Ziegfeld Girls Read online

  “How many girls is he looking to hire?” Suzanne blurted out. She meant it to sound conversational, but instead it hung in the air like an accusation.

  Jonathon stoked the fire so that its glow brought warmth to the room. “The Follies are always open to beautiful, talented women. However, this year, we have been left to fill the stage after a few . . . unexpected departures.”

  She put her handbag down on the side table. “Yes, I heard some of the girls left abruptly.”

  “Yes, well, I wouldn’t listen to all the street gossip.” Jonathon cleared his throat. Placing the poker back in its holder, he turned to Suzanne. “Mr. Ziegfeld can make you a star, but he can’t make you loyal.”

  “Oh, of course.” Suzanne fell over the words. Somehow she’d stumbled into the middle of an argument she didn’t quite understand. A silence fell between them.

  “Can I get you anything else while you wait?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Suzanne replied.

  Jonathon abruptly tipped his head at Suzanne and said, “I have much work to do. Please let me know if you change your mind.”

  Once the door clicked shut, Suzanne stood in the center of the room with the fire cackling behind her. The tall ceiling towered over her, with carvings of vines and flowers continuing the theater’s motif. The walls were draped with dark pink velvet curtains that made the room look taller. Without another person in the office, Suzanne was left feeling insignificant. She wished she hadn’t asked Jonathon about the rumor. She had hit a nerve, she felt. She’d find a way to regain his good graces. Being in with Ziegfeld’s assistant could have its perks.

  The high ceilings made the crackling embers of the fire echo loudly throughout the room. Two tall chairs faced the fireplace. On the other side of the room sat Ziegfeld’s desk with another pair of short leather chairs. Two tall windows bridged the gap between the two areas. Velvet curtains flowed from the ceiling, framing the wall.

  Between the fire’s soothing cracks and sputtering, Suzanne could hear the typewriter keys from the outer office. Busy little bee, Suzanne thought.

  Ignoring decorum, she moved behind the desk and examined the wall of photographs: groups of women standing in rows with their legs extended straight out and portraits of girls in costumes that sparkled in the camera’s flash covered the wall. Suzanne could soon be one of them. The idea made her both apprehensive and exhilarated.

  If Jada didn’t send word, the papers would report on one of Richmond’s own joining the Follies. Mother wouldn’t be pleased knowing her baby girl would soon be photographed with exposed elbows and ankles. Somehow that made the idea even more desirable.

  She walked to the two chairs on the other side of the desk and carefully lowered herself into one. The leather cracked as it adjusted to her figure. The noise was loud and she suddenly found herself sitting as straight as possible in an attempt to stop the adjustments.

  Shaking her head clear, she focused on Ziegfeld’s desk. The large oak desktop was covered in photographs. She leaned forward and picked one up. Ziegfeld stood next to a man so wide with muscles Suzanne wondered how he found clothing that fit him. She placed it back on the table and shuddered a bit. That many muscles was unnatural. She picked another frame and turned it toward her. A gawky young woman stood, looking amused at the camera. She wasn’t beautiful, but she had a charm that made Suzanne instantly smile. The girl was in her early twenties, about Suzanne’s age, and perched on a stool, turned slightly away from the camera. A string of pearls and a fur were draped loosely about her shoulders and arms to hide the girl’s bosom. It took Suzanne a moment to realize that the girl was naked. The tilted pose hid the most delicate parts of her body, while also highlighting the girl’s curves. Nothing improper showed, but everything scandalous was implied.

  Suzanne could hardly take her eyes off the captivating image. The woman possessed something none of the other girls photographed had: an inner glow that made her presence wink at the camera. In scrawly handwriting the girl had written, With much love and gratitude, Ann.

  Ann? Suzanne looked at the girl’s face again. Dark curls, pale skin, and those big eyes. That was Ann Pennington! She’d become a star last year in the 1913 Follies and was rumored to be chased by Ziegfeld himself. Is this what the girls rebuffing his advances gave him? Suzanne’s stomach lurched uneasily. What would Jada say if she saw this photograph? What would her mother think? She pushed that thought away from her. What anyone else thought did not matter. It only mattered what she was comfortable with and she’d know that once she met Mr. Ziegfeld.

  As in answer to her question the door opened and Ziegfeld himself entered with Jonathon at his side. He was shorter than Suzanne imagined, but an air of power and confidence gave him an attraction to which Suzanne couldn’t help but feel drawn. His gray suit was impeccably tailored and his shoes freshly shined. Few men could make a lavender shirt look stylish, but Mr. Ziegfeld could. He was a bit rounder in the face than his portrait illustrated, but his slender build made up for it.

  “This is Suzanne Haskins, sir,” Jonathon said as they walked to her.

  “Ah, yes. The Dancing Duchess.” Mr. Ziegfeld’s smile made his mustache twitch. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He reached for her hand and bowed his head in greeting.

  “Will you bring us some drinks, Mr. Franks?” He smiled at Suzanne. “Miss Haskins appears pale.”

  “Right away, sir.” Jonathon tipped his head and departed.

  Mr. Ziegfeld walked to his desk and set his briefcase down before he adjusted the photograph of Ann and smiled at the image.

  “She is the epitome of my empire.” He gestured toward the frame.

  Suzanne nodded. “She is a beautiful woman.”

  “All girls are beautiful, but mine possess something other women can’t quite obtain. They have an inner glow. That is what makes a Ziegfeld girl.”

  Jonathon reappeared with a glass of water with several ice chips floating in it and a cup of coffee for Mr. Ziegfeld. Suzanne sipped the water slowly. It had been too long since she’d had ice in her water. Most of the places she and Jada stayed in had ice only for keeping the meat and milk from spoiling.

  Suzanne caught Mr. Ziegfeld’s eyes as he appraised her. Instead of feeling sexual, his gaze was that of a businessman appraising a new building development. Suzanne pushed her shoulders back and twisted slightly toward him to show off her slim waist and good posture. A silence sat between them, but Suzanne refused to speak first. He had requested the meeting; she’d not ruin this chance by assuming the wrong thing. Instead, she appraised him with the same intensity.

  Having worked in theaters for nearly two years, she was used to dancer-turned-directors and somehow imagined Ziegfeld to be the same. Not only was he short, but he probably weighed little more than she did. What he lacked in size, he made up for in charisma. Ann’s photo was in Suzanne’s side line, but she resolutely put it from her mind. Anyone who wore a pink shirt and spats was hardly someone to fear.

  He pulled the chair out and lowered himself slowly onto the fine leather. He moved so gracefully that the leather didn’t make one creak as he settled onto it.

  He was waiting for her to speak, as if only she could command the room into action. His eyes focused on her face as if he was memorizing every line to immortalize her immediately. She noticed his eyes never lowered to other, more improper regions. She took one last sip from the glass before placing it on the table and looking him straight in the eye.

  “You requested this meeting. How can I help you?” She smiled to soften the frankness of her words.

  Mr. Ziegfeld chuckled and nodded. He took a sip from his own glass. “Very good. Stand up, Miss Haskins,” he demanded, standing up himself.

  Suzanne did as she was told, walked to the center of the room, and stood before him.

  “Turn around, please,” he said, spinning his finger in circles as an example.

  Forcing a natural smile, she again did as she was told. However, ins
tead of feeling special, she felt like the prized pig at a slaughterhouse. He didn’t leer at her, nor did he make her feel in any way uncomfortable, but that was what made her uneasy. Shouldn’t such appraisal feel awkward? If he wanted the most beautiful women in the world, shouldn’t she feel attractive from his gaze? Her confidence faltered slightly. Perhaps she was not destined to be a Ziegfeld girl after all.

  “That is enough, Miss Haskins,” he said. He motioned to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace before continuing. “Please have a seat.”

  “Thank you,” Suzanne said as she sank into the chair. The cushion was softer than she expected and as she sank lower, her corset cut into her rib cage. Tightening her smile, she regained her composer and perched on the edge of the chair’s seat instead. It was more ladylike.

  “You are an impressive woman, Miss Haskins,” he began. “Not only does your beauty command attention, but your dancing is unique and your voice, although limited, has a clear tone.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ziegfeld,” Suzanne said, ignoring the slight rebuke.

  “Given your limited vocal range, I am impressed that you’ve been able to have the career you’ve had. You must be a wonderful musician to accommodate your talent.”

  Suzanne pushed her lips into a smile. Instead of admitting to Jada’s assistance, she simply smiled and said, “Thank you for noticing, but it is my dancing that has made my career.”

  “I would have said it was your beauty.” Mr. Ziegfeld smiled. “You know that my primary concern for my girls is that they possess unique beauty. I also need girls who have an extra-special quality. Girls who have star potential. I would not have chosen you had I not believed you were truly gifted.”

  “Thank you.” True praise indeed!

  “With a bit of training you could be a star. Does that interest you?”

  Suzanne met his gaze and shifted so her whole body leaned toward him. What a question to ask. Yet, she knew that she had to answer.

  “Yes, I want to be a star.”

  The words felt light in Suzanne’s mouth. They flowed out so easily that she knew she was in the right space at the right time.

  Ziegfeld became serious as he leaned forward in his chair, coming very close to Suzanne. “I expect you to do every dance perfectly. Each head turn or toe twitch is timed down to the second and must happen in unison. I will not stand for laziness or tardiness. Rehearsals are at nine AM promptly and do not finish until we are satisfied. Work hard and you will be rewarded. If you shine, you could become the toast of New York.”

  A part of her was ready to commit body and soul to Ziegfeld, but something held her back. She glanced again at that photograph of Ann Pennington. It was art, yes, but it represented so much more. Was she capable of being all Ziegfeld wanted her to be? She stared into Ziegfeld’s dancing blue eyes and could almost see his vision of her.

  She saw herself holding crystal leaves, acting the part of the tree in a Grecian temple. She saw red rubies bending back, forming a line of sparkling rainbows. She saw herself tap dancing alongside Leon Errol while the audience hooted with joy. For the mere price of sweat, time, and perhaps a little art, all that could be hers.

  As she was about to reply the door burst open and a raven-haired woman stormed in.

  “I am sorry, Flo,” she said. “I know I promised to give it the night, but I am done. No more.”

  Mr. Ziegfeld slowly turned toward the woman. “Kitty, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I’m sorry, Flo,” she said again. “But I refuse to work under these conditions. I’ve never been treated in such an abysmal fashion.”

  Suzanne thought she saw a look of sadness cross Mr. Ziegfeld’s face, but when he spoke it was with a calm tone. “We have been nothing but generous with you. You had time off when your mother took ill, despite needing to work on the opening solo. Fanny says the two of you have become friends, and you are well-liked by many of the girls. You are welcome in our little family.”

  Kitty’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she took in his words. After a moment her face flushed and tears came to her eyes. “I can’t, Flo. I can’t stay in this company. I am sorry.” She spun around and rushed from the room.

  Jonathon appeared in the empty doorway. “Mr. Ziegfeld?” he said.

  Mr. Ziegfeld exhaled a deep breath and waved a hand dismissively. “Please send Kitty’s money to her room.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jonathon let the door close behind him. It remained slightly open. Suzanne wondered if he was listening to their conversation.

  “I am sorry you had to witness that display,” Mr. Ziegfeld said.

  Suzanne shifted in her chair. “Yes, well, I suppose this life isn’t for everyone.” She winced at how lackluster her words sounded. “Of course, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. When can I join rehearsals?”

  A look of excitement spread over Mr. Ziegfeld’s face. “I knew I saw a star in you. I will have Jonathon send over the contract for you to sign. You will need to complete your contract for The Dancing Duchess before we write in your start date.”

  The Dancing Duchess. Suzanne’s heart plummeted. She had a contract to uphold for that horrible show. She forced a smile. “I look forward to starting here.”

  Mr. Ziegfeld glanced at his desk calendar. “Our official rehearsals don’t start for a few weeks, so you won’t miss much.”

  “Well, that is good at least.”

  “The reviews were not good. You may be with us sooner than we expect. The contract will be the standard starting wording for my girls. You must maintain your appearance and weight to our specifications and attend all required events. The starting salary is seventy-five dollars a week.” He smiled knowingly.

  It took every ounce of concentration to keep the shock off of Suzanne’s face. Seventy-five dollars a week was more than triple what she’d ever made before.

  “I look forward to the challenge.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Jada brushed glue onto the back of the New York Times review cutout of The Dancing Duchess. She almost didn’t put it in Suzanne’s scrapbook as the review was brutal. The one thing all of the critics had praised was Suzanne’s poise and beauty. But she was not enough to save the show. Carefully, Jada pressed the paper into her scrapbook, which was about half-full. Photos of Suzanne’s inspirations and clippings from the venues they played filled the album. Jada hoped that someday Suzanne would be glad to have it all recorded.

  From the trunk, she pulled the newspaper from two months ago. A photographer had published a snapshot of Suzanne taking a bow onstage in Philadelphia. The article was about the theater’s renovation to a motion picture house, but the photos showed Suzanne’s tango costume to full effect. Enough time had passed since they played there. It was safe to send it on to Richmond now. Jada carefully cut out the article, folded it, and slid it into an envelope. She wrote Mrs. Haskins’s name and address on it.

  Suzanne may not care to keep her mother informed of their success, but Jada couldn’t bear the thought of her not knowing if they were surviving or not. Like it or not, Mrs. Haskins was the only mother figure Jada had left.

  She pushed the thought away. Ma and Pa had been dead for a long time. Twenty months and three days, to be exact. Jada refused to think about that day. She still saw their bodies swaying from that tree and their still eyes glossed over with death. They haunted her, but luckily it had been some time since the nightmares had bothered her. She couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if they’d never gone to town that day . . . never been accused of stealing by that horrible grocer. Perhaps she and Suzanne would still be in Richmond. Jada sealed the envelope with more force than necessary.

  “Back to work,” she muttered, and stood up.

  The new boardinghouse was perfect, but the unpacking process was more work than Jada anticipated. With all the traveling in vaudeville it had been some time since the entire contents of their trunks had been emptied. Jada rubbed her neck. All the day-to-day clothes were hung,
and a pile of clothes sat in a basket waiting for her to mend rips and holes that had developed from disuse.

  With the offer from Ziegfeld signed, Jada had moved them from the run-down hotel to the upscale boardinghouse within walking distance to the theater. Money would be a little tight until she officially started at the New Amsterdam Theatre, but it was worth it. Miss Mitzi’s was highly recommended both for her discretion and her food.

  Their room was periwinkle and pink with small roses on the wallpaper. Jada smoothed the comforter and nodded to herself. This was good. Just nice enough without being gaudy. She closed the trunk that contained Suzanne’s vaudeville costumes. It would be bad luck to keep those out.

  She tucked the pieces that needed mending into the smaller trunk along with the scrapbook and pushed it into the corner of the room. With it out of the way the room looked neat. One of the serving men would come pick up the rest of their trunks and put them in storage. She glanced around the room, making sure there wasn’t anything else that needed to be packed away.

  She caught her reflection in the mirror. Her long braids, which she’d earlier pinned up about her head, now were dangerously close to falling out. Worse than that, straggles of hair had escaped from her braids, giving her a rough resemblance to the boardinghouse maid, Sally.

  A lady is always put together properly, Suzanne’s mother always said. Perhaps she only told Jada such things so Suzanne would always follow her guidance, but Jada kept those words close to her heart and lived by them.

  Immediately dropping all other thoughts, Jada walked over to her corner of the room and pulled out the thick ivory comb Suzanne had given her for Christmas and began the arduous task of unbraiding and untangling her hair. She sat down at the vanity table and moved the newspaper and teacup out of her way. Starting at her temple, she put the comb in her hair and pulled it smoothly down to the tips. Relaxing into the rhythmic motion, she closed her eyes and withdrew back to her childhood, when her mother would comb her hair and sing at night.