“A rich fella—” She laughed a hacking laugh. “One of my patrons was handing out fifty-dollar bills to my girls as if they were nothin’. I asked him what business he was in, that he could throw around so much cash, and he said dairy produce, so I been calling ’em butter-and-egg men ever since.”
I laughed, thinking that $50 could go a long way for me right about now.
“You were hot stuff in them Ziegfeld shows, people been talking about you for some time. So what’d you do? Smash some eggs? I’m guessin’ if you’re coming here to see me, things didn’t work out with Ziegfeld.”
“Yes. I, w-well…,” I stammered.
“I don’t care about the particulars.” She picked up a coffee mug and took a slurp. “Want a coffee?”
“Got anything stronger?”
“You’re going to have to get some Fred to buy you that, darlin’,unless you want to hand over thirty-five big ones for a bottle of ‘champagne,’” she said, suggesting some concoction that they passed off as the real thing.
My God, that would’ve paid rent at the boardinghouse for a whole month. “Coffee’s fine, thanks.”
She stood up, went to the door and yelled out, “Leon, two hot coffees and two oranges.” Almost immediately a boy not more than seventeen brought us exactly that, and Texas began peeling her orange and eating it right there.
“Go on, then, tell me, what brings you?”
“I left Ziegfeld’s shows, I just had my finale and thought I was going to be done with all this, but my circumstances changed, and I’d like to be back onstage, making some money.”
“You made a good name for yourself, better than I ever did on the stage. I was a show girl too, you know, then I went off to Hollywood and made some westerns. I was Hollywood’s first cowgirl, you know, the whole world would have known it, too, if it hadn’t been for that damn, good-for-nothin’ war interfering with the release date.”
“I’ve seen some of your films, you’re very good.”
“Better at this, though,” she said. “I like getting people to do things, and getting them as inebriated as possible makes it easier for them to do things like part with their money.” She laughed wholeheartedly and clasped her hands. “So, we all love a Ziegfeld girl and we’d love to have you. But I like a specialty act, what are your best tricks?”
“Singing is what I do best,” I said. But I didn’t feel like myself; my confidence was in the gutter, and for the first time since I could remember, I didn’t even want to sing.
“Well, we sure would love that, but unlike the theater, which is civilized, we got hustlers and mobsters and writers and mayors coming through this joint. We got millionaires and senators all spending big for Moët. They don’t want just a pretty girl singing a pretty song, they want a touch of scandal and skin, so make sure you show ’em what you’ve got, doll.”
I nodded.
“But we ain’t no bordello, either. You can go to Polly’s for that, and hey, if you’re hard up you certainly could—I don’t ask questions, but there’s none of that going on under my roof. That’s not how I make money off my girlies, you got that?”
“Of course,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was even having this conversation. Only a few weeks ago I was set to become Mrs. Archibald Carmichael, yet here I was being warned not to become a lady of the night.
“Don’t look so stirred up, doll face. I have to say it. Some girls come in here looking for the wrong type of business, I just have to set things straight. I might be a foulmouthed broad, but I ain’t no madam.”
“I understand.”
“Come back in the morning, and we’ll get you set up with a costume and music. You just think about what you want to sing—something cute, something sassy. It’s going to be grand, girly, don’t worry, we’ll get you back on top in no time.”
The 300 Club was one of the most expensive clubs in town, tinged with far more illicit activity than Ziegfeld’sFrolic. Publicly, Texasannounced that she had only setups for drinks and that if people brought their own flasks of hooch, that was their business—but that was a lie. The bottles were stored in the house next door and passed to the barkeep through a hole in the wall. Raids and arrests were frequent—and Texas herself had spent a night or two in the slammer. I’d seen her picture in the paper as she was let out, with a quotation that read, “I liked their cute little jail.… I don’t know any other time when my jewels felt so safe.”
If my family hadn’t liked my performing on Broadway, then they sure as hell weren’t going to like me in late night speakeasies. But what did it matter? I thought. I’d already disappointed everyone I cared about, so there was no point in stopping now. To make a big, flashy comeback, I decided on a voluminous pink feather cloak with little more than tassels, pearls and lace underneath. I’d be singing “I Want Someone to Make a Fuss over Me,” and I’d make sure they did.
Club performing was different from appearing on Broadway. Texas called herself the hostess, but she was more like the ringmaster, and we, the scantily clad chorus girls, were the acts in her risqué circus. She was funny and brash and insulting to her patrons, and they loved her for it.
“Hello, suckers!” she said on my first night in the show, her raspy voice silencing the room as the music ended, and Naughty Maureen, the “titillating tap dancer,” left the floor.
“Well? The girl can dance, didn’t I tell ya the girl could dance? Give her a big hand, would ya?” she said, and the crowd did just that. “I just had a fella come up to me, not a regular,” she said, taking a seat on a stool center stage. “And he says he’s been overcharged. I said,‘Whaddaya mean you’ve been overcharged? Lemme see your check. Why, you poor sap. Sucker, you had two telephone calls and a bottle of champagne. Whaddaya expect? Don’t be dumb.’”
Everyone laughed.
“Listen, suckers,” she went on, “it’s only money. Why take life so seriously? In a hundred years we’ll all be gone. I don’t need your money. Give me plenty of laughs and you can take all the rest.” But that was all horsefeathers, too, because she was notorious for driving prices up and making a fortune from running her clubs.
I waited offstage, a few nips of whiskey in, ready for my entrance.
