Ella of All-of-a-Kind Family (7 page)

Returning home from work one evening, Ella was greeted by a beaming Mama with “There was a telephone call for you today!”

“Yes?”

“The friend of that man you met in Albany,” Mama replied. “He said they’re auditioning tomorrow morning, and if you’re interested, you’re to be there at ten o’clock sharp. You’re to ask for a Mr. Trent. Here! I wrote down the address.”

Mama’s words caused an instant commotion among the girls. They surrounded Ella, all demanding to be heard.

“Are you really going to go?” “Will it be a real show on Broadway?” “Of course you’re taking Mama!” “Can we go along?” “Will they make you a star?”

Ella covered her ears. “Please, everybody, don’t all pounce on me at once! Give me a chance to think!”

For a brief moment, all was quiet. Then practical Sarah spoke up. “Ella, what about your job?”

“That’s easy. She’ll just take the day off,” Henny declared. “A chance like this comes only once in a lifetime!”

There followed a spirited discussion as to what Ella should wear, how she should act, what she should sing. What she should say. Through it all, Ella was silent, her
mind tossing back and forth on waves of elation and panic. It kept right on tossing a good part of the night.

Morning finally came. As usual, Papa set off for work and the children were dispatched to school. But for Ella it was an extra-special morning. With painstaking care, she groomed herself for the audition. She chose her best dress, a simple maroon wool with a white collar crossed demurely in front. A black hat with maroon facing topped off the costume.

Looking at her, Mama was infinitely touched. My firstborn, she thought, young and eager. God grant she realizes her desire.

On her part, Ella was admiring her mother’s still youthful figure dressed up in her best—her braid-trimmed frock. I’m so proud Mama looks so nice.

Arm in arm, mother and daughter left the house and walked the few blocks to the subway station.

The time seemed to drag along ever so slowly as the train rattled its way downtown. Then at long last they were in the heart of magical Times Square.

Armed with their precious slip of paper, they soon found themselves standing before an old brownstone building. Up several flights of wooden stairs they climbed, to the third floor.

From inside a succession of closed glass-paneled doors, streamed a bedlam of sound—pianos thumping, banjos strumming, and sudden snatches of song reverberating down the length of the corridor. Ella knocked on the door marked Foster Music Co.

“We might as well go in,” Mama said after a few minutes of waiting. “Nobody can hear us in all this racket.”

Timidly Ella turned the doorknob.

They entered a fairly large room, rather bare-looking. In one corner stood an upright piano piled high with sheet music. A man in shirt sleeves, a cigarette dangling from his lips, was tinkling the keys, his eyes intent on some music before him. Beside the piano, a thin longish-legged individual, wearing a cap tipped toward his nose, teetered on the hind legs of a cane chair. Near one of the long windows overlooking the street, a short, somewhat stocky man and a group of pretty girls were chatting and laughing familiarly. No one paid any attention to the newcomers.

For a few moments, Ella and Mama looked around uncertainly. Then Ella approached the group at the window.

“Mr. Trent?” she ventured.

The man turned. “Yep. I’m Mr. Trent,” he said, glancing down at her. “What is it, little girl?”

Now all the girls were staring at her. Hastily, Ella introduced herself and Mama. “Your friend heard me sing in Albany.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” He motioned toward the piano player. “Just tell him what you want to sing and give him the key.”

“I brought my music with me,” Ella began. “Can I …”

“Sure, kid,” he replied, his tone indifferent.

Ella unrolled her music. “It’s ‘The Flower Song’ from
Faust.
Is that all right?”

Mr. Trent raised a quizzical eyebrow. Out of the corner of her eye, Ella could see some of the girls exchanging amused glances. Is there something wrong with my choice? she wondered. It’s gay and charming. And I can sing it well. Her head lifted resolutely.

Mr. Trent pulled out a chair for Mama, then waved his hand matter-of-factly to Ella. “Okay, kid, let’s hear it.”

The pianist struck the opening chords and Ella started to sing. As her voice resounded through the room, she suddenly became aware of how quiet everyone had grown.

The thin man in the cane chair ceased his rocking. He pushed his cap back on his head. He leaned forward and his penetrating gaze seemed to be probing her very being.

Ella felt momentarily unnerved by his scrutiny but she kept herself in hand. You’re not going to upset me, she challenged the ogling stranger. Who do you think you are anyway? Just you wait, and I’ll show you…!

In a way his attention was flattering. To respond was irresistible. Soon she found herself singing especially for his benefit. She smiled, gestured coquettishly, the melody all the while lilting forth with ease and gaiety. At the finish, she curtsied, and stood waiting expectantly.

Without a word, the thin man rose, grabbed her by the arm and led her toward the door.

“My music …”

“Get it, Mother, and come along,” he ordered.

Ella hung back. “But Mr. Trent,” she appealed over her shoulder.

“It’s okay, kid,” Mr. Trent assured her with a broad smile. “That’s Mr. Woods,” as if the mere mention of the name was sufficient.

Before she knew it, she was out the door, down the stairs, and in the street. Up Broadway they raced, Ella running to keep up with Mr. Woods’s long-legged stride, with Mama following in bewildered pursuit.

Mr. Woods led them down the block into another building. They rode up in an elevator and were ushered into an office. Ella had just time enough to read the gold lettering
on the door—Joe Woods, Theatrical Agent. So that’s what he is, she telegraphed to Mama as they went inside.

They found themselves in a large, square room with a receptionist seated at a desk facing the entrance. To one side, beneath a row of framed photographs, a number of men and women were seated. Upon Mr. Woods’s entrance, they stood up in a body and pressed forward. He waved them back with an imperious gesture as he rushed past.

“I’m not to be disturbed,” he called out to the receptionist, and conducted Mama and Ella into a smaller private room. The door swung shut behind them.

Skillfully, he tossed his cap onto a coat rack. “Sit down, please,” he said, indicating the leather chairs on either side of the desk.

Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed a finger speculatively along the side of his nose, his shrewd eyes meanwhile measuring Ella. Somewhat flustered, she avoided his gaze and fell to contemplating her hands. Why doesn’t he say something? she wondered.

Finally he spoke, addressing himself to Mama. “Your daughter has something. Something that’s much more important than just good looks. Something that can get across to an audience, like an electric current. And that’s what I’m always looking for.” He turned toward Ella. “And with that big voice coming out of that little body, you’ve got it, little girl! And I want it!”

He spun around in his chair and pointed to the photographs hung on every side. “See those?” His arm swept out. “Stars, every one of them! And I made them! All of them! And I can make you, too!”

Ella felt her temples throbbing with excitement.
Yesterday was only hope. Now it was a reality. Always the dream had shimmered like a rainbow. Why then did the fulfillment of the dream suddenly seem so terrifying?… Everything’s happening so fast! I feel as if I were on a roller coaster. I’m all confused. I need time to think. She looked at Mama beseechingly. To her surprise Mama’s eyes were glistening. She was taking in every word.

Mr. Woods tapped the ends of his long fingers together, all the while studying Ella. “What’s the matter?” he asked bluntly. “Don’t you like what I’m telling you?”

Did her turmoil shown so plainly? Ella tried to compose herself. “Yes”—she faltered—“yes, I do.”

He bent forward, jabbing the air with his finger. “Now listen, little girl.” His voice took on an almost fatherly tone. “I said I want you. But that’s not enough. You’ve got to want, too. You’ve got to want to be on the stage more than anything else in the whole world! Otherwise it’s no good. No good at all! Understand?”

Ella nodded weakly.

He sat back and surveyed the ceiling. “Of course, right now, you’re positively green. You need experience. The act Mr. Trent’s putting together is just the ticket. It’s a comedy act. It’s called ‘Nine Crazy Kids.’ It’s all about nine girls—those girls you saw, dressed up as schoolgirls, pestering their teacher. It’ll be very bright and fast-moving with lots of singing and dancing. You’ll work in that for a season out on the road. Then maybe you’ll be ready for the kind of show I’ve got in mind.”

He opened his desk drawer and brought out some forms. “I’m prepared to give you a contract right now. Of course you’ll have to sign up with me exclusive—for five years.”

Five years! Ella gulped. Her eyes sought Mama’s. What should I say? she entreated silently. But Mama’s face too was a jumble of emotions: wonder, pride, concern.

“You sign up with me, young lady,” Mr. Woods went on, “and for a start, I’ll get you thirty dollars a week. Not much maybe, but as I said, it’s just for a start.”

Not much! Ella caught her breath. Why, it’s twice what I’m earning now!

“Of course, you’ll have to pay your own expenses out of that while you’re on the road. Not transportation. That’s taken care of. But board and lodging will be your own responsibility. You can always team up with a couple of the girls. Save expenses that way. You’ll make out all right. You don’t strike me as one of those silly kids that’ll blow all her dough.”

He turned to Mama. “Mother, you gotta look at it this way. This year will be a training period. If she works hard and sticks by me, I promise that she’ll go far. Very far.”

A little while of silence and then Mama spoke. “Please, Mr. Woods, could we take the contract home with us? I’d like to talk it over with my husband.”

“Sure, sure.” He folded the contract, slipped it into an envelope, and handed it to Mama. “Rehearsals will not begin for another week anyway. So you’ve got time to make up your mind.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Let me know just as soon as you decide.”

That night, after the rest of the family had gone to bed, Ella sat in the kitchen with Mama and Papa, talking it over.

“You’ve got to think about this very carefully,” Papa was saying. “Make sure it’s what you want so you won’t have
any regrets afterward.” He paused. “You realize, Ella, this will change your whole life.”

“I know, Papa. That’s what scares me.” She bit her lips and lapsed into troubled silence.

“You don’t have to make up your mind this minute,” Mama said.

Ella gripped her hands together. “I don’t know what to do. If I give this up, I’ll never again get such a chance. It’s what I’ve dreamed about all my life,” she cried out. “When I think about being on a stage singing before an audience, I could burst with happiness. But,” her voice quavered, “a five-year contract! It’s like signing my life away! Away from home and family. No time for anyone or anything.… And what about Jules?” His name trembled on her lips. A whole year away from New York! What would he say?

She reached out pleadingly. “Tell me what I should do.”

Papa shook his head. “No Ella, in this case you’ve got to make up your own mind. You’re not a child anymore.” He stood up and paced restlessly back and forth. “It’s your life and you’ll have to live it, not us. Take your time. Don’t rush. Think it over in your mind.” His voice softened. “You know that whatever you decide, we’ll stand by you and help all we can.”

For a little while nothing more was said. Then Papa spoke again. “Before we do anything definite, I think we ought to have somebody who knows about such things look over the contract. After all, what do we know about show business and such things?”

“How about your cousins, the Timbergs?” suggested Mama. “They’ve been in vaudeville for years.”

“You mean Herman Timberg?” Ella exclaimed. “Why
he’s a headliner! He’s even appeared at the Palace Theatre on Broadway. How is it you’ve never mentioned they were our relatives?”

Papa shrugged. “Somehow we’ve never had much to do with them. Their lives have been so different from ours. I don’t know. We just never kept in touch. Actually Herman is a first cousin to me. I’ll call up tomorrow and ask his advice.”

And that’s the way it was left.

The next night Papa came home all in a dither. “Luckily the Timberg family was in town. When I showed Herman the contract and he saw Mr. Woods’s name on it, did he get excited. He said show people wait years for a chance to even get to see this man! He said Ella must really be something for him to take such an interest. When I began bringing up all sorts of objections, and how you couldn’t make up your mind, he got very annoyed with me. What kind of nonsense was I talking? he said. And that I ought to thank God that Mr. Woods was giving Ella such a chance. His last words to me were ‘It’s a lucky break. Sign by all means!’ ”

Outwardly the rest of the momentous week flowed along as usual. Ella’s relationship with the family, her singing lessons, her job seemed untouched. But underneath her composed manner, the need for coming to a decision kept gnawing away.

At home there was no further discussion about the contract. Ella was grateful for that. She sensed that Mama and Papa must have cautioned the sisters not to make mention of it. Only Charlotte, at dinner one night, said as if she were thinking out loud, “You know, Ella has a somewhere-else look on her face.”

By Saturday Ella had made up her mind. She would sign the contract.

That night, she and Jules strolled to their favorite bench in the park. The air was touched with the fragrance of early spring. The night tiptoed around them, the dark trees like fingers raised for silence. Afraid of breaking the feeling of oneness between them, Ella shrank from bringing up the subject. But finally she could not stifle the words; they came tumbling out.