“Now?” Ida cried out. “I’m not decent yet.”
“Now!” came the reply.
We filed out of the dressing room, downstairs to the backstage alley, and then split up-with some of us passing through a velvet curtain on the right side of the stage and others going through a velvet curtain on the left side. Cooks, dishwashers, waiters, and waitresses mingled restlessly on the dance floor. Girls from the front of the house-who worked in the hatcheck room and as hostesses and photographers-lingered near the step to the first raised tier. Van Meisner, our bandleader, and the other members of the Forbidden Knights perched on the edge of the stage, their legs dangling, cigarettes hanging loose from their lips. The Lim Sisters, a new act that had been hired at the last minute, sat at what Charlie had dubbed “the best table in the house.” (Bessie, Ella, and Dolores, “the warbling trio,” had performed in vaudeville since they were seven, five, and three. None of us had seen their routine, but it was supposed to be a showstopper. We hadn’t met them yet either. They were headliners, and we were all curious about them. It was hard not to stare.) Eddie came out in his tuxedo pants, slippers, and a T-shirt with holes at the neck. He leaned against a pillar with his hands in his pockets. Li Tei stood next to her husband.
“This is it,” Charlie began. He was dressed for the opening number in a wild double-breasted yellow and blue plaid suit with bright blue velvet lapels and collar. A straw boater balanced on his head, and he kept smoothing the fake mustache pasted to his upper lip with a finger and thumb to make sure it stayed put. “You all made it, and we’re all here!”
People applauded, but I was nervous. I not only had to worry about the routines we’d practiced for weeks but also had to remember the last-minute changes Mr. Biggerstaff had made to the production to accommodate the Lim Sisters.
“We’re going to show them”-Charlie gestured toward the entrance and all the lo fan beyond the door-“that we can accomplish more than just wash dishes, do laundry, sweep floors, or work on the railroad.” The men, even the dishwashers, clapped for this. “We’re going to show them that you girls have arms and legs.” The ponies around me applauded. “Everyone has first-night jitters. Even I have them. Just remember that most of our customers have never seen a Chinese perform. We’re going to be great, and we’re going to open big.” He glanced at his watch. “Finish getting ready. And then have a fabulous night! Let’s show the world our stuff!”
“Break a leg, everyone,” Eddie called as we dispersed.
We returned to the dressing room to wait for our curtain call. I caught some of the ponies furtively spying on the Lim Sisters as they did their makeup. One of the cigarette girls came back to tell us that customers had started to arrive. The women, she reported, were dropping their furs in the cloakroom to reveal glittering jewels and silk gowns that swept the floor, while the men were shrugging out of overcoats to display perfectly cut evening dress.
“I wish I could see them,” Ida said.
“You will,” Grace said. “We’ll be out there soon enough.”
Despite my friend’s calm words, anticipation-hers included-made the room feel as though we didn’t have enough air to breathe. It was hard to sit still. I tried to focus my mind on the basics of the evening.
At a staff meeting a week ago, Charlie had walked us through what the Forbidden City experience would be like for our customers. The maître d’ would escort glamorous couples through the moon gate to floor-side tables. The less well heeled would be seated on the second or third tier, which hugged the main level on three sides. Waiters and waitresses dressed in red silk uniforms would hand out menus-the right side listed Chinese dishes, the left American. Those who didn’t have reservations would pay a one-dollar cover charge and line up at the bar. Ruby, if she wasn’t there already, would arrive soon. Grace and I had staked her to the evening.
We could hear the Forbidden Knights’ tunes all the way in our dressing room. Grace told me the name of each song: “Begin the Beguine,” “Heart and Soul,” and “Cheek to Cheek.” The melodies were beautiful and romantic, and I could practically see couples dancing in my imagination.
“As soon as the set ends,” Grace reminded us, “we’ll be on.”
My stomach lurched. Nerves!
A couple of minutes later, someone rapped his knuckles on the door. “Fiedee, fiedee, fiedee!” It was Charlie. “Hurry, hurry, hurry! It’s showtime!” Grace grabbed my hand, and together we led the other ponies to the stage-right velvet curtain. Our faces were bone-tight with anxiety. We shifted our feet-some to shake off stage fright, others practicing the moves one last time. We fingered our parasols, praying they’d open on cue. A drum rolled. Charlie stepped through the curtain to greet his guests:
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Forbidden City, where we’ll give you a new slant on entertainment.” The lo fan laughed at the insulting pun. Charlie knew what he had to say to make them happy. “You won’t see any yellow face here. No, siree. We’re already yellow! So off we go to yesteryear-when the music was light, times were easy, and the girls were beautiful.”
Van Meisner brought down his baton, and the Forbidden Knights began to play “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” Grace went through the velvet curtain first, opened her parasol, glided across the stage, and sashayed down to the dance floor. I followed right behind her with the other ponies behind me. The room oozed rich elegance, reminding me of my favorite club in Shanghai. Everyone was drinking; everyone was happy. We twirled our parasols and tilted our heads just so. We looked exquisite. We looked delicate and breakable-like dolls, like little China dolls. Then we broke into a simple combination-leisurely and rhythmic, in time with the gentle tune. Together, working as a unit where every move and every note were in accord, we supported each other and lifted each other to create a glorious and colorful spectacle. The concentration made me forget the world, made me forget that my father cared so little for me that he let me dance here at all.
We swayed around Charlie, who stood in the middle of the floor, holding his microphone. The dance was slow enough and the lights were such that with each orbit around him I glimpsed people’s faces in the audience. They had come as they might go to a curio shop: to encounter the exotic, to glimpse the scandalous, to see a real “curiosity.” So far we weren’t delivering. But before the audience’s mood could coalesce into anything negative, the tempo abruptly changed. The band launched into a rousing “Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Ay.” We shouted out the opening syllables, tore off our hats, and tossed them into the audience. We ripped away our gowns to reveal red satin corsets edged with the same fringe that hung from our parasols. Even Charlie got into the act, yanking off his plaid suit to reveal a tuxedo.
This was more like it! Charlie had promised the audience legs and arms, and here they were! Who would have guessed a Chinese girl could move like that? Chinese were supposed to be bowlegged and clumsy. And weren’t the women supposed to be submissive? Everyone knew the type. They’d seen her on the street sometimes…
“Those women in Chinatown won’t even meet my eyes,” I heard a man seated next to the dance floor whisper to his friend. (Those would have to be women like my mother, sisters-in-law, or me, who would have preferred to die than look at an ugly lo fan like him.)
“I’ve seen plenty who will meet my eyes, if you catch my drift.” The other man winked conspiratorially.