CHA CHA CHA ZIEGFELD GOIL! ~ By Absolutely*Kate

CHA CHA CHA 

ZIEGFELD GOIL! 

~ 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.

"CHA CHA BOOM!"

   

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, 

featured as Nita Munay in the notorious 'lost film'

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 @SylviaLewis.net. 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:

"I WANTA BE A ZIEGFELD GIRL"

"36-26-38" ~ A PRETTY ZIEGFELD GIRL
 IS A MELODY 

"ZIG ZAG ZIEGFELD"

"BEFORE WE HAVE A TITLE . . . SNEAK PREVIEW" ~ By Absolutely*Kate and Kevin J Mackey -- #fridayflash

"BEFOREWEHAVEA TITLE

  SNEAKPREVIEW

A Duet in the Key of C

~ By Absolutely*Kate and Kevin J. Mackey

BIRTHDAY GIRL! ~  artist NiseeMade

"It's my birthday and the dashing gent Mr Mackey agreed we could share with you great #Friday Flashers, and of course AT THE BIJOU popcorn munchers,  a sneak preview of our 1976 book in the write-works of social and political intrigue (plus who knows what more our characters tell us it shall be) .

 

We're wondering what feedback you might tender as to how/where you may see these vivacious characters entering their first scene's appearance, continuing their interactions and most definitely bon vivant political intrigue, discoveries and adventures . . . 

Here goes . . . and THANKS!    

~ Absolutely*Kate and Kevin J Mackey

"BEFOREWEHAVEA TITLE

  SNEAKPREVIEW

"Steve. Steve." 

Steven Bradford turned in his chair at the sound of his name, and stood. Tony Callini was bearing down on him, but it was the woman with Tony that drew Steven from his seat. 

She was tall, would be even without heels. Her eyes, the clearest shade of blue Steven had ever seen, seemed to be dancing with some private amusement. The same amusement was playing on lips coated a very pale pink. 

An asymmetric gown, midnight blue and baring one shoulder, hugged her figure. It covered everything and hid little. 

"This is --" Tony began. 

"Carolina," she said. Smooth, open vowels and Steven caught just the hint of the "r" in her name. 

Carolina offered her hand, slim and warm in white elbow gloves. She offered it, fingers together, arching downwards. Steven had to fight the urge to touch his lips to them. He looked up and caught another hint of amusement. 

"So, that's it then," Tony said. "I've done my part, yes?" 

Carolina turned her head to him, her hand still in Steven's. He felt her fingers tighten a shade more, ensuring he still held her hand. 

"Yes," she said, "you're finished now, darling Tony." Carolina turned back to Steven. 

Steven blinked at the most complete dismissal he had ever heard, and then shook himself. 

"Forgive me," he said, "I've forgotten my manners. I'm Steven, Steven Bradford." 

Her smile flashed, a row of neat, white teeth on display for an instant.
 
"Carolina, as I said. Carolina Beatrice Templeton." She smiled again and shrugged slightly. Steven's eyes drifted over the light dusting of freckles on her bare right shoulder before being captured again by her eyes.
 
"An old family," she said, "fond of inflicting dignified names on wayward children."
 
Steven smiled in return. "Oh I am sure you are very dignified."
 
Her smile just broadened. 

"Steve?" Alice, Steve's date for the evening,  joined them. Steven released Carolina's hand, noticing as he did so a slight reluctance. He turned to Alice.
 
"Alice," he said, a shade too brightly. "This is Carolina, Carolina Templeton. A friend . . . of Tony's." 

It seemed to Steven, reflecting later, that the temperature around their little group dropped.
 
"Alice," Carolina said, "so pleased to make your acquaintance." 
 
"Likewise, I'm sure," Alice replied. 

Steven noticed neither woman moved to touch the other. 

Alice took Steven's arm in hers. 

"Steve," she said, "we really must go and say 'hello' to Sandra and her husband." 

Steven looked at Alice and then back to Carolina. 

"Steven," Carolina said, "you mustn't let me keep you from enjoying yourself." She paused a moment and then looked directly into his eyes. "I hope you will allow me to call on you sometime. Tony has told me so much about your work." 

"Certainly," Steven said, and felt Alice's fingers digging into his arm. "Call me anytime."
 
Carolina smiled. "I may call on you anytime?"

Steven kept his face straight even though Alice was beginning to leave marks on his arm. "Yes," he said, "please do." 

"Gift for gift," Carolina mused, her voice soft. She smiled again. "Well then, I will leave you two lovely people to enjoy yourselves." 

She smiled again at Steven and nodded to Alice. Then, turning on her heel, she made her way gracefully across the room. As she walked, Steven was captivated by the gentle swaying of her hips. 

"Steve," Alice said in a loud whisper, "stop staring at her. Who is she anyway?" 

Steven tore his gaze away from Carolina just as she left the room. He turned to Alice. 

"Just a friend of Tony's," he said, "like I told you." 

"A friend of Tony's," Alice said, her mouth drawn into a thin line. "So, where is he then, Tony?

Steven looked around the room. Tony was not to be seen. He smiled and guided Alice towards Sandra and her husband. "He stepped out shortly before you arrived. I'm sure Carolina's gone to find him." 

Alice's reply was unconvinced, but she allowed herself to be steered towards her friend, Sandra. It was, after all, in the opposite direction to the one Carolina had taken. 

 ~ ~ ~

 
There were actually many opposite directions steered into when folks first made the acquaintance of Carolina Beatrice Templeton. Something about a nature that daunts always veers it so. The Templetons of Montgomery came from old money, dusty money, the kind of money not to shake a stick at, though few ever considered that. The Templetons were seen to be held in the highest regard -- from their open doors on every side of the wide-planked veranda on Magnolia Lane which welcomed friend and stranger alike right on into an iced pitcher of mint juleps, to the family trait of dancing eyes. Oh how the Templeton's eyes danced, waltzed, even tangoed. Midst amusement never veiled and down right chortling guffaws, the Templetons' family tree rollicked all its branches with the good humour that glided them in good stead through conference rooms and dance floors.
 
Carolina Beatrice Templeton was a gliding light on the dance floor this night, changing partners left and right. 

Nodding in commiseration to Sandra's story about the gardener mistaking the potato patch for placement of the daylily bulbs, Alice's peripheral vision caught flash after flash of midnight blue. Much to her chagrin, Steven, who could care less about potato patches gone askew, was sporting a new level of intensity in his own regard for that vivid flash of midnight blue.
 
Bristling but a bit, Alice bolstered, rebuking herself to be a far better champ at holding her own. "Excuse us Sandra," she smiled. "Steven, I dare say this is our song. Shall we? Shall we dance?"
 
Strains of Some Enchanted Evening swirled the perfumed air, the evening's mood and the soft gliding collision of what dancers had on their minds in the New York minutes of a sultry Saturday night.
 
Carolina Beatrice Templeton had plenty on hers. And how convenient, she noticed, that the malice of Alice would bring her honey directly to the bait. The white gloved fingers of her right hand stroked tenderly the back of the neck of the broad suited shoulders who happened to be her current dance partner. Her throat arched back with a tinkling of musical laughter to something dashing or distinguished he'd just said. What was his name again? Tom? Dick? Harry?

~ ~ ~

} STORYLINE  IN  THE  WORKS . . .

© 2011 ~ Authors Absolutely*Kate and Kevin J Mackey

having a blast with this social scene dancing into  political intrigue,

circa 1976

Author Kevin J Mackey of great fantasy writes, insightful character observation, haiku to melt to, and every now and then a shaker-out o'Shakespeare from his prolific lit wit is a writer who at once entices and endures. A transplanted Irishman who doesn't need Tony Bennett to sing him that his heart is now in San Francisco has entertained and inspired since I've got to watch him smoke his pipe and string his words with the #Friday Flash Fiction frenetic folks. Admiring true style in the ethers, I tap, tap, tapped on his proverbial shoulder a few highly enjoyable weeks ago and cajoled, "Hey Mister ~ Would your style honour my style in a duet write?"  Well, Luck be this Lady that night, for he happened to have a piece of a writing morsel he was hankering to watch take on its own energy. Working together on it . . . we've been kind of amazed ~ sensing, watching, feeling ~ how it surely has, and how we discover in parts of our day-to-day something new our characters are asking us to have them say.

This is the fascination of being a writer, 

      watching words speak.

 Thank*you for all the times you read into that experience

  and invite / share us in to yours.

The heart of this story's start is now headed into fuller book-form. You can see more of Mackey back in town (couldn't resist) where he's simultaneously showcasing our tale, along with a slew of his dynamic to lyrical writing and recent book, Haiku - Through a Lens, enchanting minds now over at KjM - On The Web: "Duet in the Key of C". Enjoy your browse and carouse.

And thank you, Kevin. 

Tis honour in the key of joie de vivre.

~ Absolutely*Kate, Birthday Girl

Believing in Believers and the Joys of Writing

Author & Promoter Absolutely*Kate watches her keyboard rat-a-tat in the nights, dashing the shadows of crime/noir . . . along with the moxie of tales urging to be told in progressive eras of American gumption and grace, plus the occasional Ziegfeld show.

From the confluence of two rivers meandering to the sea from diminutive Derby, Connecticut, she's created AT THE BIJOU, adjusting spots and kleigs in a virtual theatre-for-the mind, where "Writers' Raves become Readers' Faves". She shall proudly sail HARBINGER*33 for authoring destiny ... will be published within GRIMM TALES by talented Editor John Kenyon and Untreed Publishing, where fairy tales become crime scenes . . . and is working on a telling tale for Main Street Rag's 2012 fiction anthology, SECRETS, at the request of savvy Editor Rayne Debski. 

Midst innovative promotion-publishing ventures stirring out-of-the-box (of course), with guts and true grit author Kevin Michaels of LOST EXIT fame, Absolutely*Kate is compiling the gusto of her debut book, HOLY MOXIE in multi-media form . . . then anticipates high faluting excitement at her first attendance of the ~  Bouchercon-World Mystery Convention of crime-fiction.  (There, a drink bet will be settled with the prolific godfather of crime, westerns and RatPack mysteries, Robert J Randisi, and Brit crime-to-fame hero Matt Hilton shall be hugged.)

Plus it's her birthday today ~ 

She's off to celebrate in full flair -- and that's no mystery.

* ZIG ZAG ZIEGFELD * ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33 ... #FlashFiction

SO HOW DOES A ZIEGFELD GOIL GROW?  ~ photo ala picassoswoman

* ZIG ZAG ZIEGFELD *

~ By Absolutely*Kate

Dear Diary,

It's Me again. Well, who else would it be, hunh? I'm so excited. I got the part! I know it already by heart! Well yeah, sure, it's a bit of a bit part -- but hey Toots, hey Bub -- everyone's got to get their start somewhere, right? It just figures, it does.

So anyway, I'm in Act 2, in the third row of the chorus line when Claudine belts out "You Made Me Love You". Right at the part of "I didn't wanna do it, I didn't wanna do it" we all shimmy to the right and kinda half-turn to the left, pause our cleavages and then swoop down low. Oh! I have the most beeeyoootiful bend-down-over dress. I won't let Momma see it, but Sugar Mae did and she just up and "Ooooohed" like the band was beating it up for Georgie Cohan crooning to Theda Bara so I know it's a hot number.

Guess what?

Silly Diary, you can't guess, so I'll tell you --

I've got sequins! Honest, I do!

Me. Imagine. A ZIEGFELD GOIL! -- with sequins.

Life is looking up.

I gotta run now as there's Rehearsal tonight!!! But next time we're together I want to whisper you a little something sly about Billy Bradford. My my!

DEAR DIARY, SAID GOIL ~ Pic ala DigitalParadox

Yours Mighty Truly,

Mabel Jean Krenicki

(Yeah, I'm still looking
 for that stage name)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Mabel! Hurry! Where WERE you? C'mon, you're late, you're late. He's been lookin' for you!"

Breathless, hauling a worn but serviceable satchel with every imaginable edge of tinted lace trailing out, Mabel flustered her rush of explanation,  "The bus on Toity Toid went kaplooey. I had to get off while the ol' tin can on wheels was rattling and smokin' and hotfoot it seven blocks here. I ran the last three and tore my stocking. When I make it to the front row in the chorus line, you t'ink a goil like me can grab a cab? Oh, who? Who's been looking for me?" Pausing, lowering her raw but singsongy voice to a right reverent pitch, "You mean -- Mr Ziegfeld?"

"Yeah sure dollface. In your Franny Brice Billie Burke dreamland. No. Ned. Step to it kid, he's got another lightbulb sparking over his noggin."

"Another one! Oh Johnny, I just bet it's a doozy then. That handsome feller's no stuffed shirt, nope siree. So which way's our Wayburn?", asked Mabel, surreptitiously nudging her worn brown scuffed size 7 against stylish Lorna's  butterscotch and honey little Winship luggage case with the pop-out fitted tray shelf she envied, to make enough room for her plain old rehearsal bag. She sighed, light but heavy. Swiftly fishing around in 'old faithful' she knew just where to reach her tucked in extra pair of practical stockings, but thought not for the first time what it would feel like to be grand enough to tote around her own little butterscotchy case with a red quilted satin lining. 

"Mabel? Mabel Jean! You coming? Ned's lining up all the girls by height now. You're gonna miss where your new spot is. Shake a leg!"

Mabel muttered back as good naturedly as a young dame gobbling  butterflies can do, "Whattya think I'm shakin' Johnny boy? I'm gettin' me gams into hosiery that ain't got no holes no more. Now WHERE'S Ned Wayburn doin' his convoluting?"

Crusty Johnny Barkley with knowledgeable lines around his eyes smiled. Kinda smug but kinda soft, like the spot he had for these green Ziegfeld gals who came in for their big chance to dance and push and shove their way a little, step by feathered step to where front and center had a better stance into the footlights. Oh he'd seen it all. Some of these greens were actually emeralds in the rough. He looked out for those kind. He kinda hoped Mabel Jean would make it. Krenicki was a real good kid. She just didn't know how to believe in herself yet. "Just listen Mabel Jean, just listen. You'll find him. And don't change nothin'. He said to keep your street shoes on." For good measure to sharpen her up, he gruffed out one more yelp,"And for crying out loud, you'd better not be gumming up your chances spoiling his dances by dropping your Juicy Fruit on his stage again!"


He chuckled as he heard her spirit without stammer spit right back.


"Aw SmartStuff whatta you know Buster? It was the new Doublemint that that swell Mr Wrigley the marketing whiz mailed to every Joe and Molly he could find in the phone directory. So suck them apples Johnny!"

The sound was rat-a-tat-a-tat-jackhammery. Pounding. Louder still on old stage wood. Real loud. She could hear it over her hurried breathing's hustle and the low deep rumbly chortle, when she came around the backstage door, passing Johnny. He patted her rump for good luck, or something like that, but she ignored his antics. She was caught up in the fresh glory of this new sound. Brittle, then soft and a bunch of clickety-clumps. Then machine-gunny in its way. But it sure had a certain catchy rhythm going for it. It did. Mabel Jean could tell. She prided herself on her hoofer's ear.

And dance director Ned Wayburn prided himself on skill and precison, kick lines and patterns that spread into astounding geometrics. Spectacular spectacles. That's what Florenz Ziegfeld, "The Great Glorifyer" hired him for. And Pittsburgh's Edward Claudius Weyburn, who owed his stage-moniker notoriety to a program typo from Vaudeville days was preambling a powerful new precision all over the stage. A bevy of chorus girl beauts and some of the handiest carpenter crew working on the next performance's lavish set had stopped their flirting and jawing to just leave them open. Their jaws, and spaces on the stage now spreading in wide pockets for his fast pace. They moved away in hurried huddles when his frenzied moves headed their way. And they were lured right back, closer, closer. Packs of them. They'd never seen nothin' like this . . . even those that weren't green but jaded.
  
Joyfully he jumped high in the air and clicked his heels together, explaining each new step. "Click!"
  
Mable Jean snuck in quick at the edge of a cluster when she recognized new Ziegfeld acquaintances Dottie and Alice, Irene and Vera. 
   

"CLAP!," said Ned Wayburn, "just what you think." He balanced his foot on his heel, raising his toe in a twisting motion. "Tanglefoot." Then the toe of one foot struck the toe of his other foot. He repeated the same movement, but this time heel to heel. "Catch", Ned beamed.
   
He was in the midst of crossing one of his lithe dancer legs in front of another in a side traveling motion of movement when excited Mabel, without the juice of Juicyfruit to keep her gums in gear burst out gleefully, "ZIG ZAG!" Vera, Alice, Dottie and Irene slid gracefully backwards. They wished to be no part of Mabel making a scene.

Naturally Ned the pro kept his scene intact, smiled serene but snapped right back, "Actually it's a Cross Bar. But what would you call this Miss Wise Guy?" He made consecutive backward movements from one foot to the other, alternating back and forth, forth and back. He stared. Alice, Irene, Dottie and Vera scooted even further back into stagelight shadows. The fact that Mabel Jean Krenicki stood alone on center stage couldn't have been clearer.

"Do that again?"

Backwards went Ned, left foot, right foot, eyes pinning Mabel to her answer.
  

"ZIG ZAG!"
  

"Actually Miss Krenicki its proper term is Cincinnati", Ned said, and abruptly turned  and stepped away. Kneeling down to a shiny pile at the front of the stage, he selected a small shaped silver piece of metal. "And this -- "

Ned may have had the floor, but Mabel Jean Krenicki was on a roll. "It looks nothing like Cincinnati. I've been there to my Uncle Konrad's house. He's Momma's baby brother and has a real nifty place. What you did was like a Zig Zag I'm tellin' ya." In a huff she stared back at the back of the man who took musical comedy dance routines seriously. Sometimes there's no funny biz in show biz. She crossed her arms. Her right foot beat the steady stubborn staccato of her nerves.

Over and over her foot hit the stage. More dancers moved away. Joey Mackswill from the carpenter's crew let a slow grin come up from within and seemed to sense just what to do. Reaching into his tool belt for the light balpeen hammer, Joey's grin went into high cahoots. Matching Mabel Jean's cadence, he very lightly hit the stage floor with his shiny tool. Over and over . . . and over some more again.

Ned, hunched on his haunches, launched into an explanation of what  attaching the silver metal piece to a black and white shoe with a catchy ankle strap was going to do. A little perturbed at her observations being ignored, Mabel strutted her stuff right up to his back, and with a steady pat, pat, pat to his shoulder, tried determinedly to get his attention. Joey kept up the light pound, pound, pound sound because he did have a hammer.

"So what do you call all these dance moves all put together, hunh Mr Wayburn? What is this number? Will you sum it up?" She knew her voice had gone up an octave which wasn't very sing-songy at all, but feminine fascination to find out something new and fancy goes beyond normal playing it safe, staying in line. 

Pat, pat, pat went Mabel's fingers now, right near Ned's neck. Pat, pat, pat went Krenicki's impatient foot right to center stage's wood so Wayburn would . . . finally answer. 
  
He spun around. It was sudden. It was a swirl. He came right at the girl. It was a sudden spun swirl with a fierce determined look beating double time from deep lights rooted in his blue irises. 
  
Mabel realized Ned was not all that keen on her pesky pat, pat, pats. After all, this was the dance man who had personally trained the great Fred Astaire, Eddie Cantor and Al Jolson. But he smiled broad in a challenge not to be flim flammed as flimsy,  "Oh I don't know Miss Krenicki - let's just call it TAP!" 
 

He extended the black and whites with the catchy ankle strap and the small silver plates now attached at heel and toe. "And if the shoe fits, Miss Krenicki ~~ WEAR IT!"

Bang, Bang Mackswill's silver hammer

came down upon Ned's stage.

Mabel Jean Krenicki wrote in her diary

later that triumphant night ~

"I knew, come hell or high water,

this was not a time for having two left feet!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yes, there's no biz like shoe biz

like no biz we know.

Join us in future epic*sodes

of Mabel Jean Krenicki, Ziegfeld Goil, still in search of a good stage name, discovering just what entertainment is sometimes all about.

(c) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

playing *AT THE BIJOU*

MORE ZIEGFELD?

MORE MABEL?

"I WANTA 

BE A ZIEGFELD GOIL

"36-26-38 ~ 

A PRETTY ZIEGFELD GIRL

 IS A MELODY"

Thank*You!

We hope you've enjoyed the show,

*AT THE BIJOU*!