by Gwen Bristow
They got a good deal more applause than the jugglers, and came back, this time to do a dance with male partners. Somebody called, “Redhead, third from the end, you’re losing your underwear!” She wasn’t, but she gave a start, and for an instant interrupted her dancing before she caught herself. Everybody shouted with glee. They applauded more loudly than before when the girls and their partners danced off.
Garnet felt her cheeks burning. Leaning over, Oliver asked in an undertone, “Are you shocked?”
“I—I guess I am,” she confessed. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Want to go?” he asked mischievously.
“Oh no!” Garnet exclaimed. She sternly gave herself orders not to blush any more.
The stage was empty now. Two men came out from the sides, carrying more lights. As they went off, the music changed. It became slower, and the drums began to roll as though to herald an event of importance. Though the stage was still empty, a stirring of applause began in the audience.
This, evidently, was what they had come for. The earlier part had been merely a preface, entertaining enough but not worth any further attention. Garnet glanced down at her program, at the name JULIETTE LA TOUR in big letters across the page.
The roll of drums rose to a thunder. The musicians accompanied it with all they had. As the music increased the applause increased with it. The whole audience sat forward.
The curtains at the center back parted slightly. In the opening they saw a tall, laughing young woman with hair like ivory and blue eyes that were nearly as big as dimes. She was wearing a wickedly-cut dress of black velvet shot with silver.
The applause crashed a welcome. Garnet leaned nearer, looking. She had never, never seen anybody like this.
The girl on the stage was beautiful, but she was more than merely beautiful; she had a radiant vitality that made you want to stand up and cheer. Her figure was superb, and the black and silver dress left no doubt about it. Her hair was so pale that it had a white sheen, like moonbeams. Everything about her was shining: her hair, and her healthy skin, and the long silver gloves that beckoned your eyes upward to her white shoulders. At her throat she wore a diamond pendant. There were more diamonds in her hair, and bracelets outside her gloves. The stones were so small that they had to be real. She looked humorous, and tempting; and with it all she had a certain teasing innocence, as though she knew she had been born to give pleasure and she simply loved doing what she was born for.
At first she stood where she was, laughing, while she let them look at her. After a moment she came toward them, her arms held out to them and her whole being as joyful as if she were going to meet a lover she had been waiting for all day. They clapped and shouted and stamped their feet; they could not have heard her if she had tried to say anything, and she did not try to. She kissed her hands to them over and over, her silver gloves twinkling and her fair hair shimmering in the light, and it was as though she were exclaiming to them, “Oh, I love you, I love you, and we’re going to have such a grand time!”
The orchestra went into the opening bars of a quick tripping melody. The girl on the stage made a gesture of restraint toward her admirers. Ready now to hear her, they began to get quiet, and she broke into a song that seemed to bubble up spontaneously from her own merriment.
Oh I do love living and I have such fun!
And I’ll have a whole lot more before I’m through—
There was nothing remarkable about her voice except that she easily filled the theater with it. She had a decidedly medium range, and had sense enough not to try to go beyond it. But she sang with laughter under the notes, and so clearly that they could understand every word. They loved it.
For I never have been sorry for the things I’ve done,
I’m just sorry for the things I didn’t do.
Garnet reflected that she couldn’t have very much to be sorry for. But with twinkling self-reproach the girl explained,
The balls I never danced at,
The men I never glanced at,
The evenings I would sit at home and sew,
The drinks I never tasted,
And all the time I’ve wasted—
My God, the time I’ve wasted saying no!
Garnet began to laugh. She had been shocked by the chorus girls. But somehow this singer did not shock her at all. This girl was so full of mirth and joy; she looked like an embodiment of pleasure, doing what she wanted to do and having a wonderful time. The rhythm of the music changed again. The singer swished her skirts enough to let them see that she had legs, but not enough to take their minds off the song as she continued,
My mother used to say to me that men were most unpleasant,
And I believed her—yes I did, for that was long ago—
So this is why you find that I’m so busy just at present,
I’m making up for all the time I’ve wasted saying no.
She went on to tell them what a shy maiden she used to be. Then she told them about her adventures, gaily spinning her tuneful yarn. Some of her phrases were quite new to Garnet, but she used her eyes and hips so expertly that a Chinaman could have guessed what she was talking about. Her hearers shouted with laughter. Many of them had evidently heard her sing the song before, for when she came to the choruses they sang with her, tapping their feet and clinking their glasses until the newcomers shouted to them to be quiet. They verged on rowdiness, but this singer did not get rattled like the chorus girl. With no appearance of effort, she kept her audience under control. She was a radiant temptation, but she was also a highly finished artist who knew exactly what she was doing, and she did it so well that Garnet laughed and laughed. When at last the singer ended her audacious performance and tripped off the stage, Garnet clapped her hands until the palms felt scorched.
Oliver was laughing too. Leaning across the table again, he asked,
“Is that what you wanted?”
The singer had come back to take her bows. Turning her eyes from the stage, Garnet looked up at him in delight.
“Oh yes, yes, yes! Only I didn’t know—Oliver, I just didn’t know variety actresses were as good as that!”
“Most of them aren’t,” said Oliver.
The girl went off and came back several times, but at length it was obvious that the audience was not going to get quiet without another morsel. She paused, just beyond the wings. The orchestra repeated the tune, and she added,
So when the preachers scowl at me and say, “What are you doin’?”
I tell them they should really see the folks who watch my show—
She kissed her hands to them, merrily exclaiming,
You meet the nicest people when you’re on the road to ruin!
Turning, and waving goodby, she finished over her shoulder,
I’ll never, never waste another evening saying no!
Then at last she flashed off into the wings. Garnet turned to Oliver again. She beckoned him to bend his head nearer hers.
“Oliver,” she whispered, “that actress—is she a—is she a fallen woman?”
It was the only term she knew for what she was thinking of. Oliver replied with smothered laughter.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she looks like it, for one thing. And she didn’t buy those jewels out of her salary. Besides, what would she be doing here if she wasn’t?”
Oliver was having the time of his life. Garnet knew he was having it because she amused him so much, but she did not mind that. She plucked at his sleeve and whispered again.
“Oliver, tell me a word for it. I mean, tell me the words you thought of when you saw her.”
Bringing a pencil from his pocket, Oliver tore a strip from the margin of the printed program. His eyes teased her as he scribbled on it and pushed the bit of paper across the table. On it Garnet read, “Splendid strumpet.”
Garnet nodded thoughtfully. She crumpled up the paper with a vague feeling of astonishment. She
didn’t know just what she had expected, but she had not known that when she saw a strumpet she would see a person of such rare quality. Looking down at her program, she said,
“Juliette La Tour—the name sounds French. There aren’t many Frenchwomen as fair as that.”
“I don’t think she’s French. Nearly all performers in this sort of show take highflown names. She’s probably called Bessie Jones back where she comes from.”
“Oh, stop being so matter-of-fact. It’s a lovely name anyway.”
There was a male quartet, then a troupe of acrobats, then Juliette or whatever her name was came back. She was more provocative than before in a princess gown of blue velvet, with a gold chain around her neck and gold bracelets outside her gloves. This time she was accompanied by several men, and she exchanged a musical argument with them, beginning, “What do you expect of a girl who looks like me?”
When the curtains closed for the intermission Oliver asked Garnet if she would like more champagne. She shook her head. She was too excited to want anything.
The curtains opened again. The star displayed her charms in a series of breathtaking gowns, then there were several numbers without her. Then at last, she climaxed the show with an exhibition that was announced on the printed program as a dance.
She appeared in a dress of filmy black over pink, and long black lace gloves. The music began slowly, and she kept time to it with a graceful swaying that showed them a lot of gauzy pink petticoats frothing around her black satin slippers.
As the music gradually became faster she raised her arms and began to move her hips. At first it was a slow, seductive twirling that still only fluttered her skirts. But as the tempo of the music increased, her whole body began to turn and twist and ripple. Her skirts lifted and swirled around her, showing them her long slim legs glistening through tights of black lace. She moved faster and faster; the pink skirts rose about her shoulders and drifted down and whirled up again and spun outward. By now they saw that most of her bodice was gone, leaving nothing but two semicircles of black lace to tease them with her breasts, as the gloves and tights of black lace were teasing them with her arms and legs. Swift waves of movement went through her, up and down and back again. The skirts were like a rosy cloud blown around her, never letting them see everything at once nor anything for more than an instant at a time, and never quite revealing as much as she kept on promising.
It was a brilliant performance, and outrageously beautiful. They began to applaud long before she had finished. As she went on they applauded louder, adding shouts and whistles of admiration. In her chair before the stage, Garnet sat bewitched.
She knew she ought to be scandalized. But she just couldn’t be. Oliver had no doubt used the right noun to describe that woman, but he had also used the right adjective. She was splendid.
The dance went on and on. If the spectators had had their way it would have gone on indefinitely. But at last the dancer whisked out of sight. If their enthusiasm had been noisy before, it burst like an explosion when she had finished. Garnet sighed in rapture. That wicked, wonderful dancer, these shouting people, everything—this was life.
The dancer came back several times to curtsy. But though they were clamoring for more, she only laughed and shook her head. Her laughter was gay and teasing, as though she were telling them they had had their money’s worth, and if they wanted more they could come back tomorrow night.
The curtains closed. The show at the Flower Garden was over.
FIVE
BEFORE THE SHOW, GARNET had been too excited to eat. But now she said she was hungry. Oliver told her there was a room at the hotel open for late suppers.
When they went through the lobby, a clerk handed Garnet a package that had been delivered for her that afternoon. “What have you been buying?” Oliver asked as they sat down at table.
“A book of engravings.”
“And what,” he inquired, “are you going to do with a book of engravings on the California trail?”
“Don’t be so practical. It was such a dear old shop, and the salesman was so nice to me, I just had to buy something. I want a crab,” she announced as the Negro waiter came over to them.
Oliver ordered a crab for her and a cup of coffee for himself. But just as she began to eat, Oliver sprang up. He had caught sight of two of his employees, passing the door that was open between this room and the lobby. He wanted to tell them the salt meat had arrived this afternoon and could be packed first thing in the morning. They had to carry salt meat for the first part of the trail, for they would not run into buffalo until they had passed Council Grove. If he could speak to his men now, he wouldn’t have to go out so early tomorrow. Would Garnet mind eating alone while he talked to them?
She did not mind, so Oliver went outside. Garnet ate the rest of her crab. Several other customers, having finished their suppers, left the room, and she was alone with the waiter. To have something to do while she waited for Oliver, she began to look at the book of engravings.
The pictures were of beautiful girls, one to a page. Under each picture was a fanciful name—Veronica, Esmeralda, Melisande, Mignonette, Florinda. Garnet smiled as she read them, wondering if there were any real women with such names.
A step sounded in the doorway. Garnet half closed the book, thinking it was Oliver coming back. But she heard a swish of silken skirts, and as she looked around she caught her breath. The person coming into the room was the silver-blond actress from the Flower Garden.
The actress was alone. Her clothes were showy and expensive—a plaid silk dress and a mantle of squirrel fur, and a fashionable dark blue bonnet with a plume.
Garnet felt the ripples running up her spine again. The fabulous creature was passing right by her own table; Garnet could have reached out and touched her if she had not been too well-bred to do so. And evidently the actress was going to sit down and eat her supper here, for the waiter was coming forward to meet her. He was bowing in pleased welcome. She must be a favored customer. Garnet hoped Oliver would be a long time coming back.
“Good evening, Cicero,” the girl was saying to the waiter. They appeared to be very good friends. “What have you got for me tonight?”
Her enunciation was very distinct, and she had a trained stage-voice, clear as music. The waiter rubbed his hands.
“Something mighty fine, ma’am, mighty fine. They call it étuvée de viandes, it’s got chicken in it, and ham and beef, and lots of vegetables and bay leaf and seasonings, oh, it’s mighty fine.”
“It sounds like it. Lord, I’m hungry. Bring me the stew, lots of it, and some rice with cream gravy, and a big pitcher of milk. And some biscuits and strawberry jam.”
“Yes ma’am, I sure will. And what about some oysters first, while they’re steaming up the stew in the kitchen?”
She gave an undignified but appreciative whistle, and kissed her fingertips in the air. “Yes, of course, oysters. With horseradish. You’re a wonder, Cicero, I don’t know how I lived so long without you.” Then she began to speak more seriously. “Tell me, Cicero, how’s Larry been today?”
He shook his head. “Still right poorly, ma’am. He gets stronger, I think, but it takes a long time.”
“Yes, I know it does,” she said with sympathy. “Here.” Taking a bill out of her purse she slipped it into his hand. “Get him something real pretty to play with. That’ll make him feel better.”
“Thank you, ma’am, thank you. He sure will appreciate it, ma’am. You’re mighty nice to us.”
“Oh, shut up. Go crack those oysters before I starve to death.”
“Yes ma’am,” Cicero agreed. “Now you sit right over here, ma’am, side table away from the draft.”
He drew out the chair for her before going off to crack the oysters.
The actress sat down and proceeded to make herself comfortable. She threw back her shawl, took off her bonnet, and put up her hands to loosen her hair. She had on dark blue kid gloves that matched her bonnet.
&nb
sp; Garnet felt ashamed of herself for staring. She tried to pretend she was interested in her book. Turning the pages, she looked at the pictured faces with their fantastic names: Veronica, Esmeralda, Melisande, Mignonette, Florinda.
Somebody opened a door in front of her. This door, which was opposite her own table, led directly from the street. Two men came in from outside. The door banged behind them, and they called, “Hey, waiter!”
Garnet started in alarm. The men were well dressed, but they were unsteady on their feet. They looked around, demanding of the air, “Where’s the waiter? Can’t a man get a drink?”
As the waiter had gone out, the room was empty but for Garnet and the actress and the two strange men. The actress sat at a side table and they did not see her, but Garnet was directly in front of them and they saw her at once. One of them pointed at her, exclaiming joyously, “Hi there, sweetheart!” They started toward her.
She sprang up in fright. But before she could push back her chair they had reached her. One of them caught her wrist and gave her what he thought was an inviting smile as he exclaimed,
“Good evening, pretty thing! What you doing all by yourself?”
“All by yourself,” the other repeated. “That’s too bad, now we’ll take care of that.”
“I’m not alone!” she cried, trying to jerk herself away. “I’m waiting for my husband!”
They appeared not to hear her. By this time the second man had caught her other hand. They both flopped into chairs, talking together.
Garnet looked around wildly for Oliver. But he was gone, and the door to the lobby was closed. She tried to pull her hands free, but they were holding her, and talking with all their might.
“Now now, you don’t want to run off, do you? Pretty girl, stay with us, buy you a drink—”
Then, suddenly, Garnet saw the fair-haired actress in the showy plaid dress. She appeared behind the two men, and slipped her arms around their shoulders. Leaning down between them, she began to whisper in a voice of friendly warning.
