maid service to change your sheets once a week. You can do your washing in the laundry room. This is a women’s-only residence, no men whatsoever. Those who disobey the rules will be asked to leave.”
I nodded.
“Do you have your three references for admission and a doctor’s letter showing you’re in good health?”
“No.” I shook my head, a new dread creeping through me. “I didn’t know I needed any of that.”
“Oh, yes, dear, we can’t let just anyone in off the street. We have to think about the health and safety of our residents. Would you like to come back tomorrow when you have your letters gathered?”
“No,” I said, suddenly desperate. It was already late afternoon; where was I going to go if I couldn’t stay here? Ruthie’s house, I supposed, but she was so pregnant and her apartment so cramped, and I could hardly lug this trunk all over town. I was exhausted, physically and mentally. All I wanted to do was be shown to my room and allowed to sleep for a hundred days. I spoke before an idea hadfully formed. “If I can get the reference letters, doctor’s note and the money by this evening, could I stay here?”
“Well, yes, we have a room available, but it’s already quite late.”
“May I just leave the trunk here until I return? I promise I’ll be back before eight o’clock.”
Though it was the last place I wanted to go, I hailed a taxi and headed to the New Amsterdam Theatre. I couldn’t bear facing the girls and Ziegfeld himself, all of them now knowing that the wedding had been called off just days before I was supposed to walk down the aisle, but I had no choice.
I took the elevator up to Ziegfeld’s office and mercifully didn’t see any of the girls on my way in.
“Miss Shine,” Mrs. Parham said. “What a shock, I mean what a surprise. I was so sorry—”
“It’s a bit of an emergency,” I said, cutting her off before she could say any more. “Is he in?”
“Let me check, dear.”
In my sad new circumstances, I was becoming everyone’s “dear,” and it stung.
A few moments later, Mr. Ziegfeld opened his office door and nodded for me to come in, but not before six young girls who looked as though they couldn’t have been more than fifteen walked out, all rosy, flushed cheeks and giggles. Surely not, I thought. They’d have to be at least eighteen to be cast.
