Friday, September 23, 2011



~ By Absolutely*Kate   (backstage)

Feather boas and creamy poils, the fluff that dreams are made of, fancified life for us lucky Ziegfeld Goils. Well, there were swishy silks and satins too, but that all depended on what number was called up for you. I loved it when they called up my number! Backstage, Hank would holler with a fast rap-a-tat-tat on our dressing room door. Geeeez Louise, my dressing room was more like an open dame zone of star power -- makeup tables, elegant costume racks and divine bravada were all set up to outshine the other gals, but . . . I was there! I was a Ziegfeld Goil! Holy Hannah, how Mama was proud of that. She told her friends, she told our neighbors, she told the butcher, the baker and if we didn't have flicker-free electricity, I betcha she woulda yelped it at the candlestick maker too! 

It's been a year now of bein' one of these Follies' dollies. Golly! Me! Mabel Jean Krenicki! Can you imagine that? I'm livin' up my dream on stage all the show-stoppin' time now. I'm a tip-top tapper moved waaay up to the front line. Hoooo boy! And I kinda think my derriere twirl sashays as spiffy as the most senior of Ziegfeld Goils. Not that it gets me that much attention from Mr Z. Gosh he's every place and in everybody's bizness. I told him once, "Gosh Mr Z, you put the Z in bizzy," and he gets this real low booming chuckle and says back, "That's show bizzy to you Missy!" Imagine that -- me and Mr Z shootin' the breeze . . . even if it was momentary-like, and he gave me a stern look til I spit out my Juicy Fruit in my hand.  I just liked it. Me, Mabel Jean Krenicki, a Ziegfeld Goil!

Guess the gleam  never wears off the  glam once your pluck gets  starstruck. Shimmer glimmer and strut your stuff! Posture, placement and smile wattage to the back row, always, always play broad to the back row, Mr Z yelps! Keep style and grace all over the place. Ooze charm like there's no tomorrow to splash it out to. Bring it on! I eat show biz up instead of breakfast. Matter o'fact, I barely catch twenty winks back home at night after a late show before I'm barreling uptown for rehearsals with my new pals, the other hot hoofers. Uh, what just might have a little more than somethin' to do with puttin' extra hustle to my bustle could be the new choreographer Mr Z brung in from the Windy City. Wowzers! He's kinda cute. Hot cha cha cha stuff, and I ain't warblin' 'bout his dance moves, if ya know what I mean.

His name's Jerome. Isn't that romantic all by itself? Jerrrome. And jeepers, creepers, he's sweet on the peepers. Mmmmm, spins me dizzy sometimes. Not just whisperin' his name or a kinda feeling I get bubblin' up about him -- you should see how he configures us all on the staircase sequence moving fast, faster, catch the diamonds, twirl, spin in the lights super fast. I gotta pay attention there. A gal's gotta be careful with the perchof her gams there. You should see the spikes on my heels! 

The spike in my heart patters fast too. Faster than a speeding train of thought, came chance and circumstance to arrive at my station of romance. Well, that's what I was thinking. A certain Jerome glance, a touch at the small of my back -- Oooooooh, I'm standing pretty, right in the middle of layer upon layer of satin style and grace in ecru lace while falling fast. Then came the cha cha cha.

Jerome explained patiently that this dance had never ever been done on stage in the United States before. He knew of it from studying one summer in a faraway island called Cuba where his dark dashing eyes got even dreamier just talking about it while we all stood around on the show-battered wood. He convinced Mr Ziegfeld he could build a whole ensemble routine around it, right in the middle of the show where pace and a new kind of passion was the best place to go. Mr Z was all about letting in new kinds of pace and passion. How'd ya think a boy named Florenz got so far in the high faluting bigtime bright city shows he staged? Ya take chances! He did. Should I? That's when it happened -- to teach this dance, Jerome pulled me right outta the center cluster crowd I was dishin' with to show the other girls how -- all I can say is -- WOW!

He takes a checked step forward with his left foot, retains some of  his gorgeous weight -- did I mention Jerome's gorgeous? - on his right foot. The beat of the music is rhythm gone sensual with energy, energy urging movement on. It gets tricky as the knee of the right leg must stay straight and close to the back of the knee of the left leg, while just straightening out. But Jerome makes tricky look snazzy, and that's what he wanted and encouraged on from me. To show the other girls, or so I thought.

Three steps make up the basic cha cha cha. There's that first fast step to the side with the left foot. Then both feet get practically under your hips when the right foot closes in. Finally, in a flash, the last step of the left foot moves to the left. I was left panting at Jerome's pace, gazing often into Jerome's face. I saw there determination, raw open joy and something akin to the way presents are ripped opened on Christmas morning. Was I beginning to love Jerome or the way Jerome loved whatever Jerome was doing? How do you separate all those feelings while syncopating a new Latin beat and keeping straight all the moving of your feet?

When we switched to right-left-right, he smiled all those white beamy teeth and stage-whispered, "Brava muchacha - you can cha cha!" Heavens to Murgatroyd, we were stage left when that happened. My confidence level and my beaming stare went sky high into space and warmly, back close, at his gorgeous laughing face. I mentioned he was gorgeous, right?All this beaming and left-right-lefting and yet I was left aware of Miriam nudging Gertie, pointing something out to Doris over Ruby's glistening shoulders. Something at the door. Someone at the door.

Photo is star-tribute to stage/screen and

supremely talented hoofer/choreographer

Sylvia Lewis. Here she knocks the peepers
wide open in the front row with Dante DiPaolo. 

 Read more on 
Hollywood's hottest below 
"And now, now that our able Mabel has showed you how easy, one-two-three, it is to learn the steps of cha cha cha," Jerome intoned, "may I present a new star to shine among you? One I hope I have not made too jealous - for beginning with this sequence, my muy bonita wife Carmen will play lead." 


            Dear Diary,
These are some of the ups and downs and upside downs in every one-two-three step of being a poifect Ziegfeld Goil. I'm not too keen on Carmen and I don't give Jerome much more than the time of day except at rehearsals any more, but I love, love, love the stage, and the lights and the music and the grand, grand nights we make magic come true. Mr Z tells us all, that's the very best we can do.

I'll write again when I have something more substantial to share. Did I tell you about Ruby's brother Eddie and the malt shop? He doesn't need exotic music and fancy schmancy steps to dance his attention my way. Besides, I don't think this cha cha thing is gonna catch on in Palooka-ville for another twenty, say twenty-five years. It just takes too much outta ya. Tricky ain't always snazzy.

Yours Very Truly,
Mabel Jean Krenicki ~ Ziegfeld Goil!

PS ~ Momma's still proud. I never mentioned Jerome to her. 
I don't tell Momma everything, ya know?

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate
for Miss Mabel Jean Krenicki
another Debut . . .  AT THE BIJOU

Mabel Jean was right! 

 The Cha Cha Cha did not actually
stir sexy sensations in the States til the 1950's.
Hollywood's hottest hoofer ~ Sylvia Lewis, 
Cha Cha Boom, (find it!)knew much more
than how to go Right-Left-Right. Born when 
the Ziegfeld Follies were passing away, 
Sylvia started vibrant in Vaudeville and just
kept dancing! 
Sylvia's sensations dance splendid visions This author salutes the most lovely Ms Lewis and the dedicated webmaster, T.W. James. Quick! Click! Check starpower!

Mabel Jean will get there, don'tcha think?

                                         ~ I'm Absolutely*Kate 
                                    and I believe in believers

Thanks again Folks,
for sinkin' into our plush red velvet seats

AT THE            BIJOU

"Where Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves"

Hold on to your hats and feather boas!

There's more showbiz

 on Mabel Jean and the Ziegfeld Goils

right here in your glossy program:



Wednesday, September 21, 2011

SALUTING LIFE ~ Absolutely, by Paul's kid

" What would Paul Pilarcik do? "

{ That thought ever guides this author }

~ Absolutely*Kate, his first happy kid

~ A loving rendition of Dad waving his good-hearted goodbye. With great humour he cared, shared, listened, encouraged and drank cups of coffee with folks who made his world what it was.

Paul's world?  Where you worked smarter, not harder . . . gave all you positively got . . . cheered yourself on in the same  exuberant way you shouted out to others ~ "WAY TO GO KID!" . . . where you kept a big pile of thinkin' inside and a larger smile with eyes that actually spoke, outside. Where you rooted for family, golf scores, the Steelers and back gardens to flourish. Where you never gave up.


~ Kathleen Marie Elaine Pilarcik

© 21 September, 2011, honouring an amazing Life,
 one year gone from only this earth.

Paul Pilarcik lived like his best season
. . . through the last day of summer.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

100 WORDS TO PLAY WITH ~ Absolutely*Kate Insider Scoop on Nick Triplow's New STATUS STORIES

100 Words to Play With!
{That's Millie the Mink up there. 
She comes in after-hours AT THE BIJOU
to dash out press releases with Absolutely*Kate
headed for Hedda Hopper's hottest hints column.
It's rumoured she knows of jaunty Jeanette Cheezum's flora dora days ... but that's another BIJOU story, another BIJOU time.}

Speaking of which . . . 

NICK TRIPLOW, words-worth
100 words are playing now with panache and dash! 
Acclaimed Brit author Nick Triplow has introduced a site of Status Stories tinged with tight telling circumstance. Short doses of high fiction make you cry, coo, cringe and of course come courageously back for  more.
I've got a few showing ... and Miss Millie and I carouse daily over gin fizzes the variegated presentation for good readers' gruesome, grace and goodtime guffaws. Go. Get a gander. You'll see. 

~ By Absolutely*Kate

Frankie and Joannie were lovers. They smooched in the park, they danced after dark, and in the raucous rolling nights, how they tendered new sparks!

Insatiable itch was, Frankie spread his love around. He loved all over town. Dinah at the diner, Penny at the 5 & 10, Margie at the dairy. Small town rumours swirl . . . fast as Joannie's tears, poor girl. Some whisper faster when Frankie fled town. 

Townsfolk now tender kind words o'er the picket fence as Joannie picks posies ~ daisies, delphiniums, lilacs, larkspur . . . vibrant, lush and lavished. Joannie smiles at what fine fertilizer Frankie's body yields.

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate
now playing happily with 100 words @ Status Stories

That's the spitting image of Editor Millie the Mink up there,

~ By Absolutely*Kate 
She wore the trench loose, easier for fast moves. He lunged from behind but she'd expected that. Something about cowards and shadows give themselves away.

"Wouldn't shoot if I were you." He dared.

She glared. "Since you're not me and lookin' what's left of your pitiful future down a reflective 45, what would you do, wise guy?"

"Guess I'd aim straight, little lady." Bravado was his best side; choice of words, his worst.

"Last bum dubbed me 'little lady' had his flatfoot Florsheims stuck in the gutter -- with him in 'em."

"Hell Nelle, I missed ya."

"Been a while, Jake."

someone always returns to a crime scene

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate
now playing happily with 100 words @ Status Stories

Photo drama circa shadow-images

100 Words on Nick Triplow
founder, concept-artist or mad godfather of the cool to gritty Status Stories

Nick Triplow? Writer of South London set crime novel 'Frank's Wild Years' and the successful heritage books, The Women They Left Behind and Distant Water. With partner in crime-writing Loz Harvey, he has co-written the script for 'Ted’s Return Home', a short film about Ted Lewis, author of classic British crime novel Get Carter. Originally from London, now North Lincolnshire, Nick's currently writing the official biography of Lewis, teaching creative writing, making final edits on Frank's Wild Years and planning re-writes for his next novel, the street-legal conspiracy thriller, 'The Paradise Man' - introducing Max - aka Inspector Mark Lomax.

Short Fiction 
in 100 words or less

Try it. You'll like it.
And . . . so quickly!

Friday, September 2, 2011

ELECTIVE CHOICE ~ By Absolutely*Kate ... #FridayFlashFiction come to life, in but 100 words

As reported by  ~ Absolutely*Kate

The fat thrills of Beverly Hills wore thin on the pragmatic Clampetts. Possum vittles passed 'round the cee-ment pond in a pretend world could only circle so far. New York was where they longed to be. So Jed loaded up the family and moved to Albany. Political machines, with no movie stars.
The wrong turn had occurred off Route 80 while Jethro was at the wheel, fiddlin' new radio station buttons. Jed, being the commonsensical head of the family, made the best of the new location. Granny still says his congressional incumbency is a hoot.

Oil's well that ends swell.





 Smashing stories told in 100 words or less . . . with aplomb.

The aplomb is the bomb.

And mine? Doggone it -- 100 wordings, on the dot!


~ Absolutely*Kate,
happy as rockin' chairs on a summer porch
that you good folks come round,
Writers' Raves for Readers' Faves