Ella of All-of-a-Kind Family (8 page)

Jules listened, saying not a word. When she had finished, his head was lowered, his hands dug deep in his pockets. He seemed enveloped in a blanket of gloom. She
wanted to reach out to touch him, but couldn’t. All she could do was sit by numbly and wait.

He cleared his throat, as if it hurt him to talk. But when he spoke, his voice was calm, almost gentle. “Ella, I can’t—I have no right to ask you not to do this. I have no right to impose
my
wishes—
my
hopes and dreams—on you.” He laughed a bit ruefully. “If I did, some fine day, years from now, when I’m old and bald and fat, and we’d be sitting together, you’d look at me and think, And this is what I gave up a career for? I couldn’t stand that. Besides, what have I got to offer you instead? Nothing. Just me.

“I’ll have to work very hard this fall, what with a job and school at night. Not that I mind. No matter how tough the going will be. Because I realize it’ll be working toward a future. Kind of selfish of me to imagine that
my
future,
my
career would be sufficient so that it would become yours too—
our
future. I keep forgetting that times are changing. Women are beginning to want to do more—to be more. Only”—he hesitated—“if you really loved me,” his voice cracked, the pain now plainly visible in his face, “I don’t think you’d even consider this contract. I’d figured that you’d want to help me, to encourage me, so I wouldn’t have to go it all alone. It never occurred to me that you’d want to be off somewhere in Kalamazoo or someplace, pursuing a career of your own.”

That’s the male for you, Ella found herself thinking, resenting a woman’s wanting a career outside of housewife and mother. It
was
selfish, as Jules himself had said.

Jules caught hold of her hand. “I’m sorry, Ella. I shouldn’t have said that. It was unfair. Perhaps people like you, with great talent, should not be held back by marriage at all.”

Again he retreated into stillness and she was left feeling shut out and alone.

She waited quietly until he said, “Maybe you should have this year, Ella. Maybe it will give you a chance to get this whole stage business out of your system.” He took a deep breath. “Oh Ella, I’ll miss you. The waiting—it’ll be terrible. But I want you to know, I’ll be here when you get back.”

Tears trembled, hot and unbidden, beneath her eyelids. “I’ll miss you too, Jules.”

She knew that from now till the day of her departure from New York, her decision would lurk like a shadow between them.

Slowly they returned to Ella’s house. At the doorway, they clung together for a long time, then silently parted.

Dismal and empty, Ella dragged herself up the stairs.

The light was still on in the kitchen. As she opened the door, the smell of fresh coffee tickled her nostrils. Comfortably gathered around the kitchen table were Mama, Papa, and Tanta.

“So—here’s Ella,” Tanta greeted her. “Just in time to join our coffee klatch. It’s apple Strudel this time. I baked it especially when I knew I was coming. It has a taste, whether you like it or not.”

“How is it you’re all up so late?” Ella asked.

“What do you think?” Papa replied. “Waiting for Henny. She and her boyfriends, they never know what time it is.”

“Ella, I heard some wonderful news,” Tanta ventured. “You’re going on the stage! Oh my! What is it? An opera, maybe?”

“No, it’s not an opera. It’s a show,” Ella replied shortly.

“Hmm. Lena and Hyman took me to a show once. They had acts with dogs and monkeys.”

Everyone laughed. Even Ella managed a smile. “Oh Tanta.”

“All right, all right. So there’s no dogs with monkeys. So what kind of a thing is it?”

“It’s an act with nine girls and one man. It’s called ‘Nine Crazy Kids.’ ”

“ ‘Nine crazy kids’? It sounds meshuga [crazy] to me. For that you needed all those singing lessons?”

Ella winced. “I’ll be singing. It’s just a beginning. After all, I have to get some experience. It’s just as my cousin Herman told Papa—if I only learn to walk across a stage properly, I will have learned a lot.”

“I never heard of such a thing! What’s the matter, you don’t know how to walk?” Tanta asked. “What are you, a baby all of a sudden? You walk, like everybody, with the feet.”

Ella’s spirits began to lift a bit. Right now, Tanta is a godsend, she reflected. Even the Strudel was tasting better with every bite.

“So what do you intend?” persisted Tanta. “Are you going to walk or no?”

Ella contemplated the last morsel of Strudel on her plate. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”

“Then it’s settled!” Papa cried. “You’re going to sign the contract!”

Ella nodded. She could feel Mama’s searching gaze on her.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Mama.” Ella’s voice was firm. “I’m sure.”

“I wonder, is this a life for a nice Jewish girl?” Tanta asked.

“Nowadays there are plenty of nice Jewish girls on the stage,” observed Mama.

“If they asked me,” Tanta continued, “I wouldn’t do it for a million dollars.”

“First of all, Tanta, nobody is asking you,” Papa declared. “Besides, Ella has to make her own choice.”

“Choice-schmoice! She’s still just a child.”

“A person can’t stay under her parents’ roof forever,” Ella retorted. “A girl leaves home when she gets married, doesn’t she?”

“That’s different!” scoffed Tanta. “When you get married, your husband takes over. Marriage and stage, they don’t mix. It’s one or the other. You wanna give up Jules?”

“I don’t have to give him up. He’s willing to wait.”

“You think so, huh? Well, from what I see, there’s plenty of other fish in the ocean, and with you away, some girl will snap him up just like that!” Tanta snapped her fingers. “Well, I’ll never learn to keep my mouth from talking. You should excuse me for speaking out my mind. But you know I love Ella like she was my own child.”

Mama put up her hand. “It’s all right, Tanta.”

She turned to Ella. “Tanta has expressed her feelings. Now let me tell you how I feel. I didn’t say anything before. But now that you’ve made your choice, I can tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Listen and you will understand. When I was a child,” Mama began, “I sang too.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I know that story,” Tanta interrupted. “Remember I was there.”

Papa chuckled. “I know it too, even if I wasn’t there.”

“Please, the both of you, let me tell it to Ella,” Mama pleaded. “So she’ll appreciate it—and maybe you will too.”

Tanta waved her on. “Go ahead and tell. Don’t mind me.

“Many people praised my singing,” Mama continued. “Everyone said I had an unusually fine voice and I was always asked to sing—in school, at parties and weddings.

“Of course, those were different days,” she went on wistfully. “A career in the old country as a singer was a fantasy. At least that’s what people like my parents believed. But my brother, the eldest in the family, he was different. He was sure that somehow, there was a great future in store for me.

“One day—one wonderful day—I must have been about ten years old, my brother took me to a voice teacher. And I sang for him.” A poignant smile played around Mama’s mouth. “He said that my voice held great promise but that I was still too young for training. He told my brother to bring me back when I was fourteen and he would be more than happy to take me on as one of his pupils.

“You can imagine how thrilled I was.” She sighed; it came from deep inside her. “My brother was resolved to pay for the lessons. My parents couldn’t. But by the time I was fourteen, my brother was already in the army.” She halted, her hands opening in a gesture of futility. “Then he died … my one hope.… Pneumonia, they said.… And that was the end of my singing career.

“It is something you never forget for a whole lifetime.
That is why Papa and I always managed to squeeze out a little extra for your piano and singing lessons.”

She swept a hand across her face as if to wipe away the sadness of the memory, but in the next moment, looking straight at Papa, her face suddenly seemed transformed. It was shining with pride. “But my childhood dream did not die, after all. It is alive! It lives on through Ella!”

“So now you want Ella should make up for what you lost?” Tanta murmured.

Mama flushed. “Oh no! It’s not like that at all. Why do you think I’ve never told Ella this before? I didn’t want her to be influenced by what had happened in my life. Ella must do whatever she believes is best for her—and for her only.”

Tanta’s chin thrust forward, her arms akimbo. “You’re sorry, maybe?” she challenged Mama. “You think you missed something? You think maybe you would have had a better life on the stage?”

“Of course not!” Mama returned quickly. “Only sometimes, in a fleeting moment, I catch myself thinking—what Would it have been like?”

Smiling apologetically at Papa, she reached for his hands and cradled them in her own. “For myself, I would not change for anything! We’ve had our full share of hard times and troubles, but I’m nonetheless deeply content. I have found my great satisfaction—more than that—my greatest joy in sharing my life with Papa and in raising a fine family.”

She turned to Ella. “But that was right for me, Ella. For your life, only you can answer.”

“Oh Mama!” Ella threw her arms around her. “Hold fast to that dream! I won’t let you down, I promise!”

“No, Ella, no promises. That would be a big mistake. Just do what will make you happy.”

“And if you’ll be happy and Mama will be happy, and Tanta will be happy, then I’ll be happy, too. And the entire family will be like a bunch of happy hooligans,” Papa cried, laughing all over himself.

Ella had taken it for granted that rehearsals would be held in a theatre. To her surprise, the address given turned out to be a room in a shabby old building somewhere on Sixth Avenue. It was a barnlike place with paint peeling from the walls and grimy windows looking out on an alley. A few chairs, a coat rack, and a forlorn-looking piano scarred by countless cigarette butts completed the picture.

The company was already assembled. Ella counted eight girls and one man besides Mr. Trent and the piano player. They were standing around chatting with an air of easy camaraderie.

Mr. Trent caught sight of her. “Hiya,” he greeted and came forward to help her off with her cape.

A blur of introductions followed—Sally, La Verne, Marian, the fellow named Jack. But one thing did register. The girls were all young and their faces were heavily made up. As for that Jack, was he supposed to be the juvenile lead? He must be forty at least! And all that patent leather grease on his hair! Ugh!

“Okay now, girls,” Mr. Trent called out, “let’s get started.” He pulled a chair into the center of the room and sat down, the troupe gathering around him.

“First, we’ll go over the tunes. Hand out the music sheets, somebody.” He snapped his fingers. “Let’s go, Harry,” and the pianist plunged into the first song.

The melodies were lively and simple enough for everyone to follow—but what voices! Ella couldn’t help thinking Professor Calvano would have grabbed his hat and made a hasty exit.

Over and over they sang, till everyone was familiar with the lyrics.

“All right, kids, you can take a break now,” Mr. Trent announced. “Not you, Miss Ella. You’ve got a solo to learn. And there’s a duet with Jack, too.”

Immediately Ella could sense some lifting of eyebrows, an exchange of glances.

“Miss Ella’s solo, Harry,” Mr. Trent directed. “Take it from the top.”

Ella listened intently to the introduction, then followed the music and words on her song sheet. What a silly tune, she thought. Nevertheless, she sang it with as much feeling as she could. When she’d finished, Mr. Trent was smiling, all friendly. “That’s good. A little more swing, maybe. But that’ll come as we work on it. Now let’s try the duet.”

Jack’s was not much of a voice, Ella decided, but she had to admit he did know how to put over a song in a slambang style.

“When both of you have got it down pat,” Mr. Trent said, “we’ll put in the dance steps. Jack, that routine we worked out, you’ll teach it to Miss Ella.”

“Be my pleasure, baby,” Jack whispered in her ear, sliding his arm around her. Ella stiffened.

“Now let’s see.” Mr. Trent turned to the girls. “You,
Irene,” pointing to a pert redhead with a turned-up nose, “you’ll be Miss Ella’s understudy. We’ll rehearse you in the song next time. Harry, give her a song sheet.”

Did Ella imagine it or did Irene’s nose tilt a bit higher? I guess she doesn’t like the idea of playing understudy to a mere beginner like me.

“Okay now, girls! Line up for the dance. Snap into it! Size places. Miss Ella, you’re the smallest. You’re first.”

Ella was in a panic. She wanted to cry out “I’m not a dancer!” but Mr. Trent was already demonstrating the first step. “You come on in a pony prance with your knees up high. Like this.”

Thank heavens, the step looks easy enough, Ella thought, relieved.

But the dancing was far from satisfying to Mr. Trent. “Go on back—all of you—and try it again,” he shouted.

Over and over the girls pranced till Ella found herself gasping for breath.

“Take ten,” Mr. Trent finally yelled.

Now what does that mean? Ella wondered. When she saw the group dispersing around the room and Mr. Trent relax against the side of the piano, she understood it meant a ten-minute rest. Gratefully she sank into a chair.

All too soon, the ten minutes were up. Rehearsal of the dance routine resumed. It seemed easy enough for the others, but Ella found the steps a crazy patch quilt of legs. I’ll never get it! Which foot? Right? Left? Kicks, endless circles. My legs are dropping off.

“Step and kick and circle in the air!” Mr. Trent barked out anew.

The line of legs bobbed up and down like a jumping centipede. Ella, in desperation, kicked too hard. Her right
leg shot up and, unbalanced, she started teetering backward. Immediately, one after the other, the girls fell back like a row of falling dominoes.

By a stroke of good luck, Jack, seated on a chair at the line’s end, was able to put out his hands just in time. He caught the last dancer as she promptly collapsed in his lap. The pianist stopped playing and looked inquiringly at Mr. Trent as the group disentangled itself amid a grumble of taunting remarks.