Vicky Banning (16 page)

“All right,”
Doris
conceded, “I’m convinced that you know…”

“I also learned to spot the addicts,” Vicky said, a pitying sound to her voice. “They didn’t call them that in those days, of course. So pathetic it was to watch them, the desperation and the panic.” She shuddered. “We’ll have to keep an eye out for them. Charity is one thing, but not at the expense of someone’s life.”

“Fine!”
Doris
said, growing impatient. “We’ll look out for anyone you want, but what about the equipment, the entertainment, the catering? Not to mention the fact that it’s illegal!”

Vicky harrumphed with exasperation. “
Doris
, you are such a worrier! Don’t concern yourself with the petty things of this world; it takes years off your life. I’ll get a waiver from the governor for the gambling, since it’s for charity. Then I’ll arrange to rent the equipment through my attorney in
New York
. I’m sure he must have some contacts with the casinos in
Atlantic City
who can lend us some extra tables and whatnot for one night. As for the catering, we’ll hire short-order cooks to serve steaks and fries, period—and charge a fortune for them, of course. I’ll handle the entertainment and donate my own considerable talent. We’ll audition locally for the rest. I’m sure there’s plenty around, there always is; that’s why show-biz is so cut-throat, the competition’s fierce. The show need run for only an hour or so, anyway. We don’t want to keep our ‘guests’ away from the tables too long.”

She chuckled. “Never will so many pay so much for so little, and applaud themselves for their own ‘generosity’…especially at tax time. Oh, this is so exciting, I can’t wait. I haven’t dealt a hand of Blackjack in years. I wonder if I still have my green eyeshade.”

* * * *

“Thank you, dear,” Vicky called to the final
auditioner
of the day. She was a cute, chubby waitress with kewpie doll lips and rouged cheeks from
Lancaster
, who had promised that if she got the part she’d invest in a pair of tap shoes. In the meantime, though, she saw no sense in wasting the money and stomped away on the rug of the lounge as if she’d been sent to test the security of the Sanctuary’s foundation.

“That was very nice,” Vicky added. She had forced so many smiles during the day that her cheeks ached from the strain. “We’ll let you know.”

Talent wanted for Charity Show
, Vicky had advertised in the local newspaper.
No Pay. No Fee. No Children. Supply Own Costumes.
She had made it as uninviting as she could with the hope of dissuading as many of those “
I know I’d be a star if they’d only give me a chance”
amateurs. It had been a day of long-ago ballet school dropouts—
wearing invisible galoshes
, Vicky believed—opera chorus soprano rejects—did they
all
have to try for high Cs?—and a strange young man who “played” the laces of his combat boots, while expounding on the talents of a certain “young lady from Kent.”

How the news of Vicky’s little show had spread to the far reaches of the land—
Akron
and
Syracuse
—she couldn’t explain, but they had. Her new post office box had been jammed with hopeful letters daily since the ad appeared.

“If everyone who thought they had talent, had talent,” Vicky said, turning wearily to
Doris
, “there’d be no such thing as talent at all. Everyone would be a star, but there’d be no audience.”

“Speaking of talent,”
Doris
said, “have I ever shown you my Shirley Temple imitation?” She framed her ample cheeks with open palms facing outward and, with eyes wide and an idiotic grin, swung her upper body from side to side in a rocking motion.

“If you
dare
sing that dreadful song,” Vicky said, her eyes narrowing into a don’t-you-dare squint, “I’ll brain you with something a lot heavier than a lollipop.”

So,
Doris
simply hummed it, until Vicky’s reserve broke and they both collapsed in spasms of laughter. Then
Doris
’s mouth curved downward in a childish pout as she said, “You just don’t appreciate true talent when you see it,” and they joined in laughter again.

“The only women who could out-Temple
Temple
were Fanny Brice and Carol Burnett, because they did it strictly for laughs, not trying to be true impersonators. Anyone trying to out-do an original ends up a poor second-rate. And speaking of original! God, if I heard one more rendition of
Feelings
today I think I’d have screamed. Hasn’t anyone written any other song in the past few years?”

“I thought the quartet was good,” said
Doris
. “They reminded me of the early
Supremes.
”

Vicky nodded, making a check in her pad beside the name of the group: the
Opals.
“I liked them very much, too. They’ve obviously worked on their act, which is more than I can say for most of the others. What did you think of the female impersonator?”

“The Black Jean Harlow? Oh, she…uh, he was fabulous! Very professional and very funny. But I think his material might be a bit risqué for the crowd we’ll get here. Some of them are not exactly sophisticated, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“No, really?” Vicky drawled. “Well, I’ll just put a question mark next to his name and think more about him later. Tomorrow we have to try to find some non-coloreds with talent. After all, we don’t want to be considered racists, do we? Somewhere we must be able to find at least one token white.”

The situation reversed itself during the next few days of auditioning. Vicky was inundated with talented performers, each unique in his or her own way: singers, dancers, comics—enough to stretch the show to twenty-four hours without repeating an act. How to select, to ferret out the best of each type?

No wonder casting couches are so popular,
Vicky thought. If you roll in the hay long enough, you’re bound to find at least
one
needle.

“
Doris
, look at this,” Vicky said, holding up her pad. The auditions were over and the women were relaxing on the back patio, exhausted. “Checks! Dozens of them next to all those names! How will we ever choose from all that talent?”

“We?”
Doris
exclaimed. She then shook her head emphatically. “Oh, no. Not
we! You!
You started all this and the show is your baby. I’m here only to lend moral support.”

Vicky flipped her pad closed, dropped it on the table and took a hefty swig of strong, hot tea. She waited for the bracing affect that always followed, but it didn’t come. She felt like wrapping herself in a soft blanket and drifting off to sleep, but it was only four in the afternoon. Turning to gaze past the line of shade into the sunlight, she watched the bank of red and white impatiens dance in the breeze. Even they seemed to be auditioning.

“Cheer up,”
Doris
said sympathetically. “The worst is over. I think I can help you select the winners, if you want to call them that. Personally, I don’t understand their enthusiasm. They’re not getting paid, worse, they have to pay their own expenses, and it’s all for just one night. What’s the big attraction?”

Vicky smiled with understanding. “It can’t really be explained to those not caught in the ‘magnetism,’ I guess you could call it. Some of us are drawn to performing; we have a drive, a craving for…who knows? Admiration, love, acceptance, any number of things. It’s rarely for the money at first, although that certainly is a consideration; or even for fame. It’s more like a compulsion to prove that you’re really good at something, so good that others will pay to enjoy what you can do. Gerald and I felt that way, and Lord knows we didn’t need the money. My parents spoiled us rotten, and Gerald’s folks only encouraged us. When they passed away, we were left with enough to last more than our lifetimes. We performed because we wanted to, and we had to. We couldn’t have quit; there was nothing else we wanted to do. It would have been like giving up part of ourselves.”

Doris
shrugged, saying, “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. Have you heard anything about the casino equipment yet?”

“Oh, yes,” Vicky said. “Teddy, my attorney, called this morning. The rental company has asked the governor’s office for written permission to set up in the Sanctuary the night before the affair. Teddy’s taking care of all the details.”

“He certainly does a great deal for you,”
Doris
said, looking curiously at her. “Isn’t this going to cost you an awful lot?”

Vicky smiled as she turned again to watch the swaying impatiens. “He never takes a penny,” she said. “He still feels obligated to Gerald and me, which is foolish.”

“Obligated? For what?”

Vicky hesitated. It was a subject she rarely spoke about, outside of her family. “Well,” she began, “during the war, Gerald and I had Keith transferred from an English boarding school to one in the States, while we continued touring the ‘safe countries.’” Her voice took on a distant, distraught hollowness. “There were so many orphans…all nationalities, all religions.” She shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. “To make this a very short story, Teddy was one of the boys we took into our troupe until we could smuggle him out of Europe using Keith’s passport, which we managed to get back when each one left. We arranged for Teddy and all the other boys that followed to be accepted into the same school as Keith, so they could all get to know each other and take care of one another. We assigned Keith to act as their big brother, no matter what the age discrepancies.”

“No wonder he feels obligated,” said
Doris
. “But you said ‘all the boys.’ How many were there?”

“Only six,” Vicky said softly, “out of the thousands who needed us. There would have been many more, but it took time…so much time. We had to be selective since the boys had to at least vaguely resemble Keith and be about the same age. There were so many that we had to leave behind.” Her eyes filled to the brim.

“Do you keep in touch with them all?”
Doris
asked.

“Oh,
yes
,” Vicky said, snapping out of her sorrowful stage with great effort, “at my insistence, mainly by mail. But once a year, every spring, we have a huge family reunion in
San Francisco
.” She smiled happily, envisioning the most recent one. “None of my boys has ever missed one. They bring their wives and children, and some of them even their grandchildren.” She paused for a moment, smiling again, distantly. “Anyway,” she added, before
Doris
could continue with her questions, “enough about my business. Let’s get back to the party arrangements. We have more than enough volunteers to run the casino, so that’s pretty well settled, and a chef from the
Steak Roundup
has offered his services for nothing.”

“We certainly have a huge selection of entertainers to choose from,”
Doris
said, somewhat glumly, then laughed at Vicky’s grimace. “So, except for a line of
Las Vegas
showgirls, I think we can give even the fanciest
Nevada
hotel a run for its money.”

“We can’t afford a
line
of showgirls,” Vicky said, “but since a Vegas night would be a Vegas night without a little spice, I’ve decided that we should have an ecdysiast.”

“An
ec
…a
stripper?
”
Doris
squealed. “How could we get a stripper? Where would we find one?”

Vicky’s eyes flared with surprise. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’ve already got one.”

“I don’t remember any stripper,”
Doris
said. “Where did she come from? Who is she?”

Vicky’s lips pursed primly as she said simply, “Me.”

“Perfect!” Vicky declared as Larry the hairdresser combed out the last of the bologna-thick rolls of hair and pressed it into place. “It’s exactly what I wanted.” She had been letting her hair grow for months now and had decided that for her performance she wanted to appear tall and sleek; at least as much as a high hairdo and heels would allow, without making her look like an ostrich. She watched Larry in the mirror, saw him smile slightly without looking up at her face, concentrating on his styling.

Doris
had recommended the salon and Vicky had called, asking specifically for a male hairdresser. She felt that they paid more attention than women did. It wasn’t true, she knew, but just didn’t want to admit that she preferred the attention of men over women any time. Larry wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Short and stocky, with a crew-cut and a thick black mustache, he looked like an advertisement for
Bull
Durham
.

“Are you coming to the charity drive at the Sanctuary tonight?” she asked him. He’d been unusually quiet for a hairdresser, quiet as he worked on her hair, that is, flipping, setting and swirling her silver locks with such seriousness that Vicky began to wonder if perhaps she was going bald and he was afraid to tell her.

“No,” he answered. “Too expensive for me, and I wasn’t invited anyway.”

“It will be expensive,” Vicky said. “But if you’d like to come, I’ll give you a ticket.” She felt guilty about restricting the invitations but, since the purpose of the drive was to collect “big bucks,” she had to ensure that the invitees were those who could afford to part with them. Almost everyone had accepted the invitations, everyone but the Mayor, who claimed he was too busy.
Probably could no longer afford it,
Vicky decided,
what with his added expenses
. Apparently, the chance to throw money away for a good cause was a popular one. Even the governor and his wife had accepted, which they never had before.

“What’s this year’s drive for?” Larry asked.

Vicky’s eyes flared with surprise, not at the question, but at herself. She’d been so taken up with the venture of “putting on a show” that she’d never thought to ask! It was most embarrassing. “That depends,” she said, trying to think of what it might be. She must have read it somewhere. “Whoever seems the most needy when the receipts are counted, I imagine.”

“That’s a strange way to do things,” Larry said. “I thought the charity always came first, then the benefit to support it later.”

Now he gets chatty
, Vicky thought, a bit irritated, more at herself than at him. “There’s always someone in need,” she said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come…you and your wife, maybe?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. “Thanks anyway.”

I thought that might quiet him,
she thought. Mention a wife to a male hairdresser and you’ll create silence in no time at all. If he’s not married, he’s immediately suspect. If he admits to being married, then he’s cutting down on his chances of “making out” with his interested clients—or at least the size of his tips. Rule number one of the hairdressers’ guide to success: Keep Them Guessing.

Vicky thought briefly of mentioning Roger and Steve’s names, but decided against it. Being circumspect, they might not appreciate having their names bandied about in the local beauty parlors.

After leaving the salon, Vicky stopped at the photography shop from which she’d borrowed the flash attachment, to have a last chat with the owner before the show. His interest in theatre had led to photography and lighting equipment, as Vicky had noticed on her first visit. It had taken little coaxing for him to offer his expertise and apparatus to the show. The promise of credit in the handbill didn’t exactly deter him, either.

“Everything set, George?” Vicky called to him as she entered the shop.

He looked up through his thick lenses and smiled a broad but nervous smile. “I hope so,” he called. “The main spotlight is all set up beside the fireplace, like you wanted. I just hope I can keep all the cue cards straight. There are so many of them.”

“Don’t be silly,” Vicky laughed. “I have the utmost confidence in you. You know more about lighting than many of the professionals I’ve worked with in my lifetime. Those colored gels are going to make the show.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s been such a long time since I’ve done…”

“Stop doubting yourself,” Vicky said firmly. Encouragement is one thing, but she had no patience with grown men wanting to be babied. “If I say you can do it, you can do it. Now, no more nonsense. I’ll see you this evening.” She left the shop in a hurry, to avoid giving him time to whine some more. Bright men could be so childish at times.

The Sanctuary was awhirl with activity. Some of the residents were actually mobile! Some that Vicky thought weren’t capable of such activity. A caravan of delivery trucks were parked outside and a swarm of workmen were parading back and forth through the rooms of the ground floor. Green felt tables were being brushed in the crafts room and the chairs in the lounge were being moved to form a semi-circle before the piano.

“Where have you been?”
Doris
called as Vicky surveyed the rooms from inside the front door. “Some of the performers are here already and they want to know where to store their gear.” She seemed flustered with confusion.

“Calm down,” Vicky said. “We discussed all that, remember? The men can use the empty room upstairs and the women will use my room. All they need is a place to change and make up.”

“This is complicated,”
Doris
complained, worrying her hands. “We never had so much activity before.” Her head swiveled from side to side, watching the workmen. “There’s so much to do!”

“Hold it!” Vicky ordered. “You’ve been through all this many times before and it has always worked out just fine. So stop worrying. Sit down, put your feet up and relax. If there’s going to be trouble, let it find you. Don’t go looking for it, or you’ll find more than you bargained for. Things have a way of working out by themselves.” Unable to think of any more clichés, she started to leave.

“How can you stay so calm?”
Doris
cried. “You’re performing tonight and you don’t seem to have a hair out of place.”

“At those prices, I’d better not,” Vicky said, unwrapping the silk scarf from around her new hairdo. “How do you like it?”

“Stunning,”
Doris
said, without much conviction. “Here I am, chewing my fingernails down to the elbows and you’re off pampering yourself.”

“And I’m going to pamper myself some more,” Vicky said. “I’m going to lie down for a while, then have an early light dinner. Just some salad, I think…no, I can’t afford the steak.” She grinned and started off again.

“Vicky,”
Doris
called with hesitation. “You’re not really…I mean…what we talked about? The…strip-tease business? You’re not really…?”

Vicky winked.

* * * *

“Look at that clod!” Vicky exclaimed to
Doris
. They were acting as hostesses at the front door. “And the cheap so-and-so finagled free tickets from us, too!”

The affair was strictly black tie, spelled out as such on the twenty-five dollar invitations, but the sheriff, who’d hemmed and hawed about assigning his men to cover the party, until he was offered “freebies” for himself and his wife, was strolling up the walk in his street uniform, campaign hat and all.

Inferiority complex
, Vicky decided.
Anyone who had to hide behind a uniform and a shield (literally) to be noticed, yet safe, was in need of treatment. No wonder he’s chosen such a timid wife—poor dear.
His wife, although holding on to his arm, seemed to be walking a full step behind him, her eyes downcast. Embarrassed? The dress she wore hung drab and lifeless, as if to mirror her discomfort.

“I’ll give him the first drink on the house,”
Doris
whispered to Vicky. “A stiff one. Maybe he’ll crawl off into a corner somewhere and fall asleep.”

Vicky wasn’t sure that the drink was such a good idea—too many drunks get nasty—but agreed that it was one way they might get him out of sight.

The Sanctuary began to fill with elegantly dressed guests, including the governor, who made a fuss over Vicky at the entrance, and his wife Susanne. She was a bright, lovely woman who looked like a
Vogue
model—but breathing.

The waiting line for the dining room grew uncomfortably long after a short while, so Vicky took the names of the standees and offered to have them paged, suggesting helpfully that they pass the time at the gaming tables. She all but pushed them in that direction.

“Don’t hurry,” she said softly to
Doris
, passing the list of names to her. “The longer they have to wait in our little casino, the more they’ll ‘contribute’ to our worthy cause. They’ll appreciate the food more, too. Incidentally, what is our ‘worthy cause?’ What are we doing all this work for?”

“You’re joking, aren’t you?”
Doris
asked, peering at her. “Didn’t you even read the invitations?”

“Not past the point where it said twenty-five dollars, I didn’t.”

Doris
laughed. “Talk about mercenary! Our Vegas night is for the poor families of St. Sebastian’s parish. There are some truly needy people in that part of town. Many of the children have to go to school hungry.”

“Well, I’m glad they were chosen to benefit from this, then. It’s about time we kept some charity at home.” Which reminded her, she must have the pet supply store send more dog food to that little boy she’d met in the park. The dog has probably already gone through the food she’d arranged to be delivered.

At
ten o’clock
, Vicky checked with George. The lights were primed for action and so was he, having bolstered his courage by reviewing his cue cards over and over since he’d arrived. After a last check with
Doris
, she roamed through the rooms announcing loudly that the show was about to begin (a little less loudly in the casino).

Guests strolled into the lounge, choosing their seats. “It’s all yours now,” she told
Doris
. “I have to go and change. If anything goes haywire now, there’s nothing I can do about it, anyway. So,
courage, ma
cher
.
Chins up.”

“Watch that
chins
stuff, Sister,”
Doris
said with good humor. “I can take it from here. Being the emcee doesn’t faze me a bit. I’ve done it for so many years and I know most of the people here, but how you can remain so cool is beyond me.”

“It’s just another performance,” Vicky said with a carefree wave of her hand. “I never get the jitters,” she added, then rushed off before her nose began to grow.

“Show time, ladies,” she announced as she entered her room. Two of the women were ready, while the other two were putting the final touches to their makeup. They were all as skittish as brides—or as brides used to be when Vicky was a girl. “In case you didn’t know,” Vicky said, “you were chosen from hundreds”—
at least it seemed to be that many
, she thought—“of candidates for this show. You all have talent, believe me, so there’s no reason to be nervous. Do as well tonight as you did for me and you’ll be great! Now go on, I need time to make myself beautiful…which may take all night.”

The girls left giggling, leaving Vicky to her chore. The heavy makeup was the only thing Vicky disliked about the “biz.” Dark pancake, eye shadow, false eyelashes and a
gucky
coat of lipstick were necessary, if the glare from the lights weren’t to drain all the color from her face—but it made her feel like a Times Square hooker.

Some performers hid behind makeup, but Vicky didn’t feel the need to hide behind anything. She was quite willing to present her true self, letting other people like or lump it.

Her makeup completed, she slipped on her gown and stepped into the high heels she detested, but needed if she were to project the image she wanted. She turned to the right, then left, checking the view from the rear by holding a hand mirror before her. Satisfied, she stood tall and smiled. “Marlene,” she said softly, visualizing
la Dietrich
, “eat your heart out,” and left the room.

She stood outside the lounge, peeking through the curtains that had been hung to keep out the light from the foyer. Terri—“Black Harlow,” as he liked to be billed—was finishing his act: “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” she heard him say in a soft, sultry voice, “and anyone else who happens to be out there. You’ve been a marvelous audience and I’d love to stay, but I’m off to
Hollywood
in the morning so I must dash off to pack my ‘jewels.’ They’re making a new version of Cleopatra, you know, and I’m up for the title role. The next time you lovely folks will see me it’ll be on the silver screen…in living color.”