Then I had to tell Skip, and I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to, so I raced to the theater to tell him, to the backstage dressing room, and he was sitting there with Elizabeth looking serious, and when I looked at his face I saw that he already knew he had it too. I said I was sorry, awful sorry for everything, and that it was all my fault, and he said my name and shook his head and couldn’t look me in the eye, and then Elizabeth reached out and held his hand and I felt shame. And then I saw Elizabeth was crying and I realized that she had it too, and that she and Skip were lovers. Then I could really hear the crowds roaring in my head, an ocean of applause for me, Jeanie, the girl in the air, taking down everyone around me. It was only a few minutes later that Felix showed up, whistling, humming, ready for another show, and then we had to tell him, all of us, that our road family was sick, we had all given each other a case of something horrible, and the minute we told him he walked out and didn’t return until right before the show.
Elizabeth left to do Belle’s hair, I smoothed mine down on my own, Skip sat next to me in the mirror, I put on my lipstick, I kohled my eyes, I looked at him in the mirror and I couldn’t tell what he was feeling at all, who was this person next to me, this beautiful fair-haired boy, but he wouldn’t look back at me, somehow he was looking anywhere in the room but at me, and then I knew he was just as much a liar and a cheat as me, we were the same, me & Skip, and Skip & Elizabeth were the same, and it was only poor Felix who got the short end of it all, happy, whistling Felix, now on fire like the rest of us. And then it was showtime.
It took about five minutes into our act, the first real spin of the night, for me to fall. I can’t say as to which one of them dropped me, Skip or Felix, because when you’re in the air like me you lose track of who is supposed to be catching you. You just close your eyes and hope everyone’s doing their job, and this time they weren’t. Skip or Felix, Skip & Felix? I didn’t get a good look at their faces afterward, I was up in the air, and then I was down, and I felt a crack in my leg, a very particular crack, and I screamed, and all I saw was stars in my pain, stars and theater lights and then blackness, and then I passed out.
I woke up in a hospital, a doctor telling me if I had landed differently I would have broken my back. It’s how you fall, he said, that matters. Youth helps, fitness, and how you fall. He’s telling me how lucky I am, lucky with the cast up past my knee. I told him I didn’t believe in luck, I’d make my own fate, thanks.
No one came to visit me the first day, not Skip or Elizabeth or Felix, but then finally Belle, my old friend Belle, showed up at my bedside. She told me that she was sorry but that I would have to leave town, or at least leave the show, and that as soon as I was recovered enough to travel she would be happy to buy me a train ticket back to New York City, back where I belonged, with my family. She said she had taken a chance on me and I had failed because I had upset the balance of the road family. But also she said that she loved me like a sister and she bore me no ill will, would hold no grudge, and would be happy to keep all of this a secret amongst our mutual friends and family as long as I would agree to do the same. And when I looked deeply into her eyes, those hooded soulful eyes, I knew that she had the clap too.
Paul came to the hospital in an elegant wool coat with black leather gloves that smelled like the woods, and I will never forget how handsome he looked, my married Italian man. There he was, kissing both of my cheeks, holding my hands, kissing them too. He said he was sorry that it had come to this and that I was a beautiful girl and I would someday recover and dance again like an angel, and he would remember our time together fondly, and that it was a crime to break a leg like mine, as graceful as it was, and with all the joy it offered the world with my fantastic performances. Then he offered to kill someone for me as an act of revenge and I said no. Then he asked me if I needed a ride home and I sobbed yes yes yes.
So last week I was driven from Chicago to Coney Island in Paul’s fancy car, and he gave me some money and this time I took it, and I did not feel like a whore, I only felt like a person in need. Paul’s driver, Mauro, is a friend of his father’s from the old country, their old country anyway, and he is my friend now, too. I told him everything that happened, start to finish, from Chicago to here, and it felt so good to tell the whole truth to someone.
He said it’s not the worst thing in the world the things that I did and that I had a little fun and there’s nothing wrong with that. I said that yes I had had my fun. He told me it’s fine to be young and entertain myself, but that I should stop lying so much because no one likes a liar and that I’ll keep all my secrets stored inside and it’ll show in my face, and I’ll end up an ugly old woman that no one will want to touch or love. He said there was a woman like that back in his village in Italy and she was a witch, and all the young boys threw stones at her until she bled. He said don’t be that way, don’t let the boys throw stones at you. He told me to be nice, he told me to be good, I said I would try. But already it felt like another lie. I’ll be good and bad, I’ll be right and wrong. I’ll be just like everyone else.
Lydia Wallach
Mazie was the hero to my family, but I’ll admit I daydreamed about being Jeanie once or twice. Obviously there was absolutely no possibility I’d live her life. I’m not a risk taker. I seek no thrills. But still I thought about it. Jeanie, the dancer, traveling the country, fluttering in and out of everyone’s life. It was a point of contrast more than a pleasant distraction. If I were not that kind of girl, what kind of girl was I?
Mazie’s Diary, November 11, 1920
My life right now is back and forth on the train, home to work, work to home, not a moment free in between. Jeanie begged me to be with her as much as possible, and I’m living up to my promise. She’s a cracked egg, a sticky mess on the ground before us all. Every day Rosie tries to clean it up.
She said: Don’t leave me alone with her.
I said: I gotta work, sister.
She said: You don’t know what it’s like, being trapped with her all day long.
I said: Oh, I know.
Jeanie’s got six more weeks left in the cast, and even then it’ll be a while longer till she gets around on her own. Meantime, I’m counting the cash, shutting the cage, and rushing home every night so I can crawl into bed right next to her. And every night she asks me the same thing.
She says: Tell me the story of your day.
Some days are more interesting than others, but most of them are exactly the same. People stand in line, they slap some cash in front of me, I give them a ticket and tell them to enjoy the show. The line’s not the interesting part. It’s the people on the streets, just hanging around. Too much time on your hands means trouble. Good kind, bad kind, both. But the streets seem cleaner these days. Now that most of the bars are closed, some of these bums have cleared out. You need money to have a good time in this town right now. The kind of fun I’m thinking about anyway.
Last night she clung to my arm, nuzzled her face up against it, desperate for attention.
She said: Tell me that people are still having a good time out there.
I said: I wouldn’t even know if they were. I’m right here with you in bed every night. You want me to have fun, let me go.
Mazie’s Diary, December 1, 1920
Sister Tee came to the cage this morning and I was glad to see her. Jeanie spends all her time feeling sorry for herself, high and dreamy, and Rosie spends all her time indulging her every whim. It’s no game I’ll play. So it was nice to talk to Tee, a woman sincerely devoted to helping others. She was looking for some help for a few more women.