I’d never felt giddy excitement over a man before. You wouldn’t know it from meeting me—my reputation for being loud and chatty and flirtatious seemed to precede me—but that was all just for fun. I liked to make people feel good about themselves, I always thought it darb that you could make someone’s whole night just by giving them a little attention, and it gave me a sense of power to know that I had that ability. But as far as actually wanting to take anything further than a little harmless flirtation, no thank you. I didn’t have the time or inclination. Ever since I let that studio executive put his hands all over me, and the rest, I’d been completely turned off by the idea of intimacy altogether. And yet here I was brushing my teeth, trying to select my clothes for rehearsal that morning, and my head was in the clouds thinking about Archie.
It had been three months since I’d written to my mother, an obligatory note letting her know we’d left Inwood and had moved to an apartment on Fifth Avenue. But I had the sudden urge to speak to her, or at least feel as though we were speaking. I grabbed a piece of paper and my fountain pen.
Dear Mother,
I hope you, Papa, George and Junior are all well, and that you’ve heard from Erwin in California.
I wanted to write and tell you how wonderfully things are going here at the theater.
I briefly considered telling her about getting cut from the Follies but reassuring her that I was receiving great reviews in the Frolic, but I didn’t want to have to explain what the Midnight Frolic was yet. Besides, with a bit of luck they’d all seen the article in The New York Times.
Mr. Ziegfeld is treating us all very well—
That wasn’t entirely true. I closed my eyes and shook my head free of his advances in the car—this was not where I wanted my mind to wander, and it certainly wasn’t something I was going to share with my mother.
He insists on the very best costumes made of the finest materials.
My roommate, Ruthie—I know you think that the idea of a roommate is shocking but it’s really not all that unusual among theater performers—anyway, Ruthie is just lovely and has become a true friend. She’s shown me the ropes and has kept me out of mischief for the most part.
I wanted to cross out that last part—I didn’t want her getting any ideas, not after the last time. I let my pen hover above the page for a moment. Nothing seemed to be coming out right. I wanted to tell her about Archie, that was the real reason I’d wanted to write in the first place, but something in me resisted. I wanted to share my excitement, my feelings, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do so. I missed her, and I missed the way we used to talk. It was as if by making the choices I’d made, I’d become unlovable.
I folded the letter and left it on the bed.
The girls in the dressing room were all chatting when I arrived. They’d seen the roses and the note and they’d all seen me get dolled up and leave with a handsome stranger the night before.
Someone whistled when I walked in, and Lillian, Gladys and Lara rushed over to me. Ruthie, who hadn’t come home that night, looked over at me from her chair at the mirror and grinned.
“Tell us everything, Olive,” Gladys said first. “Did you go all the way?”
“What?” I said, shocked. “No, I didn’t go all the way.”
“Well, did you go halfway?” she insisted.
“Give her a break, Gladys,” Ruthie called out, turning back to the mirror to fix her face.
“Was he sweet?” Lillian asked. “Was he kind? He looked very handsome when he was waiting out front for you. We all went and had a peek.”
“Yes, he was very sweet and very kind and very interesting, not a bore at all. I didn’t get home until the sun was almost up and we didn’t even go dancing.”
“Did you see his bedroom at least?” Gladys asked.
“No, Gladys, I didn’t, what is the matter with you? We went to dinner and stayed out talking until the restaurant kicked us out. He’s a very respectable man.”
“I know plenty of respectable men who’ll have their way with you on a first dinner date, and send you home with a diamond bracelet.”
“He’s not like that,” I said, wanting to be done with all their questioning, wanting to get back to my daydreaming of how it had been, just the two of us, closing down the restaurant, intent on learning as much as we could about each other.
“Come on, girls,” Ruthie said, saving me, “we’re all going to be late if we don’t get going.”
Every night that week I waited to hear from Archie again, but just like before he kept me waiting. The girls kept asking, but by the end of the week their questioning slowed. It didn’t make any sense to me that he would act this way again. Why would a man express so much interest and then disappear? The whole thing made me uneasy.
And then Lillian, our former roommate, who had kept the apartment in Inwood and enlisted two other girls from the show as roommates, showed up on my doorstep before morning rehearsal unannounced. I wasn’t particularly surprised—Lillian often preferred to stay in the living room at our place rather than trek all the way up to Inwood; it was closer to the theater, cleaner, and had an elevator that worked—but she usually made her decision late at night after a heavy evening of dancing.
“Do you need to drop off some things before we head to the theater?” I asked as she walked in. She was petite, five feet two at most, and was a fantastic ballerina, her posture enviable, but today she looked hunched and stricken.
“Everything okay, Lils?” I asked. “Big night out?”
“I have to talk to you about something,” she said. “Before we go to the theater.”
“What is it?”
She walked past me to the living room, set down her things and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. “It’s about the fella you’ve been going with.”
“Archie? What about him?” It had been more than a week since I’d seen or heard from him, but I didn’t want to let on.
“Well, you know Evelyn, the young girl who just joined this season as a pony, you know the one, blond, voluptuous.” She held her hands in front of her bosoms and pretended to squeeze.
“Yes,” I said. Oh God, don’t tell me he’d been wooing her, too, how humiliating, poaching from under my very nose. What a fool to think he was interested in me and me alone.
“She’s from Cincinnati, she just moved here recently, and she said he’s very well-known in that town, very well-known,” she emphasized. “In the papers weekly, apparently, comes from a wealthy family.”
“Well, he built his own fortune, actually, but never mind … go on.”
“You’re not going to like this, and I’m only telling what I heard because the other girls have been talking about it in the dressing room and I don’t want you to have them whispering behind your back, it’s not right—”
“Just spit it out, Lillian,” I snapped, furious already at whatever it was she was about to tell me.
“He’s engaged.”
“What?”
“To be married.”
“To Evelyn?”
“No.” She almost laughed and I shot her a look that made her straighten up. “No, not Evelyn, but she knows about him, and it’s been all over the papers back in Cincinnati, some woman from his hometown.”
“That can’t be right,” I said, confused, caught completely off guard. How could this be? Why would a man go to great lengths to find out where I perform, send me gifts, flowers, take me to dinner and want to know so much about me if he’s already engaged to another woman? It made no sense.
“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 Miss Moyer, 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’s Frolic there 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.