A Girl Like You

by Michelle Cox

  “Hit it, Tony,” shouted the woman, and the slow, steady jazz began. “All right, ladies, lift your skirts; let’s see what you’ve got.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Henrietta saw the other women seductively sashay forward in rhythm with the band as they lifted their skirts, smiling as they did so. Henrietta had practiced this in her mind, but still she found it hard to do now that the moment was upon her, though she had learned long ago, even as a young girl, what men liked, what they wanted. Deep down she knew what to do and stepped forward instinctively. Slowly, with what she hoped wasn’t a nervous smile, she lifted her skirt all the way up to her panty line, giving her legs a little kick as she did so, and arching her body just enough to accentuate her bosom.

  “Turn around!” shouted the woman from the seats. “Let’s see your bottoms!”

  Some of the girls giggled as they twirled around and dutifully flipped up their skirts to reveal their panties. Henrietta faltered. The inspector had said she would only have to show her legs, which wasn’t so bad, really, considering it wasn’t much different than appearing in a bathing suit on North Avenue Beach. But showing her bottom and her panties . . . ?

  In the end, she hesitated for only a few seconds, closing her eyes and pushing down the images of her mother and, oddly, of Mr. Hennessey before she found herself twirling around, lifting her skirt, giving her bottom a shake and turning back around, breathless from the adrenaline now rushing through her.

  And just like that, it was over. The woman in the seats leaned her head toward the man next to her, who hadn’t changed position or attitude in the slightest, and listened while he whispered something to her and then gave a slight nod. Henrietta thought she saw the thin man down there as well, standing slack-jawed and staring at them. “All right, girls,” the woman said straightening up. “Left, right, right, right, right, left . . . ,” she said, going down the line, pointing at each girl and indicating which door she should exit from. Henrietta held her breath as the woman got closer to her. “Right, right, left . . . ,” she said to her, and Henrietta gave a squeal of delight. “Don’t get too excited, ladies,” the woman said, her eyes resting momentarily on Henrietta. “You’ll do it all again later. Next group!” she called out loudly, and the next line of girls began to make their way onto the stage. Suppressing a smile, Henrietta took a deep breath and hurried off, though she uncomfortably felt Neptune’s eyes on her as she went.

  The door to the left led to a little room with no ventilation and no window. It had a haphazard row of wooden folding chairs along one of the walls, and a door at the back that stood half open, which Henrietta presumed was the way to the toilet. On the other wall was a cracked mirror, which several girls hovered in front of, applying lipstick or tucking up stray locks of hair. Most of the women, however, sat nervously smoking or chatting to pass the time until the whole line still outside on the street had shuffled through. Henrietta gingerly took a seat at the end of the row of chairs, next to a woman who was languidly filing her nails. She looked up briefly at Henrietta, giving her a quick, false smile before turning her attention back to her nails.

  “Smoke?” said a girl across from her, holding out a package of cigarettes to Henrietta. She looked to be no more than fifteen. Certainly younger than Elsie.

  “No, thanks,” Henrietta tried to say in a friendly way.

  “First time?” asked the woman beside her, not looking up.

  “Here, you mean?” asked Henrietta cautiously.

  “No, as an usherette,” the woman said with a roll of her eyes, as she looked Henrietta over from head to toe as if really seeing her for the first time.

  “Yes, it is, I’m afraid.”

  The woman gave a little snort. “Good luck.”

  “I was a taxi dancer, though . . . at the Promenade . . . ,” she tried to explain.

  “Don’t make no difference. Entirely different thing altogether.” Just then the door opened again, and two new girls came in hesitantly, looking for a place to sit.

  “How long do you think this will take?” Henrietta asked the young girl opposite her, deciding to ignore the woman beside her.

  “Why?” asked the woman next to her. “Got somewhere to go?”

  “No, I just . . . just curious is all.”

  “I’ve never been, either,” said the girl across from her encouragingly. “Saw the ad in the paper and thought I’d give it a try. Why not, as my ma always says. Right now I’m a waitress at the Bridge. On Clark? Ever hear of it?”

  Henrietta was about to answer but the girl didn’t wait for one. Having begun talking now, she was unwilling or possibly unable, due to what seemed like a bad case of nerves, to stop, and so continued on rapidly. “No? Well, I’ve worked there for almost a year now. Tips are okay, but better I’d say than the last place I worked . . . now that was . . . ”

  Henrietta at first tried to follow what the girl was saying, but found it hard to concentrate as she droned on. Each time the door opened to let in the latest “winners” of the initial lineups, she looked up hopefully, hoping they were the last. The door always disappointingly closed behind them, however. As the room became more crowded, the air grew more thick and stale, and Henrietta found herself feeling rather claustrophobic. “Excuse me,” she said finally, standing up and interrupting the girl across from her midsentence. “I need to stretch my legs.”

  The girl, having been stopped, looked up at her in surprise and shrugged, and then looked back toward the nail-filing woman for any sign of encouragement to continue her chatter.

  Henrietta felt that they had already been there for hours as she walked slowly around the room, thinking about Ma, home alone every day with the three little ones, and wondering if she ever felt this claustrophobic. They had clashed over another argument just this morning before she had come out. Henrietta hated always lying to her, but she had had to tell her she was going out shopping before her shift at the electrics so that she could dash to Polly’s and get ready. Ma had tried to convince her to stay in bed, saying she would catch her death if she went out in the cold while still under the weather. Henrietta found this advice inconsistent at best, as just yesterday, Ma had tried to urge her to go to work, despite Henrietta’s being confined, albeit falsely, to bed, worrying that she would be let go otherwise.

  Henrietta often found herself wondering if Ma was somehow uncontrollably contrary, almost like an addiction, and how she could stand being trapped in such a perpetually negative state. Obviously, Henrietta surmised, it was its own vicious cycle, which, to add to the frustration, Ma did not even seem remotely conscious of.

  The door opened again now, and this time it was the thin man who appeared, yet another cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. “All right, leddies,” he said holding the door open. “One more time,” he said, nodding his head back toward the stage. Henrietta was somehow last again.

  “Thanks,” she said to him as she passed, and she thought she saw a flicker in his otherwise dull eyes.

  “That’s right,” said the severe woman with Neptune—if it was Neptune—still sitting next to her, immobile. “Move along. Hurry up!”

  This time on stage, Henrietta was able to notice that the woman’s eyelids were powdered with a very bright shade of blue, accentuated by the fact that they seemed to be permanently half closed. Despite the lazy attitude that this would at first glance suggest, she somehow managed despite it, perhaps with the aid of her perpetual frown and scowl, to exhibit an aura of severity. “Line up, girls. Hurry up! We haven’t got all day! Profiles! I said profile! Turn to the right!” she said in an exasperated tone, as some of the girls nervously turned the wrong way, bumping into each other as they did so.

  Henrietta turned the correct way, however, keeping her hand on her hip and holding up a bit of her skirt as she did so to reveal her slim legs. “Turn back!” said the woman to the group, and the girls nervously spun facing forward. After just a few seconds of observing them, she shouted out, “You!” pointing to one of
the girls mid-way down the line. “You!” pointing to another girl, “you, you, you, and you,” she said, pointing to Henrietta, “in the green dress. That’s it. The rest of you, better luck next time. Out! Larry, show the new girls where to go.”

  Amidst several groans of disappointment from the crowd of women now dejectedly gathering up their things, Larry, the now-familiar thin man, materialized near the six chosen girls who were standing in a huddle whispering congratulations to each other, including an astonished Henrietta. “This way, leddies. This way,” he said, leading them back behind the curtain and down a series of hallways.

  Only six girls! Henrietta mused as she walked along. All this fuss to only choose a few! It seemed hard to believe that she had made it, and she wished Inspector Howard were there so that she could tell him. She was in! She was excited, of course, but not a little unsure, a feeling magnified when they eventually reached what she assumed was a dressing room of sorts. It was dark and chilly.

  “Wait ‘ere,” said the thin man, gesturing with his thumb. “Mrs. Jenkins and Esther’ll be along in a bit.” He didn’t bother to turn the lights on for them, and Henrietta, standing nearest the door, felt chilled as he passed by, grinning to himself as if he alone were aware of some secret joke.

  Henrietta stood near the other girls who were whispering excitedly together and peered into the dark corners of the room. It was difficult to make anything out. There were again no windows, and she had no idea where they were inside the theater and hence no idea of how to get out if she needed to. It suddenly occurred to her that if she wasn’t able to find her way out, how could the men the inspector supposedly had watching the place see or ever find her, especially with no windows? Surely the inspector had known that ahead of time, hadn’t he? Then how could he ensure her safety? Perhaps he had men inside? she wondered, peering again into the dark corners as if they would suddenly materialize there. But that didn’t make sense, she reasoned. Isn’t that why they needed a girl inside? Had he lied about it not being all that dangerous? Perhaps Polly had been right about him after all. Henrietta wrapped her arms around herself and waited, hoping it wouldn’t take too much longer before they could go home.

  She jumped when the door finally banged open about ten minutes later. The blue eye-shadowed woman, whom Henrietta assumed was the Mrs. Jenkins that Larry had been referring to, burst into the room followed by a plump woman in a grayish housedress, her greasy hair pulled up on top of her head and a large brown mole on the side of her face. A permanent sort of frown was etched on her face as she peered at them, distinctly annoyed as she held her arms rigidly across her body.

  “Why the hell aren’t the lights on?” Mrs. Jenkins said loudly, looking around as if to find someone to blame. “Esther, get the goddamn lights on. Didn’t any one of you ninnies think to turn them on?” she asked, looking accusatorily at the huddled group of girls. Esther moved heavily toward the wall behind the door and switched on the lights. Henrietta resisted the urge to look away from Mrs. Jenkins, fighting down the fear that she would surely recognize her as a fraud, and instead tried her best to maintain eye contact. Mrs. Jenkins’ eye did seem to rest on her longer than on any of the others before she pulled her attention away and addressed the group as a whole.

  “All right, all right, girls,” she barked out. “So you made it. Congratulations. This is a tough place and a tough job, and if you don’t think you can hack it, the door’s right there,” she said warningly, though her eyes remained half closed. “There’s two types of girls here—the dancers and the usherettes. Don’t forget which one you are. This dressing room’s for the usherettes, the dancers’ is next door.” She paused dramatically, looking at each of them in turn.

  “None of you looks too stupid,” she went on, “so you should catch on pretty quick. The job isn’t that difficult. You escort men to their seats, get them a drink and try to keep ‘em drinking while the show’s on. You keep any tips you get, so a smile and a wink goes a long way, but nothin’ else. Got it? No fondling, no touching of any kind. As I say, this is a tough crowd. Men get drinking, the show gets more and more lively, should we say, and before you know it they think they can reach out for a little feel or pull girls into their laps. The owner wants none of that, and I’m to enforce it. You saw how many girls were lined up today. You don’t play by the rules, there’s a hundred other girls would take your spot in a minute. Don’t forget that.” She paused again, staring at them. Henrietta caught her eye for a moment but then looked away quickly.

  “There’s four male ushers, or ‘bouncers’ as we like to call them,” Mrs. Jenkins continued. “They’re on duty each night to watch and make sure there’s no funny business going on. As far as you girls go, you work for us, and we don’t want any damaged property. Any violation of the rules, and you’re out. Got it? You stay on the floor at all times. Just remember—the bouncers can bounce any one of you out as quick as one of the paying gentlemen,” she finished, gesturing toward the door for emphasis.

  “But, Mrs. Jenkins,” one of the girls asked, raising her hand nervously, “what about going to the little girls’ room?”

  Henrietta thought she heard Esther mutter “Jeezis Christ!” under her breath with an accompanying roll of her eyes.

  “If you must leave the floor to use the lavatory, you must take a partner,” Mrs. Jenkins went on, loudly. “Never go alone! This is for your own protection, girls. We’ve had some terrible accidents in the past, and we don’t want any more trouble. You new girls will be matched up with one of the older girls the first couple of nights. Any trouble, call for one of the bouncers. Any questions?”

  No one dared say anything. Henrietta wondered if they really took the “no touching” policy as seriously as Mama Leone had.

  “Right,” Mrs. Jenkins continued. “Let’s move on. You get one costume and one set of fishnets. You rip those or snag ‘em, and a new pair comes out of your pay, understand? This is Esther,” she said, gesturing behind her toward the thick woman who was still scowling. “She’s normally an assistant of sorts—a maid, really, aren’t you, Esther?—for the dancers, but today she’s going to help you find a costume that fits. Soon as you find one, you can get a cubby and scram. You start tomorrow night. Be back here by three. Good luck,” she said at the door. “You’ll need it.”

  As soon as she was gone, the girls broke into excited conversation, one girl issuing a low whistle.

  “Shutch yer traps,” Esther muttered as she hobbled to the back of the room. “Dares not too many to choose from, so get over ‘ere,” she said with a thick Irish accent. The girls followed her over to a large wardrobe, which she unlocked with a key on a frayed piece of string that she drew up from between her hefty bosom. After fumbling a few times, she eventually opened the wardrobe door, revealing a row of brilliant scarlet dresses and a variety of red heels set along the bottom. “Let’s get da dresses settled first, like, and den I’ll give yeh da stockins’.”

  There was a general scramble to grab a dress, the girls automatically stripping down to try them on. They were bright-red satin cocktail dresses, which flounced out just below the panty line due to the crinoline underneath. They were trimmed with white satin and were extremely low cut, the top being held in place by thin shoulder straps of delicate white lace. In addition, each of them came with a little red satin cap to pin on, one pair of fishnet stockings, spiked red heels, and white kid gloves.

  The atmosphere in the changing room was one of excited competition of sorts as the girls searched for the right dress, laughing and teasing each other as they tried them on, tossing them back and forth trying to find just the right size. Henrietta finally ended up with one that fit pretty well, though it was a bit torn near the top of the bodice, just in front, which was a strange place for a random tear, she thought. She fingered it carefully and wondered if she could properly mend it. She knew Elsie could, she thought with a sigh, but she wasn’t so sure of her own skill. She slipped it off and made her way back to Esther. Most
of the girls had found one that fit and were now hurriedly trying on the heels, anxious to get a good pair.

  Henrietta approached Esther, who was waddling amongst the girls. “Miss Esther?” she asked tentatively.

  Esther turned slowly around to face her. “It’s jist Esther,” she said angrily. “Don’t be puttin’ on no airs an’ graces wit me,” she said.

  “Sorry. Esther. I . . . this one fits, but . . . it’s a bit ripped, I’m afraid.”

  Esther took the dress in her hand and turned it over. “Oh, aye. I forgot about dis one. Ain’t dare any others yeh could use?” she said, twisting her head toward the empty wardrobe. Henrietta could see her faded brassiere through a gap between her buttons, the fabric of her pale housedress being pulled too tightly across her chest by her bulk. Not seeing any more available dresses, Esther gave out what sounded like a growl. “I’ll work on it tonight, like. One more ting fer me ta hafta do,” she said, her eyes moving to the large sewing basket sitting askew on a table off to the side.

  “I can do it, Esther,” Henrietta’s eyes following hers to the sewing basket. “I . . . I just wanted you to see it . . . so that I wouldn’t be blamed for it. Honest. It’s no trouble.”

  Esther eyed her carefully, considering. “All right den. But don’t tink yer gettin’ in me good graces,” she said as she turned away, hobbling back to the wardrobe to hand out the stockings and gloves now.

  “Find yerselves an empty cubby and put yer tings in dare if yeh like,” Esther said loudly to the group. “Dat er take ‘em home wit yeh, eever way. Best get on, den, tings’ll start heatin’ up soon round ‘ere.”

  With the ripped dress hung over her arm, Henrietta hurried to find a pair of shoes that fit. She hesitated to pick out a cubby space, as she wasn’t sure if she should leave her things at Polly’s instead. In the end, she decided she would wait. She would stop at Polly’s and mend the dress before going on home. Ma wouldn’t be expecting her until late anyway.