Part 2 of 2
I am sitting at my upscale vanity, using the mirrors of my dressing table to apply my face paint. The dancing ladies are backstage practicing our act.
The Biggest Bigwig enters my dressing room. Seeing me all made up, he remarks: “This is only rehearsal – why are you in full blackface?”
I take a long drag from my cigarette, then reply: “I just left Bessie’s Family Acting Troupe at the boarding house – they’re coming here shortly, and I don’t want them to recognize me. Remember, our little plan would be foiled if they discover that their newbie colleague ‘Tertius Radnitsky’ is actually the famous Bryan Ray, King of the Blackface Comic Singers.”
As the bigwig and I leave my dressing room, I hand my barely smoked cigarette to the doorman, who takes it dutifully but stares at it in bewilderment. (He cannot believe that someone would discard a perfectly good cigarette, which still has so much tobacco remaining.)
As I begin to croon my comic song at the rehearsal, the Biggest Bigwig is called aside by a portly man with a bulldog face, who says:
“There’s a troupe of greenhorn rookie amateurs waiting to see you.”
The bigwig raises his eyebrows and says to the portly, bulldog-faced man: “Ham actors?”
The man answers: “Yeah, ham actors.”
“I’ll be right there,” the bigwig smiles.
Bessie and her family troupe are led to the side of the stage by the Biggest Bigwig, who points to me as I’m rehearsing with my dancing ladies. “That’s Bryan Ray,” he explains: “the famous blackface crooner.”
Bessie seems impressed by this information. As I’m singing, I turn my head and make eye contact with her, while gesturing in a way that invites her to interpret the song as a personal message, just for her. Then I wink, and she smiles.
While still singing, I pace toward Bessie. When I am directly before her, I descend to one knee and remove my hat and hold it over my heart.
Now my song concludes. Everyone applauds the performance. I rise and bow to Bessie, and shake her hand respectfully, being mindful that this is her first time meeting my Broadway Star persona Bryan Ray. (Since I am in full blackface, she does not recognize me as her troupe’s own “Tertius Radnitsky.”)
Bessie and I immediately hit it off. We sit down at the piano and engage in a spirited conversation, as two souls who have fallen in love at first sight. I remove my white gloves, while we talk, and she absentmindedly picks them up and holds them close to her heart.
After this, I retire to my dressing room. Shutting the door behind me, I give an impassioned sigh. With a dreamy look in my eyes, I remove my hat and place it on the head of the doorman, who blinks at me in wonder. I then sit down at my vanity mirror and remove my makeup.
Meanwhile, Bessie is chatting with a few of the actors from her family troupe. Suddenly she realizes that she is still fondling the pair of gloves that she had taken during our parley at the piano. “Oh no!” she says: “Bryan’s gloves! I still have them! I must return them!”
Bessie hastens across the stage, past the dancing ladies who are practicing their strut kicks, toward my dressing room.
I have just finished washing away my blackface, when Bessie steps in. Upon entering, she happens to be looking down and fumbling with the gloves; therefore, I see her before she sees me. In that instant, I am terrified, lest she discover my true, makeup-free appearance: so I duck my head behind a large houseplant.
Seeing me in this predicament, Bessie exclaims: “Oh, I’m sorry; I just came to return your gloves.”
With my body bent over like so, and my face obscured by the leafage of the houseplant, I answer: “Forgive me; I am indecent.”
Then I notice that there is a tall fuzzy brimless boyar hat and a sparkling eye-mask on the floor next to the plant’s pot. Thank goodness I work in the entertainment industry, I think to myself, as I quickly don these items. Now sufficiently disguised, I lift my head out from behind the houseplant and greet Bessie warmly.
Taken aback by my getup, she asks: “Are you going to a masquerade?”
I think for a moment and then reply: “Um, yes. Yes, in fact, I am. I’m giving one at my house tonight. Would you and your troupe like to come?”
She laughs and says: “But we have no costumes.”
I lift my hand and declare that this is not a problem. I then summon the theater’s Wardrobe Supervisor from backstage and instruct him as follows: “See that Bessie here and all her friends receive the best costumes that you have.”
The Wardrobe Supervisor bows deeply and then retires. Bessie thanks me and makes her exit as well.
Now alone in the room, I exhale sharply, then I remove my eye-mask and tall fuzzy hat, tossing them far away from me, in relief that everything worked out. I remark aloud to myself while laughing: “I’m lucky that Bessie didn’t see my actual face!”
At just this moment, Bessie re-enters the room to fetch her purse. In a panic at being caught naked-faced again, I duck down, pull my cape over my head, and remain there crouching on the floor. I stick my hand out from under the cape and wave.
Bessie looks in wonder at me, shakes her head, grabs her purse off the table, and walks out the door.
The doorman now appears and stares at me for a moment; then, thinking that I must be looking for something that I have dropped, he crouches down and joins me, scouring the floor with his head down likewise.
At this point, the Biggest Bigwig enters my room. He sees me huddled under my cape, with the doorman on all fours patting around at my side. After a moment of confusion, the Bigwig joins our hunt.
While we are all three down on the floor snooping around, I lift my cape and peek out. Espying the Bigwig, I tap his arm to get his attention. I press my finger to my lips, and say in a whisper: “Please round up a lot of guests, for I find that I’m giving a masquerade tonight.” The Bigwig nods conspiratorially, and we all return to our ground-search.
§
That evening, my house is filled with people wearing elaborate costumes. I am wearing my sparkling silver eye-mask and my tall fuzzy brimless boyar hat, while dancing with Bessie, who is also hatted and wearing an eye-mask that glitters (hers is gold). She playfully tries to remove my mask, and I playfully scold her. We then gaze into each other’s eyes for a while, swaying to the music, and I remark: “You’re wonderful, Bessie – I’m crazy about you.”
She shakes her head and says: “Oh, you big Broadway Star, you’re just acting – you don’t mean what you say.”
Now, leaning in, I attempt to press my lips to hers, but she turns her face aside. I try again, and she struggles to get away; so I begin to kiss her neck aggressively. She pulls back and cries out:
“You’re too fresh! I’m not used to feeling so out of control.” Then she runs away.
I try to follow her, but she loses me in the crowd; so I stand there and shake my head, smiling. The Biggest Bigwig, who has witnessed this scene, comes over and mock-punches my arm and says: “It looks like the lady has rejected Bryan Ray because she is in love with Tertius Radnitsky.”
I stand pondering this remark for a moment. Then I remove my mask and hat, and hasten away.
§
Now undisguised, as Tertius Radnitsky, I pay a visit to the Family Acting Troupe’s headquarters. There I find Bessie, still wearing her costume from tonight’s masquerade. “How was the party?” I ask.
She smiles: “Oh, it was swell.”
“Did that blackface Bryan Ray try to seduce you?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes, then clutches my arm and says: “Oh, you have no idea how bullying those Broadway Stars can be. Let me show you how Bryan Ray tried to woo me—” and she yanks me close and starts kissing all over my neck and licking my face. Then she pulls back and laughs.
I pretend to laugh, too, despite being now quite overwhelmed with desire.
§
It is opening night for Bessie’s Family Acting Troupe. Before joining their show as the bit player Tertius Radnistky, I perform my regular comedic songs as Bryan Ray in blackface with my dancing ladies.
While I’m onstage singing, Bessie and her troupe are backstage getting ready. The troupe’s manager now comes up to her and reports that one of their actors is missing: “Tertius Radnitsky must have come down with stage fright, for he is nowhere to be found.”
Bessie assures the manager: “Oh, Tershy will be here, don’t worry – he wouldn’t fail me.”
The manager, however, unable to relax, replies: “But we can’t wait any longer – our act is next!”
Bessie tries to hide her concern. She bites her thumb. At this moment, my Bryan Ray routine ends, and I head backstage. As I see Bessie looking distraught, I say: “What’s wrong?” And when she explains that they can’t find Tertius, I ask:
“Can I help? I’ll gladly play his part for you.”
Bessie thinks for a minute and warms up to this idea. “OK,” she nods.
“I’ll go make an announcement,” I say, smiling widely. Then I dash back out onstage and speak to the audience as follows:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am now about to do something that I have wanted to do all my life – I’m going to appear in a dramatic play.” And, waving my hat, I disappear behind the curtain.
The Biggest Bigwig comes and visits me in my dressing room, as I’m changing into costume. I complain to him: “You know, this prank, which has me lending my professional showmanship to that troupe of amateurs, isn’t as funny as it first seemed. That girl Bessie really cares about their performance, and I feel bad for making the whole thing into a joke.”
The Bigwig waves away my words with his hand and replies: “Stop being sentimental. Unless you want your career in showbiz to flop, then you better go give it your all. And make sure it’s funny.”
§
The play begins. The bayonets of the army march through the background, as before. Bessie and the rebel spy step out of the house; the latter raises his sword and exclaims: “I am off to the war!”
When the U.S. flag appears among the bayonets, the couple salute it; then the rebel hastens off to follow it. Before leaving the stage, he turns and shouts out: “Au revoir!”
Bessie’s character waves and blows him a kiss, as she re-enters her house.
Throughout the performance, the audience laughs uproariously, because Bessie’s wardrobe suffers various malfunctions, which keep revealing her undergarments.
Watching all this from the side of the stage, I am not amused, for I am aware that the crowd is laughing not with but at Bessie. Now the Biggest Bigwig comes over to me grinning leerily; he slaps my shoulder, and says: “Bry, this is immense! I’ve never heard so much laughter in a theater.”
I shake my head and say: “Breaking her heart to get a few laughs isn’t funny, to me.”
When the curtain comes down to conclude the first half of the play, the actors huddle and Bessie says: “Something is wrong here, but I don’t know what.”
The actor playing the rebel spy says: “We’ve got to put more spirit into the second half.”
The other actors nod. They then disburse.
The Bigwig squeezes my arm and slaps my back and advises me: “Make it funny, Bry.”
Now the curtain rises, and the play’s second half begins. The stage is covered in fake snow. The army storms forth, blasting their rifles. Bessie steps from her house’s front door and empties the fake snow out of her bodice, reigniting the laughter. Bessie shakes her head angrily at the audience, as if to say: “Stifle your mirth.” The crowd laughs even louder.
Now the villain from the enemy troops attempts to kidnap Bessie. He lifts her over his shoulder; this gives the audience a view of Bessie’s knickers. The rebel spy dashes onstage from the opposite side and performs a rescue. Bessie’s character thanks her savior by waving a kerchief, while he heads back into the fray.
When my cue arrives, I stumble forth to center stage, holding my heart as if critically wounded. I am still in full blackface and wearing my dying soldier’s getup. I also donned enormous snowshoes for tonight’s performance, which make my walking very awkward: the crowd finds this hilarious. Bessie watches me in bewilderment. To expire, I flail my arms like a drowning swimmer for as long as the audience will laugh, then I tip back onto my rump and close my eyes. I lie as still as possible, with my tongue hanging doglike out of my blackface. Although I’m fictionally dead, my chest keeps rising and falling from the respiration that all this effort required.
Instead of coming down to hold me in her arms, so that we can perform our scene where I briefly resurrect to say I love you and then return to death for good, Bessie steps to the front of the stage and addresses the audience directly, with tears brimming her eyes:
“Why are you laughing!” she cries out. “This is no comedy.”
The crowd now laughs harder.
Bessie continues: “You can all go to blazes! You don’t know a good show when you see one!”
The curtain closes behind her while she is speaking. Not knowing this, when she turns to flee, she runs right into the drapery and collapses: her hoop skirt billows over her head, divulging for the umpteenth time a generous view of her bloomers. To get backstage, Bessie wriggles under the curtain like a serpent.
Once behind the drape, she climbs to her feet and stomps straight in my direction, shouting: “You! You made a fool out of me!” She slaps my face, and my makeup leaves her palm black. She then runs to the exit.
It is raining outside. After bursting carelessly out into the back lot, Bessie stands there sobbing in the downpour.
I dash out after her and wrap my arms around her, begging forgiveness. I admit all my wrongdoings and confess the shame that I felt while acting like such a cad. At first, she is resistant to my pleas; but then her resolve starts to soften, and eventually she succumbs to my persistence.
Now looking up into my eyes, Bessie steps back in shock: for, as we have been in the pouring rain all this time, my blackface makeup has completely washed away. She gasps and exclaims: “You’re Tertius Radnitsky!”
This accusation takes me off guard: I stare open-mouthed and dumbstruck for a moment. Then, placing my hand against my cheek, I remove it and gawk at my fingers, making the inference that the color of my skin was soluble.
Bessie’s indignation flares back up intensely. She bolts off into the rain shouting something unintelligible. Now a few stagehands from the theater come out and fetch me, saying: “Come back, Mister Ray – we’re holding the curtain for you!”
Epilogue
Much time has passed since the above ordeal. Bessie’s Family Acting Troupe abandoned Broadway and returned to the road. Their tent is now set up again with the sign that says “Actor Wanted: No Experience Needed.” Several candidates are standing in a row, waiting to audition.
Bessie steps out of the tent flap and stands before the first man in the row. “Say ‘I love you’,” she instructs.
The man says: “I love you.”
Bessie shakes her head, and moves on to the next man. “You, try it.”
“I love you,” he says.
She shakes her head again. Without looking up, she moves to the next auditioner: “Go ahead,” she mutters.
I myself happen to be this third man in the row. I reach forth and touch her chin, and gently tilt Bessie’s face up, so that she meets my eyes; then I declare the line with heartfelt sincerity.
Bessie is overcome with emotion. She shakes her head and steps back and tosses up her hands and tells everyone to go home. The row of auditioners disperses; they all leave – only I remain. When Bessie looks over and sees me waiting hopefully, she frowns and begins to head back toward the tent flap.
In desperation, I grab the huge, heavy sledgehammer that happens to be on the ground, and I start to pound in one of the tent stakes. Out of the corner of my eye, I pay attention to when Bessie looks my way; at that moment, with my free arm holding the stake, I swing the sledgehammer and give the appearance of hitting my own hand. I then fall down and writhe on the ground, clutching my hand and feigning great pain. Bessie sees this and rushes over to help: she takes my hand in hers, and hugs it to her chest and strokes my fingers. I now grow calm, as though this alleviated my agony.
Relieved that I am not seriously injured, Bessie pulls me after her into the tent. When the flap closes behind us, the audience can only see our footwear. Our shoes turn toe-to-toe, indicating that we are facing each other. Bessie’s heels then rise, signifying that she is standing on her tiptoes to kiss me. While holding this pose, Bessie’s arm comes out of the entry flap, grabs the “Help Wanted” sign from the place where it is hanging, and brings it into the tent. This means that Bessie has rehired me into her Acting Troupe and that she and I shall be lovers forever after.
Source: The Matinee Idol (1928)
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