Edna loved it, and was spinning in the mirror, to capture every twinkle and gleam.
“I swear, Vivian, you’ve somehow made me look tall, though I can’t credit how you’ve done it. And that blue is so refreshingly youthful. I was petrified you would put me in black, and I would look as though I should be embalmed. Oh, I cannot wait to show this dress to Billy. He has the best comprehension of women’s fashion of any man I’ve ever met. He’ll be just as excited as I am. I’ll tell you something about your uncle, Vivian. Billy Buell is that rare man who claims to love women and actually does.”
“Celia says he’s a playboy,” I said.
“But of course he’s a playboy, darling. What handsome man worth his salt is not? Though Billy is a special sort. There are a million playboys out there, you must understand, but they don’t typically enjoy a woman’s company past the obvious gratifications. A man who gets to conquer all the women he wants, but who does not prize any of them? Now, that is a man to be avoided. But Billy genuinely likes women, whether he’s vanquishing them or not. We’ve always had a wonderful time together, he and I. He’d be just as happy talking with me about fashion as trying to seduce me. And he writes the most delicious dialogue for women, which most men cannot. Most male playwrights can’t create a woman for the stage who does anything more than seduce or weep or be loyal to their husbands, and that’s awfully dull.”
“Olive thinks he’s not trustworthy.”
“She’s wrong about that. You can trust Billy. You can absolutely trust him to be himself. Olive just doesn’t like what he is.”
“And what is he?”
Edna paused and thought about it. “He’s free,” she decided. “You won’t meet many people in life who are, Vivian. He’s a person who does quite as he pleases, and I find that refreshing. Olive is a more regimented soul by nature—and thank goodness for it, or nothing around here would function—and thus she’s suspicious of anyone who is free. But I myself enjoy being around the free. They excite me. The other magical thing about Billy, I dare say, is that he’s so handsome. I do love a handsome man, Vivian—as surely you have already gathered. It’s always been a pleasure just to be in the room with Billy’s handsomeness. But with that charm of his, beware! If he ever puts the full game on you, you’re a dead pigeon.”
I had to wonder if Billy had ever “put the full game” on Edna, but I was too polite to pursue it. I did, however, have the courage to ask: “About Peg and Billy . . . ?”
I wasn’t even sure how to finish the question, but Edna instantly understood my gist.
“You’re wondering about the nature of their alliance?” She smiled. “All I can tell you is that they do love each other. Always have. They are so similar in intellect and humor, you see. They used to positively spark off each other when they were younger. If you were a non-initiate into their brand of wit, it could be intimidating—one never quite knew how to jump into the mix. But Billy adores Peg and always did. Now, to be loyal to just one woman would be awfully narrowing to a man like Billy Buell, of course, but his heart has always belonged to her. And they delight in working together—as soon you shall see. The only problem is that Billy has a deft hand with chaos, and I’m not certain that Peg is seeking chaos anymore. These days, she wants loyalty more than fun.”
“But are they still married?” I asked.
By which I meant, of course: Do they still sleep together?
“Married by whose standard?” Edna asked, folding her arms and looking at me with her head tilted. When I didn’t answer the question, she smiled again and said, “There are subtleties, my dear. You will discover as you get older that there’s practically nothing but subtleties. And I hate to disappoint you, but it’s best you learn now: most marriages are neither heavenly nor hellish, but vaguely purgatorial. Still and all, love must be respected, and Billy and Peg possess true love. Now if you could fix this belt for me, darling, and find a way to stop it bunching about my ribs whenever I lift my arms, I will absolutely die with gratitude.”
—
Because Edna’s prestige was going to elevate the tone of the play, Billy was convinced that the rest of the production had to be of equal quality to its star. (“The Lily Playhouse just got her pedigree papers” was how he described the situation. “This is a whole new dog show, kids.”) Everything we created for City of Girls, he instructed, would have to be far better than what we were accustomed to creating.
This would not be easily achieved, of course, given what we were accustomed to creating.
Billy had sat through a few nights of Dance Away, Jackie! and he made no secret of his disdain for our current troupe of players.
“They’re garbage, honey,” he said to Peg.
“Don’t butter me up,” she said. “I’ll think you’re trying to get me into bed.”
“They are twenty-four-carat garbage, and you know it.”
“Just give it to me straight, Billy. Stop flattering me.”
“The showgirls are fine as they are, because they don’t need to do anything other than look good,” he said. “So they can stay. The actors are vile, though. We’ll need to get some new talent in here. The dancers are cute enough, and they all look like they come from bad families, which I like . . . but they’re so heavy on their feet. It’s assaulting. I love their tarty little faces, but let’s keep them in the background and bring in some real dancers to put up front—at least six. Right now, the only dancer I can stand to watch footing around the front of the stage is that fairy, Roland. He’s terrific. But I need everyone else to be of his caliber.”
In fact, Billy was so impressed with Roland’s charisma that he’d initially wanted to give the boy a song of his own to sing, called “Maybe in the Navy”—a tune that would seem to be about a boy wanting to join the Navy in order to pursue a life of adventure, but would actually be a clever and veiled reference to Roland’s very obvious homosexuality. (“I’m picturing something like ‘You’re the Top’” is how Billy had explained it to us. “You know, a suggestive little double entendre of a song.”) But Olive had instantly shut down the idea.
“Come now, Olive,” Peg had begged. “Let us do it. It’s funny. The women and children in the audience won’t catch the reference, anyhow. This is supposed to be a racy story. Let’s allow things to be more spirited for once.”
“Too spirited for public consumption” was Olive’s verdict, and that was the end of it: Roland didn’t get his song.
—
Olive, I should say, was not happy about any of this.
She was the only person at the Lily who didn’t get caught up in Billy’s excitement. On the day he arrived, she commenced sulking, and the sulk never lifted. The truth is, I was beginning to find Olive’s dourness awfully irritating. The constant niggling over every dime, the policing of sexually suggestive material, the slavish devotion to her rigid chain of habits, the way she gave Billy the brush on every clever idea he proposed, the constant fussbudgeting, and the general quashing of all fun and enthusiasm—it was just so tiresome.
For instance, let’s consider Billy’s plan to hire six more dancers for the show than we normally had onstage. Peg was all for it, but Olive called the idea “a lot of fuss and feathers for nothing.”