Memoire of a Show Girl

The best show girl in town reflects on her child. Being dirt poor, her mother had to give her out to prostitution, the only way for her to make money. It's a story about a song I heard.

Memoire of a Show Girl

 

‘Jeanne Avery, the cat’s meow of 1939 with Hollywood at her feet!’ she read the latest cover of the Photoplay October issue. Her made up face still covered with droplets of sweat, and Raymond, her assistant, always knew she loved to read Photoplay right after she finishes a show and had a copy waiting for in her changing room. The serpentine smoke slithered out of her cigarette whilst she read on, the audience were still in wild applause, the whole building was overcome with a rampant buzz, but Jeanne sat still and unmoved.

She beheld her reflection on the light bulb mirror in silence, removing her eye lashes, wiping the bright cherry red lipstick that stained her lips, “I hope we still don’t have press Raymond, I’m in no mood for interviews”; she said aloud as he hung her elaborate costumes in the open closet.

“But they’ve been waiting all show to ask you questions”, he protested, “well than, they’ll just have buy tickets for the next show,” she replied while removing her sterling ruby stud earrings, and three stone marquise ring to match.

“The questions are all easy Jeanne, like who is your lover, your thoughts on the death of Alice Brady, maybe some questions about childhood and all that jazz,” he went on. Suddenly Jeanne drew silent again; her mind began to ponder on the thought of childhood on the outskirts of New Orleans.

She was born Janice Mae Avery in a small, run down shack in April 5th 1913, by her tragic mother Lilian Avery. She vividly remembers that summer she turned eighteen, the dandelions were dancing in the gentle wind, her old tarnished lace trim and sky blue cotton dress, stained with dirt as she ran around the old dirt roads. The warm summer breeze blowing her uncombed golden locks in her face as she read the January issue of Photoplay 1926 with Colleen Moore pictured gracefully on the cover. That was the only issue she owned, her mother bought it for her sixteenth birthday, and she must have re-read it over a hundred times. She ever so wanted to cut her hair into the stylish bob like Colleen"to her mother’s crude objection"and wear the fancy sequenced dresses, smoke a cigarette and fall into the tender embrace of John Gilbert where he would lay a passionate kiss on her.

 

“Janice!” her mother summoned from indoors, interrupting the Hollywood fantasy she so frequently escaped to. She hurriedly put the issue down and made her way inside where her mother was swinging on the rocking chair to sway her toddler brother in her arms to sleep, appearing fragile and weak as always, her hair unkempt and her ghastly worried expression ever present. Janice could not remember the last time she smiled after her father violently abandoned them all three years ago, leaving nothing behind but a large bruise on her right eye that slowly healed. She despised what her mother became after that; she always studied the only framed picture of her mother at sixteen, she used to be stunning, Janice thought to herself while looking at her mother where her eyes once filled with the promises of youth"then she would look back at her mother where a weary and pitiful woman stood.

“Yes mama,” she gently replied entering the shack as a grey mouse speedily ran past her left foot. Above her mother sitting down on the rocking chair, she gawked at a beautiful velvet scarlet dress with ruffled shoulders and an open back hanging graciously.

“You see that dress?” Lilian uttered, looking up at her daughter with self-conviction, “yes mama, it’s"it’s so beautiful! What is it doing here"how were you able to afford this?” Janice rambled on in both joy and confusion. To her left, she again beheld a pair of dark red and ivory pumps, with a pearl necklace and ring laid on the side, “I spent every last penny we owned buying you this assemble Janice.”

“Why"why did you"”

“Janice,” she sharply interrupted, laying the now asleep baby in his old crib, “I don’t want you to ask questions, stay calm and let me make you up”.

To her orders, Jeanne stayed silent as she washed and combed her golden locks dry; in the mirror she painted her face, shadowing her eye lids with copper for her blue eyes glow. She coloured her lips with the same scarlet of her dress, powdering her to perfection and spraying on her skin with a sweet bottled fragrance. Thereafter, she stepped into the dress elegantly tailored to her figure, Lilian cut the neckline into a deeper V to plunge into her daughter’s bust, and on her neck she finally put on the gleaming white pearls.

 

“I look beautiful mama, just like Colleen,” she declared, almost in tears for this was the first time she ever felt divine, “don’t you shed a tear girl, I spent some time making your face"we don’t want it to be ruined by your tears.”

“Mama I just don’t understand, why are you doing this, where am I going?” Janice asked.

“I want you to listen carefully child”, said Lilian in a quavering tone looking right into Janice’s eyes, “your father is gone, my illness is only gettin’ worse and the baby will starve to death. You only get one chance in this life; I missed mine, now here is yours”. Outside a navy blue Riley automobile pulled on their road and Janice grew increasingly nervous as tears welled up in mother’s troubled eyes.

“Mama"mama what do I do?!” she said panicking as her mother gripped her arm and began forcefully taking her outside the shack to meet a well-dressed gentlemen sitting behind the wheel.

“Lord forgive me for this,” said her mother “If you want out, well it’s up to you darlin’. Just be nice to the gentleman and he’ll be nice to you"this is your only chance to move uptown.”

Finally Janice comprehended what was to happen and furiously took her arm back from her mother’s hands. She looked at her mother with bitter rage, the gentlemen awaited her and she knew exactly what she ought to do though her mind still could not fully understand her predicament. Without a farewell she turned around joined the unknown stranger in his automobile, driving into the far distance when her mother soon fell to her knees in woeful cries.

 

“Don’t you worry miss,” reassured the grey haired gentleman “I’ll take good care of you”.

At a local motel that evening, they were alone in his chamber with a lit cigar and Billie Holliday singing the blues on the phonograph. She studied him, but he did not see her, indeed an assemble of flesh and limbs he deemed good enough to penetrate was the only thing he saw. She stood still, oblivious on what to do; the gentlemen sat her down on his bed and began undressing her, caressing the lump of her pale breast as they embraced. Finally she laid down and was penetrated, and she wept silently as Holliday played on. Above her was an open window and she witnessed the stars, she glanced only outside the window and never at him, for the night sky gave her a peculiar comfort, the dark omniscient face of God was still watching over as her flesh no longer was hers, but belonged to the men whom desired it.

 

That day was the very last time she saw her mother, when her baby was taken away from her and given to another family, she died and Janice never desired to return. She did what she had to do and made herself a solid vow that someday she’ll be a lady, somehow she will make it. It wasn’t long until wealthy and benevolent men took interest and rescued her from the streets, step by step she found herself first in a five bedroom hotel suite in the French quarter of New Orleans, and then by charming a congressman she took residence in his Georgian mansion in Maryland. The wheels of fate turned wondrously to her favour when she hit the jackpot by finding a Hollywood motion picture director, she showcased her singing and dancing talents to him, “you got some talent girl,” he would say impressed, and he eventually took her to train and enhance those gifts. Finally due to a series of fortunate events, years of hard work and luck she found herself the top showgirl of America, shedding Janice away to transform into Jeanne Avery, the golden girl.

 

Jeanne always hated questions about her childhood, for she knew too well they were plenty of self-righteous hypocrites who would call her odious, and furthermore, criticise her mother for turning her out no matter how little they had. Now older, she understood why her poor mother had done this, she did this for survival, forever would Jeanne cherish this monstrous act of grace bestowed upon her at the tender age of eighteen.

“Well? Are you doing press or not?” asked Raymond, Jeanne put her Photoplay issue down and glanced forwardly at him, “well Raymond, you tell them that my childhood was the bee’s knees! I had a wonderful mother who loved me, and here I am today entertaining you all. If they’re not satisfied with that answer, then tell them to purchase tickets to my next show in Chicago"they can be sure I’ll show em’ a good time.”

 

Author's Note

Give me your honest opinion, wether good or bad. And please don't be so mean, constructive is best. Also, if you know the song this is from, tell me, just a test ^.^