was; a Martian could have noticed it . . . from Mars.)
“Vivvie!” Peg shouted, and her grin lit up my world. “You made it, kiddo!”
Kiddo!
Nobody had ever called me kiddo, and for some reason it made me want to run into her arms and cry. It was also so encouraging to be told that I had made it—as though I’d accomplished something! In truth, I’d accomplished nothing more impressive than first getting kicked out of school, and then getting kicked out of my parents’ house, and finally getting lost in Grand Central Station. But her delight in seeing me was a balm. I felt so welcome. Not only welcome, but wanted.
“You’ve already met Olive, our resident zookeeper,” Peg said. “And this is Gladys, our dance captain—”
The platinum-haired girl grinned, snapped her gum at me, and said, “Howyadoin?”
“—and this is Celia Ray, one of our showgirls.”
Celia extended her sylphlike arm and said in a low voice, “A pleasure. Charmed to meet you.”
Celia’s voice was incredible. It wasn’t just the thick New York accent; it was the deep gravelly tone. She was a showgirl with the voice of Lucky Luciano.
“Have you eaten?” Peg asked me. “Are you starved?”
“No,” I said. “Not starved, I wouldn’t say. But I haven’t had proper dinner.”
“We’ll go out, then. Let’s go have a few gallons of drinks and catch up.”
Olive interjected, “Vivian’s luggage hasn’t been brought upstairs yet, Peg. Her suitcases are still in the lobby. She’s had a long day, and she’ll want to freshen up. What’s more, we should give notes to the cast.”
“The boys can bring her things upstairs,” Peg said. “She looks fresh enough to me. And the cast doesn’t need notes.”
“The cast always needs notes.”
“Tomorrow we can fix it” was Peg’s vague answer, which seemed to satisfy Olive not at all. “I don’t want to talk about business just now. I could murder a meal, and what’s worse I have a powerful thirst. Let’s just go out, can’t we?”
By now, it sounded like Peg was begging for Olive’s permission.
“Not tonight, Peg,” said Olive firmly. “It’s been too long a day. The girl needs to rest and settle in. Bernadette left a meat loaf upstairs. I can make sandwiches.”
Peg looked a little deflated, but cheered up again within the next minute.
“Upstairs, then!” she said. “Come, Vivvie! Let’s go!”
Here’s something I learned over time about my aunt: whenever she said “Let’s go!” she meant that whoever was in earshot was also invited. Peg always moved in a crowd, and she wasn’t picky about who was in the crowd, either.
So that’s why our gathering that night—held upstairs, in the living quarters of the Lily Playhouse—included not only me and Aunt Peg and her secretary, Olive, but also Gladys and Celia, the showgirls. A last-minute addition was a fey young man whom Peg collared as he was heading toward the stage door. I recognized him as a dancer in the show. Once I got up close to him, I could see that he looked about fourteen years old, and he also looked as if he could use a meal.
“Roland, join us upstairs for dinner,” Peg said.
He hesitated. “Aw, that’s all right, Peg.”
“Don’t worry, hon, we’ve got plenty of food. Bernadette made a big pile of meat loaf. There’s enough for everyone.”
When Olive looked as though she were going to protest something, Peg shushed her: “Oh, Olive, don’t play the governess. I can share my dinner with Roland here. He needs to put on some weight, and I need to lose some, so it works out. Anyway, we’re semisolvent right now. We can afford to feed a few more mouths.”
We headed to the back of the theater, where a wide staircase led to the upstairs of the Lily. As we climbed the stairs, I could not stop staring at those two showgirls. Celia and Gladys. I’d never seen such beauties. I’d been around theater girls back at boarding school, but this was different. The theater girls at Emma Willard tended to be the sort of females who never washed their hair, and always wore thick black leotards, and every single one of them thought she was Medea, at all times. I simply couldn’t bear them. But Gladys and Celia—this was a different category. This was a different species. I was mesmerized by their glamour, their accents, their makeup, the swing of their silk-wrapped rear ends. And as for Roland, he moved his body just the same way. He, too, was a fluid, swinging creature. How fast they