“I’ve studied ballet, tap, piano, and voice-”
Just then, one of the men sitting next to the male dancer stood and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. Now that I got a good look at him, I knew who he was: Charlie Low. He’d built the first grand apartment building for Chinese-the Low Apartments-up on Powell. He probably deemed himself the grandest man in Chinatown, but if he was, then he would have identified me on sight, and he didn’t. He was just a middle-aged lucky so-and-so with a healthy girth that proclaimed to all that he could eat well even in these hard times. But, as they say, the fish is the last to realize he lives in the water, meaning Charlie was just another creature in the pond until someone bigger and better-like my baba-pulled him out and showed him what was what.
“I’m Charlie Low,” he announced. “This is my wife, a little gal with a big voice, Li Tei Ming.” Then he motioned to the two other men still sitting on their chairs. “These two cowboys are Walton Biggerstaff and Eddie Wu. One is your choreographer, and the other is a dancer. You can guess who is who.” That earned some giggles, and Charlie threw his shoulders back in response. “This will be the best nightclub San Francisco has ever seen. Okay, so it won’t be the first Chinese nightclub, but it will be the first Chinese nightclub outside Chinatown. We’ll appeal to the most discriminating San Franciscans. I’m talking about lo fan.”
Grace frowned. Her ignorance of even the most basic Chinese words amazed me. I whispered, “He’s talking about Occidentals-white ghosts.”
When Charlie said, “I want girls who can sing and dance,” I started to rise as did a couple of others. Grace and Ruby pulled me back to the floor.
“Wait!” Ruby whispered. “Just listen!”
Charlie chuckled at the reaction he’d gotten. “You kids got me wrong,” he went on. “We know most of you don’t know how to dance. How could you? You’re proper Chinese daughters. Am I right?” The other girls, who’d gotten up, sat down again too. “We want to see if you can move. If you can move and you’re pretty, then we’ll teach you to dance. It won’t be hard, I swear. The main thing I want is pretty. Got it?”
“Well, then, we don’t have anything to worry about,” Ruby whispered again. “We can’t miss!”
“I won’t have a lot of rules around here, except for one,” Charlie continued. “I’m going to hire only Chinese for my floor show. This is our chance, and we’re going to make this place unique… and fun! Now, here’s Walton. Consider him your maestro and call him Mr. Biggerstaff.”
The tall and lanky lo fan got to his feet and spoke in a voice as smooth as caramel. “I want to see you all onstage.”
My stomach churned nervously as I followed Ruby and Grace. They moved like dancers, which I wasn’t. I was clumsy and scared, but a girl a couple of rows over lumbered like an old water buffalo. Even a crow loses its gait when attempting to roam like a swan.
“Let’s start with each of you walking toward me,” Mr. Biggerstaff said.
This part went fast. Either a girl could walk in a straight line or she couldn’t. Either she had biggish breasts or she didn’t. Either she was short or she wasn’t. (Not that any of us was all that big-barely five feet or so, and not one over one hundred pounds.) Either she was pretty or she wasn’t. Fifteen girls were thanked and dismissed on the spot. They were told to send other Chinese girls who were new to town and wanted work.
“Now give me four lines,” Mr. Biggerstaff ordered. Ruby, Grace, and I ended up in the back. “Three steps forward, toe tap, two steps, kick, and turn to the right. We’ll do four bars. Start on the right foot. One, two…”
Ruby moved well-delicate, like an ibis-but Grace was completely transformed. She was terrific, truly gifted. Charlie, Eddie, and Mr. Biggerstaff could barely take their eyes off her. She shone with each step, kick, and turn. At the other end of the spectrum, I was pathetic, and my dark and heavy clothes made me look even worse. Was I washing my face in a whirl of dust and disappointing myself needlessly?
After several run-throughs, Mr. Biggerstaff asked everyone to get offstage except for the first line. Ruby, Grace, and I went back to the spot on the floor where we’d been earlier, only this time, instead of sitting cross-legged, Ruby slid down into splits and began to stretch. She was unbelievably limber. She was showing off, clearly, doing her best so that Mr. Biggerstaff, Charlie Low, and the others might notice her. I watched as Grace’s eyes narrowed, calculating. She held Ruby with her gaze and slowly spread her legs until she, too, was in a complete split, and then she raised her arms over her head and lowered her torso to the floor. Oh, yes, she was better than Ruby. From her impossible position, Grace inclined her head to look up at me. I plopped down next to them.
“I’ll never get the steps,” I admitted mournfully.
“And you have no natural talent either,” Ruby observed. It was the first time she’d spoken directly to me, and it was to say something that sounded pretty mean. But Grace elbowed Ruby, who grinned to show she hadn’t actually meant me any harm. “This isn’t real dancing. You’re plenty beautiful, but you need to put some feeling into your walk.”
“Quiet over there.” Mr. Biggerstaff stared at us sternly. “If you want to talk, go outside. If you go outside, don’t come back.”
I pulled my lips between my teeth and bit down hard. My fingers twisted in my lap. The longer I was here, the more I wanted this.
“One more time, girls,” Mr. Biggerstaff said to the line onstage. “Five, six, seven, eight…”
“You can dance if you can count,” Grace whispered. “Miss Miller, my dance teacher back home, drilled that into me. One, two, three, four. Five, six, seven, eight. Come. I’ll show you.” She led me to a corner, where we’d have space to practice. “It’s an easy routine-one I could have taught the second and third graders in Miss Miller’s school.”
Grace explained that we were simply forming a big square. That I could hold in my head, even if my feet were still disobedient.
Ruby came over to watch. She crossed her arms as she studied my movements. “Have you ever seen a woman with bound feet?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “I have. In Hawaii. You need to try walking like those women do-like you don’t want to put too much weight on your feet.”
This time, when I took the first three steps, I pretended that my toes and the bones in my midfoot were broken and wrapped in binding cloth. I imagined myself floating across the floor, avoiding the anguish that any pressure would cause, sending the illusion of fragility, of a cloud drifting over moss. I dreamed I was happy and in love.
Ruby beamed. “Better.”
“Much better!” Grace agreed.
Over the next half hour, girls in the first, second, and third lines did their routines twice and then were either chosen for the next round or dismissed. Those who looked sweet and dainty made it through, even if they hadn’t mastered all the moves. A feeling hovered over the room: If you aren’t pretty, then it doesn’t matter how talented you are. When our line was called, Grace reminded me to smile, and count in my mind, and not with my lips. (Only problem: I’d been taught never to show my teeth. If I had to smile, then I should cover my mouth with a demure hand.) Ruby told me to relax. (Aiya! Like that would be possible.) But as the music played, I saw myself by a pond with weeping willows dripping their tendrils in the water, cranes flying across the sky, and soft fingers on my cheek. Ruby’s advice was working. We did the routine twice, and then Mr. Biggerstaff told us to come to the front of the stage. He spoke quietly with Charlie, Li Tei Ming, and Eddie Wu, and then asked me to step forward.