More from my novel about some Ziegfeld girls – written at age 12

Okay, so you want more? Here’s some more. I winced reading this, wanting to tell my younger self to wrap it up – PLEASE.

There is a CAMEO here from a famous person – which doesn’t quite work, timewise – My novel takes place in 1920, and I obviously hadn’t REALLY done my math – but I wanted to incorporate what I knew about vaudeville and also put someone that I loved and admired into my book. (I’m just guessing.) I love that I knew about this person enough to put him in my book – and not only him, but his sister!

Also, Blowsy is annoying me now. She’s not very nice. First she blows off Dolly in the first excerpt, and now she acts disdainful towards another person in distress. Learn some manners, Blowsy!

Chapter 1 The Show

Blowsy headed back for the dressing room. The Charleston number was third in the show. As she neared the dressing room, Amy, a short girl with black curls plastered all over her head, stuck half her body out of the room and yelled, “Blowsy! Blowsy! Help me! Please!”

Amy was new to the show, in fact this was her first week and she was rather nervous about it all. Blowsy sauntered up to her.

“Yes, Amy?”

“I can’t find my hat! You know, the one I use in the Baseball Act – the red one! Oh, Blowsy! I’ll be fired!” The girl was nearly hysterical so Blowsy reached out and placed a hand on Amy’s shoulder.

“Calm down, Amy. We’ll find your hat. You won’t be – ” the word “fired” died away on her lips as she saw that said red velvet hat was in Amy’s hand, but she had been so nervous and fussy that she hadn’t noticed it. Blowsy just gave Amy a disdainful look, brushed past her and entered the stuffy, narrow dressing room. Chaos and confusion was at its peak as she sat in her chair. She observed herself in the mirror and nodded satisfactorily. Because of all the makeup that was required of her, she didn’t at all look like the normal Blowsy but she liked the effect it had on her face. She looked more grownup.

Cherrie, Blowsy’s best friend in the troupe, removed a pile of dresses, shoes and jackets from the chair next to Blowsy and sat down. Cherrie had dirty blonde hair that was set in rags every morning, so now it was in big, bouncy curls. For the show, her hair was pulled away from her face, and tied, so she had a bunch of curls at her neck. She was an excellent dancer and her specialty was tap. Cherrie had her very own showstopper. She did a marvelous tap dance with a line of boys with top hats and tails in back of her, doing their own steps. In the end, Cherrie fit herself in the midle of them, they all put their arms around each other and, along with drum crashes and cymbal smashes, they slowly walked forward with high kicks, top hats in the air. That always turned the audience on.

Blowsy and Cherrie were known as “the best friends” in the troupe and even total strangers would have noticed it. They always walked together backstage and on the street, they were continually laughing and whispering. They shared a room with Mitzie, Anita, Fifi, and Irene in the cheap boarding house the troupe stayed in while in New York, they studied together and never kept any secrets from each other.

“Hello, Blowsie,” she said cheerfully. She looked spectacular in a silver, shiny waistcoat and bow tie, a fleecy white lacy shirt under it, a black leotard, fishnet stockings, and shiny black patent leather tap shoes. But she was in no way conceited. Performing was her life and she took it that way. It was the same with Blowsy. She loved to entertain people and make them happy and that was the chief reason she did it.

“Hi,” Blowsy said, and began to arrange all of the makeup bottles in intricate patterns.

Cherrie stretched. “How’s Jeremy?”

“Fine.” That was one of the things she liked about Cherrie. Most of the other kids in the troupe teased Blowsy and Jeremy. Like Anita, for instance. She was a very nice girl but it got on Blowsy’s nerves the way she always was running between them when they were talking, or calling them “Romeo and Juliet”. Cherrie never teased. She knew how much Blowsy liked Jeremy.

“Let’s go down and wait in the wings.” Cherrie suggested, getting to her feet with a “click-click” sound. Blowsy stood too, smiling at her friend. They pushed their way through the loud girls and emerged into the dim, still hallway. The girls’ voices were muffled behind the dressing room door. Silently, the girls walked down the curved, inky-black hallway. As they neared the stage, other voices were heard. The first and second acts were all whispering in the wings, even though it wasn’t allowed.

Cherrie motioned to two folding chairs in the corner. They both sat down. They watched the first act get ready and warm up. They were two little kids, one ten and one eleven, and they did a sweet little bride and groom number. The kids had been dancing since they were babies, and they both had great promise of becoming successful dancers. They were brother and sister, Fred and Adele Astaire, and they were very close.

The second act was a circus number. A man swung on a trapeze, a woman tightripe-walked, and below this, cotton-ball-like poodles did many tricks, people juggled, twirled batons, rode unicycles, flipped and tumbled and everyone sang a song. Blowsy’s beautiful mother, her only parent, was in this act, as a unicyclist, who juggled also. Blowsy thought the poodles were adorable, but offstage they were mean and snippety.

Blowsy and Cherrie were so near to the curtain that they could hear the raucous talking of men and women in the nightclub audience. Nightclubs were always hard to play to. Many times there were drunks in the audience and the place reeked of cigar smoke which made it hard for Blowsy to sing. They always gave them either enthusiastic cheers or loud “Boos”. Most of the time it was cheers but every now and then when something wasn’t done as well as it could have been, there were a couple of “Boos”.

The stage manager, a rugged man by the name of Garry, came over and warned everyone to be quiet because the orchestra was starting up. The trumpet played the first clear note and Blowsy and Cherrie smiled at each other.

Fred Astaire, in his overgrown tuxedo and top hat, and Adele Astaire, in her long, lace dress, tiptoed onstage and took their positions at the foot of the enormous wedding cake that they danced upon.

“They’re so cute,” Cherrie whispered as the overture ended and cheering began. Blowsy nodded and watched, transfixed, as the worn velvet curtain slowly rose. The audience could not be seen, as the footlights were brightly glaring. That always frustrated Blowsy. She felt trapped, that everyone could see her but she couldn’t see them.

From where they were sitting, Blowsy and Cherrie couldn’t see Fred and Adele’s adorable little dance, but they could tell that the audience liked it from their chuckles and whispers. When the two danced off amid cheers, smiling and glowing, Blowsy stood up and began to warm up. As the circus number dashed on, with drum rolls and excited music, the kids for the Charleston number drifted into the wings. Jeremy came to stand next to Blowsy. Grinning slyly, Cherrie edged away.

“Nervous?” Jeremy asked

“Not really. Just – excited, you know?” Blowsy replied. Jeremy grinned down at her and squeezed her arm. Blowsy leaned against him comfortably as his arm went gently around her shoulder. Just as he did this, someone hoarsely whispered, “Places!” as the circus act bounded off. The curtain fell and the Charleston kids raced on, the girls leaped on their partner’s shoulders and all the lights went out. Slowly, the curtain rose and a small circle of light was centered on Blowsy’s smiling face.

Ss she sang, she could hear the whole place fall silent. Shivers! As she led the boys and girls through the Charleston, the crowd began to cheer and applaud for the popular dance that was loved so well. When Blowsy had her own dance sequence, applause started like a thunderclap, and when the dance ended, with all the girls on the boys’ shoulders, with arms up in the air, Blowsy felt absolutely exhilarated. The curtain dropped amid cheering and screams of “Encore!” So, the curtain rose, and the kids did their little Encore dance, but this time ended in a line at the foot of the stage with arms thrown up. The clapping and cheering continued as, one by one, the crowd stood up. In the air, Jeremy squeezed Blowsy’s hand. A bright red rose landed at Blowsy’s feet. She leaned over, picked it up, and blew an enormous kiss at the audience as the curtain fell for the last time.

The children ran off, feeling way up in the clouds. As they raced past Garry he said softly, “Nicely done, kids.”

The boys and girls zoomed straight to the practice room where they could make all the noise they wanted to and no one could hear. The minute the door was closed, each and every one of them began to scream and leap around, hugging and kissing each other. Blowsy just stood silently, in a trance, holding her rose. She stared at it, and clutched it to her kelly-green flapper dress, closing her eyes to savor the memory of her triumph.

Jeremy approached her and lightly touched her arm. Her eyes flew open. She and Jeremy just stared at each other for a minute and then Blowsy threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly. He hugged her back and kissed her on the cheek. She buried her face in his white coat, so overcome by the cheering, stamping, standing crowd that at the moment she forgot everything she ever knew.

Gently, Jermy lifted her head by her chin and stared down into her eyes glistening with tears.

“Oh … Jeremy,” she breathed, and hugged him again. When they parted, she showed him the rose with shaking fingers.

“It’s really beautiful, Blows,” he said with admiration. Blowsy was so worked up and excited that Jeremy suggested that she go back to her dressing room and relax until her next act, where she was one of 24 chorus girls in long flowery dresses, with a man and a woman star leading them in a beautiful song and dance. Blowsy agreed. Jeremy led her down the quiet hallways and stopped at her dressing room. “Now you relax, all right? You were fantastic, Blowsy,” he said as she opened the door, gave him one last smile and entered the room.

When the few girls remaining in the room saw Blowsy leaning against the door, staring off into space, they ran to her side.

“Blowsy? What’s up?” cried Sally, with platinum-colored hair in a perfect bob.

“Blowsy … have you broken up with Jeremy?” Dolly, a rather slow kid who had a terrible inferiority complex, said with apprehension.

“Of course not!” cried Irene, turning angrily on Dolly. “That will never happen!” Then she looked back at the dazed Blowsy. “What’s wrong, Blows?”

Blowsy stared around at the three girls with sparkling blue eyes and smiled. “Nothing’s wrong! Hot diggity, everything’s pos-a-lootly nifty!” She showed them the rose and told them all about the enthusiastic approval of her number. Then Blowsy rushed around, found a glass cup, filled it with water from the washroom, put the rose in it and placed it in front of her mirror. Then, still feeling a little dizzy, she sat down, closed her eyes, and slowly began a deep breath, a relaxing technique she had learned from her mother long ago. It calmed her down enormously. She began to dress in her next costume. It was a light azure-blue dress, with a satin sash, a band of lace at the hem, a big white corsage on the left dress-strap, elbow-high white gloves, and a big, wide-brimmed blue hat with blue flowers on the rim.

Cherrie burst into the room. She no longer had on her shiny costume, she was also in the next number Blowsy was in. She had on an orange dress that came in tight at the waist, hugged her hips, and then came out fully in overlapping orange ruffles. On her head was a little orange hat and draped over her arm was a leopard-fur mink. Behind her was Monica, in a light wispy blue dress with thin lacy sleeves, Fifi in a greenish-grey dress with an elegant white fur cape and a glittery green hat, Mitzie in a bright yellow dress with a low neckline surrounded by lemony satin ruffles and a full, full ruffled skirt, and Leslie, a girl with pert yellow curls, in a hot pink dress with enormous puff sleeves and layers and layers of pink ruffles for the skirt with a glittery lining and, topping it all off, a huge pink hat with a long trail of satin ribbons down her back.

Cherrie rushed up to Blowsie, her face shining. As she spoke, she stroked her leopard mink. “Oh, Blowsy! You wouldn’t believe the response I got. Almost as good as yours!” Quickly, she hugged Blowsy. “A rose, Blowsy! A real live rose!”

“No. A fake rose,” Mitzie remarked sarcastically, her skirt trailing behind her, and flouncing gracefully as she sat in a chair. All of the girls turned to glare at her. Mitzie had this way about her. She hardly ever said anything kind.

Everyone turned away from her rolling their eyes at each other.

Irene, who had just dressed in her long lilac dress with a soft purple stole over her bare shoulders, stood up and said, “Well, we’d better head down to the wings.”

Everyone agreed. As they walked down the halls, they met up with other girls in the number, in dresses colors every shade of the rainbow, just subtle tones apart. From deep forest-green, to emerald, to silver-blue, to sky-blue, to purple, to lilac, to light pink, to bright hot pink, to fiery red, to orange, to lemon-yellow and finally a white. In the number they were all lined in an arc from green, through all the colors, light to dark, to the white. And the stars, a woman of 20 in a glittered blue dress with ruffles and flounces and a man about the same age in a snappy tuxedo stood in front. It looked absolutely gorgeous from the audience.

The crowd loved their act. When the curtain ascended they could hear all of the soft murmurs and “oohs” and “aahs” at all of the bright colors.

All of the other numbers Blowsy was in went pretty well although she didn’t star in any of them. She was a gymnast and, in a bright purple leotard with blue glittered stripes across it, she did a whole routine of flips, tumbles, cartwheels, splits, and a whole lot more, with eleven other girls. Amy was the star of that. She moved with such agility and ease that it was unbelievable. She could slide into a split anywhere and make it look fantastic. Blowsy was also in a number with five other couples. They did a dance called the Castle Walk. Jeremy was her partner. The dance almost got as much approval as “The Varsity Drag”. In it Blowsy wore a wide white hat with a black ribbon, a wispy white dress with a high waist and white high-buttoned boots. Jeremy wore a red striped blazer, white pants and spats. The dance was extremely difficult but a lot of fun. The couples doing it all at precisely the same time came across really well. No roses were thrown but there were cheers and they had to do an Encore.

When the show was finally over and the cast had done the big smash finale and had to take six curtain calls, Blowsy was so up that she almost didn’t know how to contain it. In her finale costume, a fringed red flapper dress with strings of necklaces and shiny red shoes, she walked back to the dressing room talking with Cherrie.

“Cherrie, this has about been the best show yet!” Blowsy declared enthusiastically.

Cherrie shrugged. “It was fantastic, all right, but what about that one in Philadelphia? You know, when we did this show before New York. I swear, that was about the biggest smash of all time. I mean, when the curtain fell for the last time, the crowd was still yelling and five minutes later everyone was leaving whistling ‘The Varsity Drag’. After the show fans flooded our dressing rooms and everything.”

Blowsy smiled fondly. She hadn’t been able to speak the whole way home from the theatre she had been so worked up. And when they had arrived at the boarding house, she had thrown herself on her bed and cried. A show could do that to her. People had loved her so much and she had made so many people happy. She gave in. “All right. But this is the best show in New York.”

Cherrie raised her hands in surrender.

Back at the dressing room, Blowsy didn’t get around to changing until 15 minutes later because the small room was filled with laughing yelling girls in the troupe. They were all jumping and carrying each other around in excitement until Peter, one of the many stage hands, knocked on the door and politely but firmly demanded that the girls go to their rightful dressing rooms. Still chattering, the girls filed out, leaving Blowsy, Mitzie, Fifi, Irene, Dolly, Sally, Monica and Amy to their own room. The eight girls sat at their places at the makeup table and silently proceeded to take off their makeup.

With a special cream, Blowsy removed the greasepaint from her face and then took a soft, pink Kleenex from a box, kissed off her lipstick, and dabbed off her eyeshadow and rouge. Now she looked like the normal old Blowsy. But she never went home without any makeup on, because she usually walked home, and tonight Jeremy was walking her home, so she wanted to look good. But first she changed into her normal clothes, a dress with a light green top, a dark green sash around her hips, and a short blue and green box-pleated skirt. She put on her blue hat with the turquoise feather off to the side and her black “jazz shoes” as everyone called them.

Out of her coat pocket, she took a little yellow bag with popular sayings stenciled all over it and snapped it open. Inside it was all her normal makeup. She brushed on some eyeshadow, put on some dark rouge (hardly smudged in which was the style) and some light red lipstick. She smacked her lips together and slid into her light green jacket.

“Are you leaving now, Blowsy?” Fifi called over her shoulder.

“No, not yet. I’m meeting Jeremy at 10:30 and it’s only -” she glanced at the bland clock on the wall, “9:45 now, so I’ll go and visit my mother for a while.”

Blowsy’s mother was an absolutely dazzling woman with a short curly bob and a stunning perfect face. Each feature seemed to have been placed with the utmost care. She was thin and trim and wore only the most fashionable, colorful dresses. Her singing voice was just – fabulous. It rang and vibrated through the theatre and stayed behind in one’s ears. She had a song and dance all to herself. She was the only one stage and it was fast and lively and never failed to be a showstopper. Blowsy’s mother seemed to be an all-around talent. She danced, sang and acted, she could juggle and ride a unicycle, she could do mime fabulously and do imitations and she also managed to be a wonderful mother to Blowsy.

Her name was Corrine.

Blowsy’s father had walked out on them when Blowsy was two. She couldn’t even remember him and she was rather glad, judging from the way her mother talked about him.

Blowsy made her way down the hall behind the stage and over to the other wing where the adult dressing rooms were. She rapped on her mother’s door. Her mother had a room all to herself. It was very squeezy but much better than sharing with a million other girls.

“Who is it?” called a voice from within.

“Blowsy!”

“Oh! C’mon in, sweetie.”

Blowsy opened the door and entered. Her mother was sitting in front of her makeup mirror in a shiny blue bathrobe. On her head was a plumed tiara. She was busily capping her makeup. Blowsy closed the door behind her.