I’d seen Charlie weep and had him plead with me too: “You don’t really need this, do you? Let me keep it for you.” But I always pocketed my pay without an ounce of guilt or sympathy. I had things to buy and things to do. I couldn’t contemplate the idea that the club might close.
FEBRUARY ARRIVED. I’D been in San Francisco for sixteen months. It had been five months since that night on Treasure Island when Joe almost hit me, but we’d both gotten over that, and my feelings for him had only grown. Today was the first anniversary of the day we met again at the exposition. One year! That was a lot of jitterbugging and talking. I was ready for something more, and I’d decided that tonight would be the night with Joe. I was going to kiss him and tell him exactly how I felt.
I arrived at work and was ready when Charlie called, “Fiedee, fiedee, fiedee! Hurry, hurry, hurry! It’s showtime!”
I was a bit distracted by my decision, so I had to force myself to concentrate as we lined up behind the velvet curtain. Charlie opened the evening: “I want to introduce you to some lovely southern belles… from South China! Grace, Helen, Ida, May…”
We began the promenade, our umbrellas twirling just as they had on opening night, only now Charlie put up a hand to stop me, as he did during every show.
“Now hold on a second, little lady,” he drawled. “How y’all doin’ t’nite?”
“Ah, hawney,” I purred back, “I’m all riled up with no place to go.” I glanced at the audience. “Will you kindly gentlemen-and ladies too,” I added with a tiny curtsy, “allow this gal to show y’all a good time?”
Our customers chortled. They just couldn’t make sense of what they were hearing and seeing, but they absolutely loved it. (I earned an extra five dollars a week for speaking my few lines and for bringing tea to the Lim Sisters at the start of the evening. It seemed like a fortune, and yet I spent every dime.)
That night-as every night-we danced close to the patrons, who drank, smoked, and ate by the red-tinged light of their coolie-hat table lamps. They ogled us in our satin peep-toe sandals, skimpy outfits, and amusing headdresses perched at improbable angles. We swished, wiggled, and writhed. We pranced with a single forefinger raised in the air-jazz style-as we gazed heavenward like naughty angels. I scanned the room and found Joe at a table on the second tier.
When the number ended, the ponies and I went backstage, elbowing past the Juggling Jins, who’d replaced the Merry Mahjongs when they’d gone on tour to “kick the gong around” other cities. These weren’t the only changes we’d had in the fourteen months since the club opened. When Jack Mak decided he needed an assistant, he’d chosen Irene, one of the chorines, to help him. They’d gotten married two months later. (“I told him no funny business until I have a ring on my finger,” Irene said at the wedding. “I couldn’t risk getting knocked up.”) A new girl, Ruthie, had replaced Irene in the line, and she was nice enough. Tonight, after the last show, she would leave real fast, trying to escape before she had to deal with persistent stage-door Johnnies. Other girls-like Ida-would change slowly, guaranteeing that someone would be outside to take them out.
In the top-hat number, I made a turn, zeroing in on Joe to use as my focal point, and spotted Ruby next to him. The way they stared at each other… The way their heads were tilted toward each other so intimately… I finally saw it: Ruby and Joe were a couple! My breath caught. I missed a step, stumbled slightly, and stopped dead in the middle of the number. Helen sashayed in front of me to cover my mistake. I began to count in my head-one, two, three, four-and my body, trained as it was, obeyed, but my heart was frozen.
As soon as the routine ended, I ran offstage. A hand clamped down on my shoulder.
“What’s wrong with you?” Charlie demanded.
I bowed my head, praying that this wasn’t happening, that perhaps I’d fallen asleep and was having a guilty dream after what I’d hoped to say to Joe tonight.
“It was my fault,” I heard Helen answer. “I’m so clumsy and careless. Grace tripped over my feet.”
“Is this true?” Charlie asked.
I refused to look up. I saw Charlie’s alligator loafers-the ones he always wore on Saturday nights-and my black satin shoes. In my peripheral vision, I glimpsed several pairs of shoes that matched my own, belonging to Helen and the other ponies.
“I count on you, Grace,” Charlie chastised. “If you can’t do the job, then-”
Helen pulled me away before he could finish. When we got to the dressing room, she said to the other girls, “We’ve got to help her. Hazel, be a doll, will you, and grab her corset? May, make sure those buckles are tight. Ida, what am I forgetting?”
I was numb as they wrestled me out of one costume and pushed me into another.
“Did you know?” I asked.
“About what?” Helen may not have been the best dancer, but she sure could act innocent.
“Ruby and Joe.”
“Don’t imagine things,” Helen said, but her voice gave her away.
The ponies were uncustomarily silent, soaking in the drama.
Helen sighed. “I figured something might be going on with those two.”
“Fiedee, fiedee, fiedee.”
It was time for our next number. Helen balanced my hat on my head.
“Why didn’t you say something?” I asked.
“I hoped you’d never find out. I hoped even more I was wrong.” She led me through the door to the backstage area. “The truth is, I could be wrong. You could be wrong. They’ve met at the club before. You’ve seen them sit together before.”
“But did you see how they looked at each other?”
How long had I been making a fool of myself? From that night a year ago, when I introduced them outside Sally Rand’s?
At the curtain, I closed my eyes, preparing myself to go onstage. The music for the finale started. I wanted so bad to bolt out of there.
“Grace, you can’t lose your job,” Helen whispered behind me. “He’s just a boy. I take it back. He’s not a boy. If what we suspect is true, he’s a two-timer who led you on. Mama says a man like that is worse than a horse trying to pull two carts, meaning…”
When we went out for the number, Ruby and Joe were gone.
You know the expression “the show must go on”? Forget that! But I did my best to follow the music. When we came offstage, Charlie was right there, his face flushed with irritation.
“Grace is sick,” Ida said before he could speak. “She needs to go home.”
“Not possible,” Charlie said. “We have two more shows-”
“You don’t want all of us to get sick, do you?” Ida asked.
Helen put a hand on her stomach. “I’m queasy already.”
Charlie sized up the situation, weighing the loss of two girls for the last two shows against the possibility that we all might get sick and he’d lose his entire line for a night or two, or that we were lying. Then he pursed his lips and waved us off with the back of his hand.
The ponies brought me to the dressing room. As they changed into the gowns they wore between shows, Helen and I threw on our street clothes. Ruby has stolen Joe pounded in my head. Joe had hurt me, but that Ruby had deceived me was even worse. Anger began to replace my anguish.
“Where do you want to go?” Helen asked when we reached the street. “Do you want to come to my house?”
The invitation was a first. I smiled ruefully. I’d wanted to see the inside of Helen’s compound since forever.
“Thanks for the offer, but let’s go to my apartment.”
“What if Ruby and Joe are there?”
“Good! I’ll tear her eyes out,” I said, repeating something I’d seen in a movie years ago.