A Girl Like You

by Michelle Cox

  Mindful of Inspector Howard’s warning to stay away from Polly’s place, Henrietta had reluctantly taken her things to the Marlowe that afternoon and found an empty cubby to store them in. She had no choice but to show up in her factory clothes, though she had come early to try to avoid being seen. Only Esther had been around, hobbling between the dressing rooms, and if she had noticed, she didn’t comment, barely even saying hello to Henrietta. Ma hadn’t made any comment either when Henrietta left a bit earlier than usual, nor did she realize that she had come home before the usual time last night, having gone to bed early.

  Henrietta felt herself blush again for the hundredth time, thinking about how she had fallen asleep on the inspector’s shoulder. How ridiculously childish he must think her! And yet, when he had walked her to the door, his eyes had not held amusement or annoyance, but rather something else entirely, something difficult to read . . . something that had felt strangely like attraction. Surely she was wrong there, though, she mused, thinking about how he had abruptly left, barely wishing her luck.

  With a heavy heart she had climbed the stairs after he had said his quick goodbye, and she had been relieved to hear Ma’s light snore as she silently came through the door. She’d absently slipped off her shoes, thinking about the long day’s events, but had nearly screamed when she suddenly spotted a shape sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. She put her hand over her mouth to keep quiet and leaned forward, peering into the darkness, and realized with a sigh of relief that it was only Jimmy.

  “What are you doing still awake?” she had whispered, her heart in her throat as he ran up to her. “Did you wet the bed again?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, Hen! I saw you get out of a motorcar! Can I go next time?” he said, speaking all in a rush and climbing up into her lap after she had quietly eased into one of the kitchen chairs.

  “Shhh!” Henrietta whispered again. “Maybe someday. But it’s a secret, okay?”

  Jimmy nodded, his blanket by his nose, staring off as he visualized this prospect. “You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you, Hen?” he asked earnestly, looking up at her now.

  “What promise was that, Jimbo?” she asked patiently, though she was so dreadfully tired.

  “You know! The carnival! Eugene told me it’s this Sunday. I told him you was going to take us, but he don’t believe me. He says you’re too busy, but you’re not, are you, Hen? We’re going, right, Hen?”

  Henrietta sighed. “Course we’re going, silly thing!”

  Jimmy wriggled with delight in her arms.

  “Best get back to bed now, though,” she had said, letting him slide off her lap. She had stood up, then, to make a cup of tea, wondering how she was ever going to manage the carnival, and prayed they had Sundays off.

  “Almost time, girls!” shouted Mrs. Jenkins from across the theater, causing Henrietta to jump, shaking herself from her reverie. She pushed all thoughts of home and Inspector Howard, for that matter, from her mind as she stood with all the other usherettes, waiting near the bar for Mrs. Jenkins to give them any last-minute instructions. She felt her pocket for her little notebook she had brought for good luck and patted her cap, making sure it was secure. In the end, she had decided to have it tilt to the side.

  “First night, isn’t it?” whispered a woman beside her. Henrietta had noticed her earlier from afar while the girls were putting on the last touches of makeup in the dressing room. She looked Swedish or Norwegian or something like that, Henrietta had surmised. She was taller than Henrietta, with large, plump breasts that looked as though they would spill out of her tight usherette costume at any moment; long, blond hair tied up loosely under her red cap; sky blue eyes; and flawless skin. She was exceptionally beautiful, even in Henrietta’s eyes, like a model or a perhaps a film actress. Henrietta wondered why she wasn’t one of the Marlowe’s dancers instead of just an usherette.

  “I’m Lucy,” the blond woman said. “Don’t worry. It’s not so bad. Done this before?”

  Henrietta shook her head. “I used to be a taxi dancer, though,” she offered up meekly.

  “You’ll be fine, then. Used to men ogling you. No different, really. What’s your name?”

  “Henrietta,” she said.

  “Nice name,” she said with a smile. “Goes both ways.”

  Henrietta wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but her attention was diverted when she heard Mrs. Jenkins call out, “All right, girls!” as she bustled over to them. “New girls, remember to partner up. Hurry! We don’t have all night.”

  Henrietta looked at Lucy imploringly, who smiled and nodded her agreement.

  “Remember—no touching!” barked Mrs. Jenkins. “The bank’s closed, if you know what I mean. Any trouble, call one of the boys over. Don’t go anywhere alone. Stay with your partner! Smile! That’s it! You’re here to be friendly with them, but not too friendly. Sell the drinks, that’s what we want!” She placed a sheet of paper on the bar. “Here’s your stations for the night, so find your places. Let’s go; come on! Larry!” she called out. “Why aren’t you at the door by now! It’s time to open up.”

  “I’m goin’; I’m goin’,” Larry said absently as he dipped behind the curtains. “There’s time enough,” he mumbled, his perpetual cigarette spilling ash as he went.

  The night began pretty well. Men, and even a few women, began filing in, the girls formally escorting them to their seats, though it seemed unnecessary, as most of the men appeared to know exactly where they were going. Henrietta found her station, disappointingly near the more sparsely populated back rows, and began taking drink orders as she observed what the other girls were now doing. Pretty soon she was practically running back and forth between the rows of stained, dirty seats and the line of usherettes at the bar, mostly delivering beer but a few cocktails, too. It seemed only moments before the house lights dimmed, indicating that the show was about to start, though in truth it had already been a full half hour since the doors had opened. The orders slowed a bit now, the crowd intent on watching the show as the thick red velvet curtains opened and the dancers came onstage, the band playing loud, seductive jazz.

  Curious, Henrietta dared to look, too, from time to time. The show began innocently enough, the usual showgirl routine, Henrietta initially observed, though as the evening progressed, the show became more risqué as the dancers began removing various articles of clothing. Henrietta tried to keep her mind on the task at hand, though she embarrassingly found herself staring a couple of times, shocked by what she was seeing. She had caught a glimpse of a burlesque show at the World’s Fair, but this was more like striptease, the dancers stopping just short of full nudity. Once or twice, Lucy had to nudge her back into action, indicating with a nod of her head in the direction of Mrs. Jenkins, who seemed to have the uncanny ability to be watching everyone at once at any given time.

  The mood of the crowd became more raucous as time wore on and as more clothing flew off. Men began shouting and cheering and became decidedly more friendly whenever Henrietta appeared with fresh drinks, their eyes bleary and red from the cigarette smoke hanging now in thick clouds over the rows and rows of seats and the alcohol flowing freely. Once or twice a man tried to pull her onto his lap, but Henrietta managed to extract herself somewhat gracefully before any of the bouncers noticed. One thin, wiry man in the back row actually put his hand under her skirt, and it was all Henrietta could do to not slap him. Instead she smiled sweetly and made her way back to the bar, breathing deeply. She had learned long ago that the shy, quiet ones were sometimes the worst, their pent-up desires bubbling dangerously close to the surface and becoming quickly volatile given the right situation.

  “How’re you holding up? Been groped yet?” asked Lucy, who had suddenly appeared beside her at the bar.

  Henrietta rolled her eyes and smiled. “A few times. You?”

  Lucy waved her hand as if she had either lost count by now or no longer cared. “Hey, Ed, how about two vanilla sodas?” she said to the bartende
r. “You want one, don’t you?” she asked Henrietta.

  Henrietta hesitated, wondering if they were free. Lucy seemed to read her mind.

  “Soda and coffee are complimentary for us, while you’re working, that is.”

  “Am I that obvious?” Henrietta said, smiling shyly.

  “Listen, love. We’re all here for the money. A girl can’t be too careful.”

  Henrietta took a sip of the soda that Ed deposited in front of them. “Thanks,” she said. Despite the fact that she had clearly been given one of the worst stations, as had all the other new girls, Henrietta had made a surprisingly large amount of tips so far. It wasn’t such a bad job after all, she weighed up, though she hadn’t really had a chance to observe anything out of the ordinary, anything “suspicious.” Wasn’t that what Inspector Howard had instructed her to do?

  “You got your station covered?” Lucy suddenly asked. “Jenks is circling around.”

  “Yes, I just passed through. Everyone’s enraptured just now,” Henrietta said with a smile, allowing her eyes to stray toward the stage, where the dancers had only thin lace ribbons covering their breasts now and string-like panties, though they hid behind large, white-feathered plumes made into a sort of fan. “In fact, this might be a good time to freshen up. Can you cover for me?” Henrietta asked.

  “I’d better come with you,” Lucy said, setting her shiny silver tray on the bar. “You know what Jenks said.”

  “But what about my station?” Henrietta asked, setting her tray down as well. “Jenks isn’t really serious about all that, is she? I mean, honestly! I think I can go to the bathroom on my own!”

  “They’ll be okay for a few minutes,” Lucy said indifferently waving her hand toward the audience. “And, yes, Jenks is always serious. Better not take any chances. You don’t want to get on her bad side,” Lucy advised as she led Henrietta toward the lavatories. “Anyway, it’s probably for the best,” she said, turning back toward her. “There’s been some attacks on girls in the bathrooms in the past. Men are such swine!”

  Nervous now as to what they would find, Henrietta was relieved to see it was just an ordinary bathroom with several girls crowded round the mirror adjusting their makeup and adjusting themselves to reveal as much as possible.

  “Better hurry up, girls!” Lucy said conspiratorially. “Jenks’ll be looking for you!”

  “Oh, all right, Lucy,” said one of the women, looking Henrietta over as she snuffed out her cigarette in the sink. “We know what you’re after.”

  Henrietta saw Lucy roll her eyes at them before they filed out, giggling and whispering, as Henrietta found an empty stall. When she emerged, she was glad to see that only Lucy remained now, standing near the mirror, tucking up loose ends of her hair under her little cap.

  “Friends of yours?” Henrietta asked, smiling as she patted her own hair into place.

  “Oh, they’re all right, really. Just a bit jealous at times. You’ll soon discover who your friends are around here.”

  “Well, I can see why they’d be jealous of you! You’re gorgeous! You should be one of the dancers . . . or a model, maybe,” Henrietta said, looking down to try to find a lipstick she had wedged into the tiny pocket of the dress. “Why are you just an usherette, anyway?” she asked as she pried the lipstick out and pursed her lips to apply the deep red color.

  “Seems I could say the same for you,” Lucy said from behind her. Henrietta was surprised to feel Lucy’s fingers in her hair, pulling it gently aside so that she could rub her shoulders. Despite the strangeness of this action, Henrietta felt her muscles relax and closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself to savor it for just a moment before she forced herself to turn around, suddenly feeling a bit awkward now. “Thanks,” Henrietta said uneasily, attempting to smile.

  Lucy smiled back, her startling blue eyes wide and excited. Henrietta couldn’t help but stare at them; they were unlike any color she had ever seen, a powdery blue, almost like a slice of the sky. Before Henrietta could realize what was happening, however, Lucy leaned toward her and gently kissed her on the lips.

  Henrietta pulled back, horrified. “Lucy! What are you doing?” she hissed, wiping her lips of any trace of Lucy’s.

  “Sorry,” Lucy said casually with an arched eyebrow, disturbingly reminding Henrietta of Inspector Howard, which somehow made the whole thing worse. “I just thought that maybe . . . you know,” she said with a slight shrug, “you might feel the same.”

  “Well, I don’t!” Henrietta said, her heart racing.

  “It couldn’t have been all that bad . . . you did say I was gorgeous,” Lucy said, attempting to smile now.

  “I’m not that way. . .” Henrietta insisted, both confused and mortified.

  “You sure?” Lucy asked.

  “Of course I’m sure!”

  “Got a man, then?”

  “Well, sort of,” Henrietta said hesitatingly and was perturbed when an image of the inspector came into her mind. Startled by it, she forced him out and instead tried to conjure up an image of Artie leaning close to her after a set with his mischievous smile, though it was a decidedly more fuzzy picture than the one presented by the inspector, his eyes intense and full of . . . of something.

  Lucy laughed. “I see. Well, anyway, no hard feelings, right?” She smiled at Henrietta in such a genuine way, holding out her hand to her as a peace offering, that Henrietta couldn’t help but smile back and took her hand, albeit hesitantly. “I like you, sweets,” Lucy said to her, “so you’d better stick with us. You’re more innocent than you let on, and there’s lots of wolves prowling around here, and I don’t just mean the men.”

  You can say that again, thought Henrietta, as they made their way out, wondering if Mrs. Jenkins realized that her partner system was inherently flawed. She was trying to act casual now in Lucy’s presence, but in truth she was quite shaken. She had heard of men being “that way” and had even come across a few that she had suspected might be more effeminate than most, even, she had to reluctantly admit, her own brother Eugene—but a woman? Henrietta hadn’t realized that women could feel that way, too. Oh, why was everything always so mixed up! Suddenly she felt rather distraught.

  “Listen, Henry,” Lucy whispered as they approached the bar. “Things can get a little shady around here,” she said, looking around quickly, presumably for Jenks, as she put her hand on Henrietta’s arm. “Stay after tonight. In the dressing room. We always have a few drinks after the show, usually some laughs. Why don’t you stay, too?” she suggested. “Don’t worry, no funny business,” she said with a reassuring smile, correctly reading the indecision on Henrietta’s face. “Look, you can meet some of the girls that way. You need friends to survive around here.”

  Henrietta wasn’t sure what to say. She was very unsettled by what had happened in the bathroom, but Lucy seemed genuine now, and the inspector had told her to try to befriend the girls, to look for something suspicious. Was this what he had meant? Perhaps she should accept . . .

  “Why not?” Henrietta found herself saying. “I can’t stay late, though . . . ”

  “Meeting your fellow?” Lucy said, giving her a little wink. “My fellow? Oh! No, not that. Just that my mother . . . she’ll be expecting me.”

  Lucy laughed. “You’re a gumdrop, you are! How’d you end up in a nasty place like this? Well, no matter. You stick by us.”

  They collected their silver trays, which were sitting haphazardly at the end of the bar, and quickly surveyed the room. Henrietta spotted Jenks talking to one of the bouncers and pointing toward the stage.

  “What about Jenks?” Henrietta said quietly to Lucy. “Doesn’t she mind you staying after?”

  “Nah. She leaves us to ourselves. Let’s just say she’s got other things to worry about after the show. You know, behind the green door.”

  “Behind the green door?” Henrietta asked, mystified. “What does that mean? Outside?”

  “Shhh!” Lucy whispered, glancing at the bartender at the f
ar end of the bar now. “Not here. I’ll explain it all later.”

  Before Henrietta could respond, however, Jenks had spotted them and angrily signaled them to get back to work.

  “Good luck!” Lucy whispered and hurried off.

  Henrietta made her way back to her station to collect a fresh list of orders, her legs still a bit weak. She tried to block out any self-consciousness she was feeling about what had gone on in the bathroom, as well as Lucy’s hints as to what Jenks might be up to after the shows, but it proved to be difficult. She wondered disconcertingly what she had gotten herself into, and found herself quickly surveying the room in an attempt to locate any of the undercover men that the inspector assured her would periodically be there, but she couldn’t detect a one. Perhaps they were outside in a car, she mused, though she wasn’t sure how that would help her one bit. She didn’t exactly relish the notion of going to this “party,” but she saw no other way. Besides, she told herself, the inspector was counting on her, wasn’t he?

  The show ended at around midnight, and the last of the men stumbled out eventually, leaving Larry to finally be able to turn up the house lights and begin his long night of sweeping, Jenks stopping to talk to him and he merely nodding lazily to whatever she was saying to him. Henrietta, still a bit apprehensive, watched Jenks disappear behind the curtains and then turned to face Lucy, who had already undone her cap, letting her long, silky blond hair tumble down.

  “Come on,” she said to Henrietta, putting an arm through hers, “I need a drink!”

  Henrietta smiled and took a deep breath, thinking that that wasn’t such a bad idea. Lucy led her backstage through the maze of hallways until they somehow found themselves just outside the usherettes’ room. Dancers were in the hallway as well, going in and out of their dressing room, and drinking, too. As Lucy had predicted, Jenks was nowhere to be seen, though Henrietta thought she caught a glimpse of Esther.

  As they stepped into the usherettes’ dressing room, Henrietta was surprised to see that it had been transformed from its normal, dreary state. A phonograph had appeared from somewhere and someone had put on Fred Astaire’s “I Won’t Dance.” In one corner, there were bottles of gin and whiskey and some assorted small glasses and, of course, bottles of beer. Henrietta was surprised by the red glow that seemed to permeate the whole room and realized that someone had put make-shift shades made out of what looked like red tissue paper over the lightbulbs that hung down on cloth cords from the ceiling. Most of the girls had taken off their uniforms and slipped into their street clothes, while others wore only thin dressing gowns. Some were smoking and laughing in corners; others were counting their tips.