Altogether it took two days and two nights to arrive at the Pines Camp. The final stretch of road was too rough for a car ride, so we were transferred to a couple of horse-drawn carriages for the last hour. As we bounced around on the hard wooden benches, I was kicking myself for agreeing to such a ridiculous journey. But then, as we got closer, it began to smooth out into a more groomed path.
At around five o’clock we knew we were close because lanterns were being set up as we crossed the guest bridge. Everything was so still and quiet except for the sound of the coach wheels, the harnesses and the horses’ hooves striking gravel. Trail guides waved to us from the side of the road, and I waved back.
“What are they doing?” I asked Eugene, a guide who’d been sent to collect us from the cars.
“They’ve been waiting for us, so they can let the hosts know we’re arriving,” he said. “They run back to the camp now to alert them.”
As the horses pulled us up over the hill, the clusters of pine trees opened up a little, letting the late afternoon sun stream in, and the camp appeared: quaint log cabins set on the shore of glittering Osgood Pond with a croquet lawn as its centerpiece. When we stepped out of the carriage, the smell of wood fires wafted up from the lodge and I felt a deep, healing peace from our surroundings.
“Oh my,” I whispered, almost speechless. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
A woman in her early fifties approached our carriages wearing trousers, a collared shirt and a cardigan, looking completely relaxed.
“Welcome to the Pines,” she said. “We’re all so excited that you’re here.”
“Thank you for having us,” Ruthie said. The rest of the girls were the quietest I’d ever heard them—looking around in awe at the towering trees, the cottages dotted throughout the property, separated by bushes and pathways, each cottage glowing like something out of a fairy-tale book. All thoughts of mud and bugs and sleeping in tents immediately dissipated.
“I know the journey up is treacherous, but I hope you’re feeling all right now that you’re here.”
“We’re thrilled to be here—it’s been a real adventure,” I said.
“Well, that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” She linked her arm through mine and led us toward the cabins.
“I’m Olive Shine,” I said. “Really, this is magical.”
“Oh, you’re Olive!” she said. “I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you perform, but I’ve heard so much about you.” I smiled, wondering what she’d heard. “I’m going to send someone up to each of your cabins to show you where things are and make sure you’re comfortable,” she said, turning back so everyone could hear her. “I want you all to have a chance to rest after your long journey, then at eight o’clock we’ll be serving dinner in the main dining room. Will that give you enough time to dress? Does anyone need me to send one of my maids early to help you get ready?”
We all shook our heads. “Gentlemen, do you need someone to come and brush your hair?” Ruthie asked Howie and Wallace, laughing.
“I think we’ll be all right,” Howie said, shaking his head.
“There’s a seamstress on the property, should you need anything mended while you’re here. A lost button, a dropped hem, ironing, anything you need, you just let us know and it’ll be attended to. Tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to settle in and take in some of the scenery and activities, I’ll show you the rehearsal space and the stage, and our butler, Mr. Ward, will go over the performance schedule.”
“Thank you,” I said, grateful for the fresh air, the smell of pines, and her hospitality. “I’m so sorry,” I said as she delivered Ruthie and me to our cabin, “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh, my goodness, I was so excited to meet you, I completely forgot to properly introduce myself. Where are my manners? I’m Anne.”
“You’re Anne?” I said, admittedly not careful at all in hiding my surprise. She was so much older than I’d expected her to be, beautiful and generous, but I suppose I’d expected Archie’s fiancée to be more youthful, more like, well, me.
“I am,” she said softly—if she’d noticed my shock, she didn’t let it show. “My husband, Raymond, is inside with the other gentlemen, they’re all telling stories about their day out on the trails. It’s probably best you meet them when they’ve had a chance to freshen up and dress for dinner.”
“Of course,” I said, stunned. Our hostess was the Anne whom Archie had mentioned on the train, but Anne was already married. I suddenly felt very foolish.
“Remember, anything you need, just ring this”—she reached inside the cabin door and pulled on a string that rang a small bell—“and you’ll be attended to.” She’d barely even finished her sentence before a young man in brown trousers and a white button-down shirt stood at our side.
“Yes, Madam Belmont?” He stood head down, waiting for her request.
“Oh, nothing at the moment, thank you, I’m just showing the girls around.”
“Yes, madam,” he said, and in an instant he was gone.
From the outside the cabins looked rustic and modest, and the interior was designed in the same spirit: wood-planked walls, bed frames made from knotted tree limbs, a stone fireplace. But upon closer inspection, I realized that nothing had been left to chance. When I lay back on the bed, it felt as though I were sinking into a pillow of the finest duck feathers wrapped in the softest, most luxurious cotton sheets you might find in a fancy hotel.
“Look at this,” Ruthie called out excitedly from another room. I jumped up and found her standing on the screened-in porch. A huge tree trunk erupted from the ground and went straight out the roof, the rest of the porch and its furnishings having been designed artfully around it. A curved two-seater with a matching curved footstool wrapped around the tree’s base. I sat in it and admired a clear view straight out onto the lake, the boathouse just to the left and down a short pathway from where I sat.
“Do you think they just didn’t want to cut down the tree?” Ruthie asked. “So they built around it?”
“Looks like it,” I said. “It’s grand to be staying here. I thought we’d be in the workers’ cabins or something.”
“Maybe these are the workers’ cabins.” Ruthie grinned. “What’s this?” On a table at the far side of the porch there was a welcome basket with a bottle of wine, chocolates and a book about the area. Behind that, there was an enormous bouquet of red roses with a card. Ruthie picked it up. “It’s for you.”
I jumped up and took it from her.
Dear Olive,
I feel terrible about our encounter on the train, and it seems we’ve had a misunderstanding. Please can we find some time this evening to talk? I do hope you’ll forgive me for upsetting you.
Please accept my apologies.
Je ne peux pas arrêter de penser à toi. Amour de ton plus grand admirateur,
Archie
“Well, what does it say?” Ruthie was grabbing at the card, bouncing around me like a madwoman.
“I have no idea,” I said, holding it above my head out of her reach.
“What do you mean you have no idea?” she said, still jumping.
“I don’t know—it’s in French.”
“French?” She looked confused, and I handed it to her, resuming my place at the tree.
“Je ne pew paz arr-et-air dey pen-ser a toy,” she read aloud. “I don’t know what it says either, but he sure sounds stuck on you.”
“Well, maybe he is, but unfortunately for him he’s got himself stuck in another engagement.”
She plucked one of the roses from the bouquet and inhaled deeply. “How on earth does anyone get their hands on a bouquet of roses like this in the mountains, anyway?”
“I suppose if you have enough money you can get your hands on anything you want.”
Getting dressed in evening attire for dinner felt strange and unnecessary in the middle of the forest, but when we left our cabin the lanterns had been lit, creating a magical glow, and our guide, Eugene, was waiting to escort us to the main lodge. We met with the rest of our group on the way over, and as soon we entered the main room, Anne applauded and drew everyone’s attention to us.
“Oh, how wonderful you’re all here,” she said. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our latest guests, the wonderful and talented Ziegfeld girls.” About twenty other guests turned and joined her in a round of applause. “We have the pleasure of their company at dinner this evening—please get to know one another.”
I surveyed the room—magnificent tall ceilings with dark wood beams, an enormous wood fireplace set with grey stone that took up the entire back wall. The room was heavily decorated with taxidermy, including an owl, wings spread as if it were about to take flight and pick its prey from among us, and a giant grizzly bear keeping watch over the room.
“Menacing, isn’t it?” Anne said as she walked over. “I shot him myself while traveling through the West.” She had a gleam in her eye and I couldn’t quite tell if she was serious. I tried to picture her, now in full evening dress, holding a gun and facing down a grizzly.
“This is my husband, Raymond,” she said, looking up at the tall man beside her.
“So kind of you to come all this way,” he said with a noticeable lisp that was endearing and somehow welcoming. I’d been expecting the owners of these properties to be snooty, but so far that wasn’t the case at all. “We can’t wait to see your performances—what a welcome change it will be.” He then introduced Howie and the girls to a few of the trail guides who’d be wilderness companions for the guests over the next few days, leading hikes, taking the men shooting and educating anyone who wanted to know about the area. Raymond explained that the guides served as professors of the wilderness, friends of the great outdoors, and they would be with us at all social occasions, during dinner and after, so we could continue the conversation into the evening. They’d grown up in the area and knew the terrain, the weather and the hunting patterns inside and out and were therefore treated with high regard. Raymond and the guides showed us around the room, pointing out different hunting trophies.
“Archibald has been eagerly awaiting your arrival,” Anne said in a hushed tone, gently keeping me back from the tour. I tried not to act surprised at the mention of his name, or that he’d discussed me with her, but I casually glanced around the room. “He’s in the far corner by the piano. Don’t be too tough on him, he can come off as a big shot because he’s so respected on the business side of things, but deep down he’s a real softy.” She smiled and I had to bite my tongue. I was not about to engage in this conversation with our gracious host. “Not the kind of softy that’ll be bouncing a baby on his knee, mind you, he doesn’t slow down enough for that kind of life, as you probably know, and he tells me you two are cut from the same cloth.”
“Well, I’m a show girl,” I said a little roughly, though I knew my sharpness should be directed toward Archie and not Anne. “We don’t tend to have those domesticated bones in our bodies.”
“He tells me you’re a city girl, but, boy, I hope you’ll feel the privacy out here is worth every minute of that long journey. Manhattan can be exhausting, don’t you think?”
“Sometimes,” I said, knowing full well that her busy social life would be entirely different from mine. I thrived on the hectic city, the late nights, the secret speakeasies, the cramped and sweaty dance floors. She was speaking of society parties and philanthropic obligations and expectations.
“Even when I’m in Newport, you’d better believe the gown I wear to dinner, the food I serve and the guests I entertain will be in the paper the next day. I don’t get a minute of peace. But out here it’s secluded, it’s protected, it’s hard to reach, and the press can’t get anywhere near me. I can wear what I want, when I want, and do whatever I please.”
“Must be a relief.” I tried to commiserate, but I was the opposite. I welcomed the press writing about me, flattering me, telling the world what I was doing and encouraging them to get in on the fun. “How long do you stay out here in the summer?” I asked, trying to keep things light.
“We arrive in July, then off to Newport at the end of August,” she said.
“Must be a lot of work, though, to maintain such a huge property.”
“Oh, we’re very lucky to have exceptional staff who live here year-round, and they keep us wonderfully self-sufficient. We have a small farm and gardens, and we grow our own vegetables, so we’re always ready for visitors. We’ve had scientists, writers, statesmen, actors, and even Ziegfeld girls,” she added, winking at me.
“Are we your first?”
“You are not, my dear, but you are certainly the most lovely. I can see why Archibald is so smitten with you.”
“You know…,” I began, I just couldn’t stand there a minute longer and listen to her speak of him as if he were some poor injured bird.
“Oh, my dear, would you excuse me for just a moment? I have to greet a guest who just walked in.…”
I stood in the middle of the room alone for a moment and felt Archie’s eyes on me. Glancing over, I couldn’t help noticing that he looked particularly modern and dapper in a double-breasted dinner jacket with those wider satin lapels that the more fashionable men were wearing these days.
Despite everything, I hoped that he’d make his way over to me. If we were going to be here at the same camp for a few days, I at least wanted to get the awkwardness over with. But just when I thought he might, the fellow from the steamboat appeared out of nowhere.
“Oli,” he said, smiling broadly. “Remember me from the boat? Andrew Stark.” He lifted my hand to kiss it.
“How could I forget?”
“You left me all alone down there,” he said. He was tight already, as if he’d been leaning into the gin martinis a little too hard all afternoon. “It wasn’t kind.” He stepped toward me. “You can’t leave me all hot and bothered like that, you know, you’ll get a man in trouble if you leave him in that state.”
“You got into that state all by yourself.” I stepped back, no longer wanting to be associated with him but also unsure of who he was and what had secured him an invitation to the Belmonts’ camp.
“Maybe, but babe, you’re the only one who can get me out of it, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not your babe—”
“Everything all right over here?” It was Archie. He stood between me and Mr. Stark.
“Fine,” I said stiffly, rolling my eyes. Archie looked from me to Andrew.
“Why don’t you get yourself some air.” He patted the guy on his back rather hard and nudged him away from me toward the back door. “You smell like panther piss, you’re lit up like a store window, and we haven’t even sat down for dinner yet,” he said in a whisper loud enough for me to hear. “If I see you bothering this young lady again, or showing disrespect in any way, I’m going to have no choice but to punch your lights out.”
He turned to Archie with a look of surprise.
“That’s right,” Archie went on. “Don’t make me show you what I mean, go on.”
I couldn’t help smiling. I hadn’t expected such a direct delivery, and neither had that drunk, but it certainly did the trick, and we watched him slink out the back door.
“Thank you,” I said.
“He can be a real brute.”
“I meant for the flowers in my cabin.”
Archie looked mildly surprised.
“What? You think I couldn’t have handled that boozehound myself?” I said.
He laughed. “That boozehound is Raymond’s business partner’s son, and he’s always in spectacular form.” He looked at me seriously. “Can we get a breath of fresh air before dinner? There’s something I need to tell you.”
I glanced around; everyone was still mingling and conversing. “I’m quite comfortable here,” I said. I didn’t see why I should have to leave this magnificent room.
“Then can we sit instead?” he asked, gesturing toward two wooden framed armchairs near the fireplace. I shrugged and led the way. Archie sat down, looking uncomfortably at the guests around us.
“I’m afraid that I owe you an apology,” he said. “You weren’t entirely wrong in your assessment of me. In fact, your instincts were right.”
“Obviously,” I said.
“At the time of our meeting and in the weeks that followed there was indeed another woman.” He glanced at me, looking concerned, as if I might once again make a scene, and he quickly continued, as if hoping he might tame the situation. “I’ve been involved with a woman in Cincinnati for almost half a year now, and in what seemed to occur as a result of a natural progression of time spent together, rather than any deep interest or desire, we became engaged to be married.”
I glared at him, not giving him the satisfaction of a response—he hadn’t shared anything that I didn’t already know.
“But upon meeting you, I had such intense feelings for you, I knew that the engagement wasn’t right. I had never felt that way about her. It was more a pairing of convenience—her family knows my family, she lives in the city where much of my work takes place, where my family resides.”
I shook my head to let him know that he was heading down the wrong path here. I didn’t want to know about her or how neatly she fit into his life back home. I wanted to know why he was telling me this. He picked up on my impatience and quickly moved on.
“Ever since I met you at the Pirate’s Den I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I asked around to find out where you might perform and I finally discovered you were in Ziegfeld’s show. It wasn’t by chance that I caught that ribbon, it was sheer determination. Even though I knew nothing about you, I was incredibly taken. It was like electricity when we danced, and I felt compelled to know you. I also knew in that instant I couldn’t go through with the engagement, not if I was capable of having such feelings for you. It took some time for me to unravel things, and when we went to dinner that evening and kept the restaurant open into the early hours of the morning … I admit … I had not fully untangled myself of my obligation.”
I stiffened and readied myself to stand and leave. I’d wasted hours at dinner with him, indulged him. To think that I’d envisioned myself with him. I’d refrained from asking him to come up to my apartment—despite how much I’d longed for him that evening. I’d followed his “gentlemanly” lead, doing the appropriate thing. But how long I’d lain in bed that night picturing us together, something so ridiculously premature that I’d never done before.
He took my hand gently, insisting that I hear him out.
“Please, Olive. Don’t give up on me so soon. I should have told you, but I was worried you wouldn’t give me the time of day. I did know then that I would end things with Louise no matter what.”
Louise. The name made me cringe.
“You were right to notice, of course, that I wasn’t back to the city as much as I would have liked in those early days after meeting you. I felt that I must first wrap things up in Cincinnati. I didn’t want to be the kind of man who wooed you in New York before resolving things back home. That was a risky thing to do on my end. I worried about leaving you confused, but I felt compelled to do things the right way. I wanted to do the right thing, in the right order.”
I shook my head. I was at a loss for words. And that was rare for me.
“Olive,” he said urgently, taking both my hands and turning me to face him. “Please tell me I haven’t missed my chance.”
“Where do things stand now?” I asked dryly, unsure what to think, if I should trust him. I’d felt betrayed and fooled.
“I’ve called it off, the whole thing. No matter what you decide, meeting you made me realize I was making a mistake. Everyone back home is shocked at the abrupt break and seems to feel I’ve done something terribly wrong, and now I realize how unkind it has been of me to let things go as far as they did when I never felt true love for her. But I’ve made my decision and it’s final.”
“And you and me being here, Archie, in the middle of the forest at the exact same camp, at the exact same time. Is this just a coincidence or did you have something to do with it?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I might have put in a special request with the Belmonts.” He looked back at me and again quickly continued. “Don’t get me wrong, they were thrilled, absolutely over the moon about the idea of you. They’ve heard about your voice and your performances and they love the Ziegfeld shows, and I may have put in a few good words with your boss.”
“What? Your good words cost me my role in the Midnight Frolic,” I said. “I was the star of that show, and now they’ve replaced me during my absence.”
He looked surprised. “But I specifically spoke to Ziegfeld and he assured me that you’d be right back where you left off after the summer tour. He promised, man to man.”
He didn’t seem to understand how his interference had unsettled me. Who was he to manipulate my life without my knowing? And yet the intensity of his feelings had been responsible.
“Now they know they can plop someone else in my role at any time, and the show will go on. I’m no longer indispensable.”
I was angry with him and I wanted him to know it, but I was also strangely flattered, despite everything he was telling me, that he’d gone to so much trouble to ensure we could spend time together.
“I realize now, as I’m saying it, how this may seem. It’s just that after we talked that night, about traveling and exploring the world, I felt certain you’d love it here. I wanted you to experience it, to feel the beauty of it, and I thought how wonderful it would be to show you this, to spend time with you here away from the busy city, to get lost on a hike, to row you out to the other side of the lake and take a picnic. I may have got ahead of myself, dreaming all this up without your permission, but it was a dream and I went for it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what to think. I wasn’t expecting this, that’s for certain.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Olive. If you don’t want to see me while you’re here, I will stay out of your way”—he looked up as if to gauge my reaction—“but if you will allow me, it would be my absolute honor to share it with you.”
A bell rang and everyone began to move toward the main doors and head outside for dinner.
“Let’s go out,” I said. “I don’t want to keep Anne waiting.”
Outside in the open air, two long tables had been set for dinner, all spectacularly lit up with candles and even tiny lights that hung in the trees above. The cabins and the main lodge surrounding the space were all lit from within, and the whole scene looked like something from a storybook.
The seating arrangements were such that our group was seated at one end of the table, while the rest of the guests were seated at the other end. My seat was smack in the middle, opposite Anne and Raymond, with Ruthie and my fellow performers on my right and the rest of the guests on my left. When Archie took the empty seat next to mine, I raised my eyebrow.
“I suppose you had a hand in this too?”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, flashing a bashful smile.
I hadn’t decided what to make of his news yet, so I was as gracious as I needed to be as a guest at the table, but I didn’t indulge him—instead I paid particular attention to our hosts.
Over the main course of sweetbreads, mushrooms and green lima beans, I asked Anne who else had visited the camp, fascinated by this whole world, hidden away in the mountains, that I’d known nothing about until just a few weeks ago.
“Oh, we’ve had all kinds—actors, lieutenant colonels, writers—hundreds. I can’t think of them all.”
“Who was the most interesting?” Ruthie leaned in and asked.
“Oh, it has to be the wife of the imperial emperor of China.”
“She traveled with twenty-five personal maids,” Raymond added. “Can you believe that? I thought Anne required a lot of help!”
Anne laughed. “It’s true, they just kept coming out of the carriages. I had to worry about having enough beds.”
“While we had dinner,” Raymond jumped in, “our staff had to rearrange the cabins to sleep six or seven maids where there’d usually be no more than two.”
“Three of her girls were assigned simply to watch her bedsheets, even when she was out of the room. If a breeze so much as ruffled her sheets, they had to be washed and changed immediately,” Anne continued. “We found her delightful, but the staff needed a few days’ break after she left with her entourage.”
I thought I’d experienced luxury—having my own apartment with Ruthie, receiving mink coats and jewelry backstage from admirers and perfect strangers—but all this extravagance was unlike anything I’d ever known, and here in the wilderness was the last place I’d expected to find it.
The next morning, I woke to a racket and a rotten champagne headache. Someone, somewhere in camp, was singing their lungs out. I put my head under my pillow to drown it out, but it didn’t help, and then I realized that it wasn’t just any old fool, it was a man’s voice, and a beautiful one at that.
Why on earth would anyone be crooning so early? Surely I wasn’t the only one who didn’t appreciate being roused when the sun was barely up. I peeked into Ruthie’s room—she was sleeping soundly and snoring like an old man, so I left her to it and checked the clock in the kitchenette: a quarter to six. Absurd! If I’d really put my mind to it, perhaps I could have gone back to sleep; I could sleep anywhere through just about any noise, usually. But I was annoyed and intrigued, my head was splitting, and I had to know who would do such a thing at this god-awful hour. And the fact was, the more I listened, the more I had to know who that voice belonged to.
I threw my fur coat over my silk pajamas and robe, pulled the woolen socks that my mother had knitted for me up my calves as high as they would go and stepped into my rubber galoshes. I followed the voice all the way to the lakeshore, where it became apparent that it was coming not from our camp but from the other side of the lake or farther down the shore. I walked along the water’s edge a little, but there was no way I was getting any closer unless I took to water.
The boathouse was a green two-story structure with a sloped shingled roof directly downhill from my cabin. Canoes were stacked inside and mounted from wall racks. A small metal rowboat sat calmly in the water, tied with a simple looped rope next to the deck, its oars already fixed in place. I climbed in, wobbling as I set foot inside, then I eased the rope off the dock and quickly took a seat on the thin wooden bench, hoping to calm the rocking motion. After pushing myself away from the dock with my oar, I began to glide into the thick grey fog engulfing Osgood Pond. I couldn’t see where I was going in the early morning haze, so I closed my eyes and followed the sound.
It might’ve been August, but at that time in the morning it was colder than Greenland itself out there. I looked down at my outfit and had a giggle, quite sure that when my mother had sat by the fireplace in our family home, tiny needles clicking away, she hadn’t envisioned me wearing these socks on occasions such as this. The mink coat, a gift from some stage-door johnny during my first week on the job, hadn’t been on such an adventure either and would probably be ruined if it got sopping wet. But if I flipped this boat over, I’d have bigger problems than replacing my fur in the summer, in our remote corner of the Adirondacks. I’d probably damn near freeze to death.
As I drove the oars through the water, I realized that steering was much harder than I’d imagined. I tried to turn into the direction of the voice—deep and emotive, becoming clearer and more powerful the closer I got—but the rowboat, which had looked so inviting and romantic sitting under the eave of the boathouse, almost calling for me to get in, suddenly felt too big and cumbersome for me to manage. I had a moment of panic. I could no longer see my way back to shore, nor could I see where I was going.
I kept on rowing, scared to look down into the deep black water, realizing how impulsive I had been and wishing I could be more like Ruthie—she might seem like a free spirit at times, but she had a good head on her shoulders. I focused on the voice—Italian and familiar—and wondered if I could have made a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t someone singing after all, maybe it was someone playing a Victrola as loud as could be, because the closer I seemed to get, the more it sounded like the operatic tenor Alberto Ricci.
“Hello,” I called out. I was close now and began to make out the shape of someone through the fog. “Hello, who’s there?”
The singing stopped, and when I was about eight feet away, I could see him clearly—Alberto Ricci, sitting in a green canoe in his white long johns. I couldn’t believe it was actually him. Quickly plunging my oars in the water and paddling backwards to slow my arrival, I narrowly avoided a collision.
“Buongiorno,” he said, smiling right at me as if he’d been expecting company.
“Hello,” I said, attempting to sound stern. I had to keep my composure. “I must say that your singing, your beautiful singing, out here in the middle of the lake, is waking up the whole of our camp and probably half of the Adirondacks. May I suggest that you save your practice for later in the day?”
“Che bella,” he said. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance. What is your name?”
“Olive,” I said. “Olive Shine, I’m staying at the Pines Camp. We’re the entertainment for a few days, the Ziegfeld Follies.”
“Olive, the Lady of the Lake,” he said. “Ciao, bella. So lovely for you to join me. Alberto.” He rolled his Rs and I couldn’t help smiling. I was meeting Alberto Ricci in person in the middle of a lake!
“I know who you are. Actually, I saw you perform at the Fairmont Opera House when I was just a kid; my mother is a big fan. Your voice is stunning, absolutely magnificent. But the hour … it’s so early.”
“Come—” He reached out his hands as if I might just drop my oars and climb into his canoe with him. When I didn’t cooperate, he simply pulled my rowboat closer with his oar until they were parallel and we were facing each other.
“Now I see you,” he said.
“I’d rather you didn’t. You’ve most definitely cut my beauty sleep short!”
“And what do you perform in Mr. Ziegfeld’s spectacular? Do you dance on your toes?”
“Dance, yes, but singing is my specialty,” I said, suddenly feeling meek next to this idol.
“My dear, what better place is there to perform our morning exercises—these are the perfect conditions for our vocal cords—the moisture in the air, away from all that dry filth in the city. Do you live in Manhattan?”
“Of course.”
“I do not know how you do it. How can you live and breathe there? Wait until you hear yourself here, it is so powerful, amplified.”
“I know it’s amplified! It sounded like you were singing into my ear while I was trying to sleep.”
“Don’t worry, I have something that will help you wake—” He held up an Icy-Hot Thermos. “The housekeeper made me some of your terrible American Maxwell House. It’s all yours.” He handed it to me, and I unscrewed the lid and took a sip.
“That’s not just Maxwell House,” I said, feeling the warmth of brandy or whiskey or some liquor on the back on my throat.
“Of course not, I said it’s terrible—I have to add something to make the flavor.”
“May I ask what you are doing here?”
“I’m staying at Paul Smith’s Hotel that way.” He pointed his oar to the other end of the lake. “I don’t like to wake my friends and neighbors, so I paddle south.” He grinned. “And what a treat, because I meet you.”
I couldn’t help laughing. I had dreamed of someday meeting this man in person. If I still had money coming in from the Frolic and the Follies, I would’ve spent my entire paycheck from Ziegfeld on a ticket to see him perform. I’d splurge on a ticket in the orchestra section, just so I could see him up close, without having to watch the whole performance through the opera glasses. And here we were in the most unlikely of places.
“Would you care to accompany me?”
“Where to?” I asked.
“To sing, of course.”
We started with some vowel warm-ups and then sang together until the fog had cleared, the sun was out and the birds were singing above us. We sang “Ave Maria” at the top of our lungs as if we were onstage before a full audience, not in the middle of a lake, on our way to getting drunk on hooched-up coffee in our pajamas. We sang as many songs as we could think of in English.
“O brava, Olive,” he said. “With some proper instruction you could go far.” He nodded, looking serious, and I was both delighted by the compliment from such a talented and accomplished professional and slightly disappointed—I’d thought that all my years of lessons had been enough.
“This is quite a way to start the day,” I said, lying back on my fur coat, feeling the sun start to warm up the morning.
“It’s the only way to start the day. Il miglior modo!” he said. “The best way.”
“Let’s do one more, then I’m afraid I have to get back to the camp,” I said. “We have our first rehearsal and then a performance tonight.”
“One more,” he said. “I have breakfast with my host and then I plan a long siesta. ‘’O sole mio’ for l’ultima.”
“Oh, I don’t know Italian very well,” I said. “I don’t know it at all.”
“You know this,” he insisted. “You must.”
Of course, once he began, I recognized the song and was able to sing along with the chorus, making up and filling in when I didn’t know what came next.
We both laughed when we were done, he at the ridiculousness of me making up words, I’m sure, and I because the whole meeting had been so unexpected, so dreamlike, and I never could have imagined such an encounter.
“Learn Italian, Olive,” he said, turning his canoe to face north. “One or two songs to start, it will help you in your career.”
I smiled, excited at the prospect.
“Meet you again domani?” he said.
“Domani!” I said with my hands and my best Italian accent.
“Domani,” he said, turning his canoe in the direction of his hotel as my little metal rowboat rocked in his wake.
We rehearsed in the dance hall down by the bowling alley on the south side of the property, and early that afternoon we practiced on the outdoor stage near where we’d had dinner the night before. Howie gave us stage directions for five of the classic Follies numbers—including most of the acts I’d performed during my parents’ disastrous attendance—and while the stage was nowhere near as smooth and polished as the New Amsterdam’s, and it was a fraction of the size, we were able to make it work.
Usually when the company went on the road, they went for four months over the summer to cities such as Chicago, Kansas City, St. Louis, Cleveland and Philadelphia. They took over two train cars: one for the performers and crew, one solely for the scenery and costumes. This, however, was a one-month deal and we couldn’t bring scenery because there was no way to transport it once we were off the train. It made the whole thing feel less impressive than our usual productions, but we still managed to put on a decent show.
After the performance, we changed and mingled with the guests around the bonfire. Ziegfeld had been right: they were all grateful and complimentary for the entertainment. Archie was sitting with a group of people on the far side of the bonfire. We caught each other’s eye and I saw him excuse himself from his group and walk over to me.
“You were spectacular as usual,” he said.
“Thank you, we had to make do with what was available.”
“Honestly, you could have been unaccompanied with no stage and no fancy costumes and you would have had us all on our knees.”
I smiled.
“Join us.…” He motioned to his friends. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to appear too eager to let him off the hook.
“I should stay,” I said, looking back to my fellow performers. “We were in the middle of discussing the show.”
“Ah.” He nodded, though I sensed he knew I was making him work for his forgiveness. “Maybe tomorrow, then,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said coyly, and I had to force myself to turn and slowly walk away.