Vaudeville

By Matthew J Mink

On stage, I was God. Every night, Judy and I got laughs so loud even the pricks at the Keith Theatre could have heard us. If management at the Night Owl had given us the house to ourselves, we could have filled it to the brim. Of course, they never did. Last week, some bastard from the Times called it Blue Material, said it was �stuck in the perverse of the �20s.� They said they were worried about me. About the bad publicity.

On this particular night � it was a Thursday night � there were quite a few empty seats. The Night Owl started paying people off the streets to walk in and out of the theatre, make it look busy, you know. Told us they papered the house for Friday, made sure all the Booners got the tickets, too, so they could come in here and scout all the new �talent.� Get a good review, for once, they said. Start bringing in the big crowds. Several months ago, the Owl decided to sign on a load of small timers, but they got rid of some good men to make room for them. Like Todd the Great. Every night he'd walk off stage in his skivvies after making his pants disappear. And Knucklehead. That lunatic could lift a horse clear off the ground. Claimed they were all washed up, and gave them back their pictures. It wasn't long before I started to miss those guys. I got to thinking when my time might be up.

Anyway, it was a Thursday, and I was sitting at my dressing room table, touching up with more brown shoe polish the spots in my hair where they grays had started to show through. My nametag at the top of the mirror, �Jacob Manny � Ventriloquist,� was coming unstuck, probably from the humidity. Tonight I was the Chaser, and the last act always got stuck way up in the Sleeper Jump � eight stories up, where all the heat goes. I dabbed the drips of sweat off my brow, being careful not to smudge the makeup that filled the wrinkles on my face. I cradled Judy in my arms, and, as I started down the several flights of stairs, I couldn�t help thinking about how miserable my weekend was going to be.

After all these years, I still counted out Saturday and Sunday separately from the rest, like they were something special. They weren't. In this city, they were just two more days that extended the work week. Julia hadn't called for almost a month. Our relationship started going stale shortly before that. But it didn't bother me. She was the common blonde that a guy could expect to find anywhere in this city. No personality, no prospects, just something to take up my time. What little time I had left. The Owl had gone to the continuous show, trying to compete with the Keith. Got me doing three shows a night, always the same act. Damn these twelve hour days.

The red light above the door went dark. The stage door swung open, and a smiling Moreus Creed entered. He wore black pants with a grey sequence shirt and had his dark black hair slicked back over the top of his head. He was carrying a full glass of water in his left hand and Buddy in his right, gripping him by his neck like a dead chicken. Moreus was the newest addition to our show, and he was the only other ventriloquist. Every time I saw him with Buddy, I couldn't believe just how much alike the two looked, and I told him he needed to find himself a new dummy, but he said he didn't care much. He said a dummy is a dummy. That's what you get these days with guys like him who don't even make their own props. Damn baggy pants comics, hooting and hollering and jumping around on stage. Nothing but a freak show for the simpleminded. What this place needed was more high hat performers. Like in the old days. Like me.

�Did you hear those laughs?� asked Moreus as he sat down and threw Buddy on to his desk. He wasn't even sweating or breathing hard. �This is nothing like the West Circuit. This is the Big Time. This is the top.�

�You've got a long way to go to get to the Big Time, kid,� I said. I tried to do it without moving my lips. After combing Judy�s hair and straightening her blouse, I unlatched the lid to her case, placed her inside, draped a sheet across her body, and then closed the lid, making sure her fingers wouldn't get pinched.

Like usual, I wasn�t paying much attention to Moreus. I didn�t have time to listen to some hack talk about his show. Not when I knew where it came from. A few weeks back, I decided to slip around front and take a seat while he was on stage. It was no big deal. Every performer did it from time to time. I wasn�t worried about anything. Just curious. So anyway, I was sitting there in the house waiting for him to come on stage when, what do I see?, his dummy, whatever the hell its name is, Billy, came walking on stage. Moreus had it suspended from the ceiling by twine and had a stage hand move its arms and legs. How do I know this? Because that�s my thing. I�ve been doing it for years. Only he didn�t get it right. He had used the entire braid of rope, so it wasn�t lifelike at all. When I do it, I strip a single strand from the bundle and use several to prop Judy in the air, making it seem as though she is walking all on her own. But, what�s worse, he got a good laugh from it, too. In fact, they loved him. Well, needless to say, I couldn�t take any more of that treatment. One more word out of that chooser and I would have gone mad, so I got up walked out. And I may have made a little noise on my way out, but I didn�t hurt anybody.

Now here I was, cramped into a tiny room with this small timer, and I was about to explode. I had to get out of there.

�Listen, I�m going out for a breather. If anyone�s looking for me, I�ll be out front.�

�I�ll be sure to alert the presses,� said Moreus.

I pushed through the heavy metal doors and stepped onto the sidewalk. As I walked around the corner, I noticed a couple of blondes waiting by the ticket booth for the next round of shows to start. It was going to be awhile until I was on, so I decided I had enough time to smoke a cigarette. I lit up, strode casually up to my poster, and took a drag.

Earlier that month Julia and I had met for lunch at the Morning Buzz Coffee House and Restaurant. She had her long blonde hair wrapped in a tight bun, and she wore a black dress with a white top. I always told her she looked better in blue. We greeted each other with smiles and found an empty booth inside. We ordered quickly, finding little else to talk about than the menu, and found ourselves glancing towards the kitchen in anticipation of our meals. Trying to avoid the awkward silence, I started to imagine how the conversation might have gone had we talked. She would speak first telling me how much she missed me, then I would say me too and tell her how rough life has been without her lately. Then she would tell me she loved me, and I would tell her that's moving a little too fast, let's take it slow, baby. When our meals finally came, I suddenly realized I hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, and I dove into my tuna sandwich without hesitation. When I had made my way through three bites or so, I noticed Julia sitting there, staring at her full bowl of soup. She was thinking something over. Had I been right? Was she thinking of me? Of us?

�I ordered split pea,� she said. �Not chicken noodle. Isn�t that just the way it goes.� I glanced at her soup, then back at her. �Oh what the hell. Chicken noodle is fine.�

�Don�t you dare, Julia,� I said. �Don�t take one bite of that soup.� I reached across the table and slid the bowl over to my side.

�No, Jacob, it�s alright. I�m quite hungry. I�ll just eat it.�

�Julia, you wanted something, and you�re going to get it. I�m going to get it for you. Don�t you worry.�

�Jacob, it's alright. But if you insist, I appreciate it.�

�It�s my pleasure, Julia. It�s my very pleasure.�

When I got back from the counter, from chewing out whatever mindless bastard had screwed up our order, Julia was half-way through a steaming bowl of split pea soup.

�They brought this by as soon as you left. I tried to call you, but you didn�t hear. They apologized for the mix-up. It was the waitress�s first day, so I tipped her a dollar. I know how those days are.�

�You shouldn�t have done that,� I said. �That�s positive reinforcement for negative behavior. Things like that are going to drive this country into the ground.�

�She's not a dog, Jacob,� she said. �And this country is already in the ground.� I didn�t know what to say to that.

�Everything O.K.?� I asked.

�It's the Owl. We're not doing so well. Who am I kidding, you know that, of all people. But it's worse than I thought. Everyone else seemed to bounce back from the Depression. They're back up and running like nothing ever happened, and here we are struggling to get to our feet. One wrong step, and we're done.�

�It'll turn, Julia. You'll see. Things will get better.�

�Well, I do hope so. I guess that's why we've got Moreus. If anything's going to put us back on the map, it's him.�

�Moreus? That bastard? He's your ticket to the Big Time?� I laughed. What a thought! Moreus didn't care enough to carry the business. He was all show, no heart.

�Have you got a problem with Moreus?�

�He stole my act, Julia. You know that. He�s a chooser. A fish. He got his bit on women from me.�

�Every male performer talks women,� said Julia. �He's about the only one I've seen who gets it right.� She picked at the bun on her burger. I knew what was coming. �Have you given any thought to switching things up, Jacob? Blue acts just don�t cut it these days.�

That I did not expect; not from her. �It�s not Blue, Julia. That�s not what it�s about.

�I�m sure it�s not,� she said. �Either way, Moreus isn�t any chooser. It�s in your head. He and Buddy talk Yankees and politics. He�s a riot up there. The crowds are loving him, and so are the Booners from what I hear. One of them wrote a dandy of a review. The Owl�s thinking of headlining him next Friday.�

That was my cue. I needed to go home. I put the check on my tab and walked out.

My apartment was on the third floor of a building on Tin Pan Alley, the street just three blocks away from the Owl known for housing performers from a vast array of Vaudeville circuits. It was nicknamed for the cacophony of instruments and speeches that melded together in the street. Everyone that passed by, at any hour of the day, would say the racket sounded like people banging on tin pots pans. As I stood at my door, struggling with the grinding metal lock, I could already hear Tootie squawking inside. Enter, Jacob Manny! AWWK! I still couldn�t get the damn thing unlocked. The Keith�s Star Performer! Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together! He never got it quite right, but it was close enough. After all he was only a bird.

As I stood back stage with Judy in my arms, primped and ready to go, she wearing her nightgown and I wearing my doctor's outfit, I could hear the muffled voice of Charles, our emcee, introducing my act. This was my moment to shine. All eyes would be on me. This is where everything mattered, and I needed the perfect introduction.

Thanks for coming tonight ladies and gentlemen, you've been a great crowd. We have one final act tonight. Jacob Manny will be performing his ventriloquist act with his dummy Julie. Hope you enjoyed the show folks. Watch your step on the way out. Goodnight.

To hell with you Charles, I thought. To hell with you.

The band struck up, and I walked casually up to the stool and microphone at center stage, waving off the applause that came my way. I sat down and propped Judy on my lap, making sure she looked comfortable, not awkwardly poised. She looked magnificent. We did. We looked into each other's eyes and got ready to go.

�How do you do, Miss?� I asked Judy.

�Is that important?� she snapped back. �You're the doctor. I'd like to know how you do, quite frankly.� Pause. One should always pause for laughs.

�I graduated from Harvard. Top of my class, if that's what you mean. I do quite well. Now lets take a look at you. Say ah.� Judy opened her mouth wide and said ah, just as I prompted. I grabbed my tongue depressor from my pocket and pressed it to her tongue.

�Let's not waste our time here, doc. There's nothing wrong with my mouth,� she said. I pulled the depressor from her mouth �It's my private part. I'd like you to take a look.�

�Your private part? What is it?� I asked.

�Well, I was hoping you would know seeing as how you're a doctor and all.� Pause. Nothing.

�Do you mean urination? Are you having a problem there, Miss?�

�Well, if that's what they're calling it these days, I suppose. Yes.�

�Are you having trouble going to the bathroom?�

�No, my legs work just fine. It's not the going; it's the getting there!�

At that, somebody from the crowd booed and the house erupted in laughter. All my time in this business, I have never experienced anything so embarrassing, so demeaning and utterly infuriating. A laugh at the wrong time was a dissonance worse than the constant noise on Tin Pan Alley. It was the quickest way to tell a performer that his act, now and forever, was coming to an end. I looked out towards the rear exits, able to make out a line of people retreating out the doors. At the sudden commotion, many turned around to see what would happen next.

After everyone had gone home for the night, I made my way back to the stage, the ghost light, a white bulb that stayed lit at all hours, was still casting its dim light on stage, forming eerie shadows in the seats of the house that made it seem as though an entire crowd of demons had come to watch me perform.

�Mr. Manny?� said a voice from behind me, giving me quite a start. I turned around to see a young man, in his mid-twenties or so, wearing a dapper black suit, crisp and clean, with thick, black or dark brown hair pulled to the left side of his head. The ghost light made his face appear pale in contrast to his suit and hair, or perhaps it always looked that way.

�Can I help you?� I asked, a might suspicious. �No one is supposed to be here now.�

�Yes, I am aware of that,� he said. �But I knew I must speak with you tonight. You see, this place is going under. It probably won't last another week. And, well, to be honest, sir, neither will you if you don't accept my help.� The man stopped, shifted his weight, and cleared his throat.

�I apologize,� he continued. �I should introduce myself. My name is Mr. Smith. I am a Booner, as you in the business call us. I represent the Keith Theater, Mr. Manny, and I have quite the offer for you. I saw your performance tonight. An interesting act, if I may say so. Not quite as you planned it, eh?�

�Not quite.�

�Well, turns out, it's your lucky day. You see, we are in need of another performer. A male performer. Too many women as it is in the business. We think you would be perfect for our show, Mr. Manny. There would be one minor detail of course. You would have to change styles a bit. You see, we are looking for a monologue. Someone who can take the stage with authority, and we think we could find that in you, sir. What I'm saying, of course, is you'd have to loose the doll. Though I'm sure that won't be difficult for you, considering the copious amount of money you'll be making. Not to mention the fame, sir. The fame is really all that matters, isn't it? What do you say, old chap?�

�Get behind me, Vaudevillian,� I said. �There's no offer you can make that I will accept.�

It had been a long day, and I was tired. I picked up my hat from the floor, brushing dust from the brim before placing on my head, tipped it to Mr. Smith, and walked past him without another word. Judy was still waiting for me all the way up in the Sleeper Jump. It was going to be a long trip up the stairs once again.

Exit Jacob Manny stage left.