Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes (49 page)

Soldiers fell over left and right. We practiced and practiced and practiced like troopers. Linda made it a point to examine each and every girl’s turns to make sure we were doing it properly. I hated being put on the spot and having to do it all by myself with every single person in the dead-silent room watching me. Being a novice, I relied heavily on prayers and a good bun squeeze to keep me from losing my balance. This show made me more religious.

The
big wheel
was the last, and most spectacular, formation before the end of the number. We started in a horizontal line running the length of the stage, shoulder to shoulder, just barely touching and certainly not overlapping. The stage left girls faced upstage and the stage right girls faced downstage. Everyone guided in to center. The two tallest girls in the center faced each other, eye to eye, breath to breath. The line then made a complete 360-degree revolve, looking like a big wheel spinning. The center-most girls took the most infinitesimal steps possible and the girls on the end worked their tails off taking the biggest straight-legged strides humanly possible in order to cover the distance in time. “To keep the line straight,” Linda instructed, “cast your eyes, without craning your neck, to the chest of the girl two spots down and try to stay in line with her. It is imperative that your line remains absolutely straight, or it will look wavy from the balcony seats.” 

The big wheel was the peak of the performance until, that is, we prepared for the grand finale of the number—the notorious
fall
. We finished the big wheel back in the horizontal line we started from and then turned stage left facing the back of the girl in front of us, our hands placed on the sides of her waist. One of the men, dressed as a soldier, wheeled out a cannon stage left, while another man pushed out a pillow stage right and placed it behind the last Rockette. The first man lit the cannon, which exploded with a fiery and smoky “bang,” supposedly hitting its target—the first Rockette soldier in line. That wasn’t quite enough force to do the trick, so the male soldier pretended to blow on the Rockette soldier to help knock her over. Slowly she fell backward from the imaginary impact, thereby knocking over the Rockettes behind her in a domino effect, the last one landing safely on the pillow. In theory, anyway. 

We spent a day or two just getting mentally prepared for this event. Even the creative staff were scared to make us do it. The anticipation and fear built over time. There were hushed whispers about the fall and what was going to happen. People took out second insurance policies. The heavens were bombarded with prayers for safe passage. 

Julie talked us through the process over and over until her voice was hoarse. “As soon as you see the girl two spots down starting to fall backwards, slide your hands (fingers closed, no thumbs sticking out) up the back of the girl in front of you and brace her back (keeping your elbows braced against your own waist as extra support) while she is catching the girl in front of her. As soon as the girl in front of you starts to fall, slide your hands under her armpits, lift and open up your elbows to the sides, go up on your heels, and let yourself fall backwards (remaining as straight as a board), still holding up the weight of the girls in front. When you absolutely can’t hold on any longer, roll to the outsides of your heels, let your legs slide down to the floor in a ‘V’ position, and lie back gently on the girl behind you.” 

The fear of the first fall in rehearsal was like Ann Boleyn walking to the guillotine in preparation to have her head severed. We talked and talked and talked about the fall. We went through the motions (“slide your hands up, through the armpits, open elbows, go up on heels”) until we were like robots. Every day we asked if we were going to do the fall and were relieved at getting to put it off as long as possible. 

Finally the day came when we were actually going to try it. It went something like this: The short girl in the very front rocked up on her heels. The next three or so girls kind of got the directions right. The following third of the line turned beet red grunting, swearing, and sweating, while trying to slowly and carefully stop the increasing momentum and hold up the line without being killed by anyone. The final half of the line was pretty much bowled over like pedestrians being rammed by a train at full speed. The last girl prayed she’d land on the pillow behind her for a tiny bit of cushion to stop the intense blow. 

It was a train wreck. A portion of the new girls ended up crying; some suffered twisted ankles or knees that were forcefully sat upon, then torqued by the girls in front of them. Our faces still damp with residual tears, Julie only made us practice once more before quitting for the day, but if we were frightened
before
trying it, we were scared to death
after
trying it. It was just as bad as or worse than I had imagined.

By this point, any prior effort one had put forth to make friends with the other Rockettes was diminished, as the fall created instant enemies. There were hushed, secret tete-a-tetes with other Rockettes and the dance captain about what girls in front or in back had done or had not done. Worst of all was getting a note of blame from the creative staff when we knew darn well that if the girl in front of us had done her job properly, we could have, too.

Wronged Rockettes filled with rage. “She didn’t hold her weight up. She just sat on me!” “It wasn’t my fault I fell on her knee. She dropped me!” “Julie, if the girls up front don’t learn to control the speed, by the time it gets back to us, we don’t have a chance!” We were quick to point out that “The girl in front of us ‘sat down!’” (She didn’t stay “pulled up” with a straight spine, thereby creating dead weight making it impossible for us to hold her up.) Or we argued that “The girl behind us didn’t brace us enough!” Or “She didn’t brace us in time to slow the momentum of the fall, and we got completely knocked over!” There was blame and finger pointing all over the place. Everyone was mad at each other. I wanted to wave the white flag, give up, and surrender.

The fall wasn’t the only cause of dissension; the
entire
soldier number was the perfect breeding ground for disharmony in the ranks. Everyone accused each other of being out of line, causing a wavy big wheel, making the spokes go too fast, or wrecking the fall. If we got a note that the big wheel was wavy, the entire troupe of Rockettes would search for the culprit whose shoulder was out of line. The number was absolutely a group effort; what one gal did affected everyone else, and no one wanted to be wrong.

*******

Our final Rockette number was a sharp, military version of “Jingle Bells” that was part of the “Carol of the Bells” sequence. Our costumes were tight, white and gold, high-cut leotards that revealed a lot of leg, of course, and extra, extra tall, marching band-type hats. We wore xylophones strapped to our backs like a backpack and held two sticks, one in each hand, with gold balls covering the top ends and rope handles attached to the bottom ends. Hence, we nicknamed the number “Chicks with Sticks” or “Sticks” for short.   

Every number had its fear factor, and this time it was the stick twirl-toss-catch. At one point, the tempo of the music sped up considerably, and we each had to grab the rope holding our right-hand stick so we could spin it to the music like a sideways helicopter blade. In a cowboy-rope-trick-lasso-flourish, we were to twirl one of our sticks over our heads and catch it—a nerve-wracking move. If we missed the catch, it was nearly impossible to grab hold of our stick again to finish the choreography. Our rope had to be just the perfect length, or we’d be left holding it, the stick dangling dangerously for the rest of the number. This posed a problem particularly when our arms were above our heads and our sticks were swinging within smack-you-in-the-face distance. In any case, it made you look idiotic and drew unwanted attention your way. To add to the excitement, sometimes the gold balls would come loose and fly like missiles into the audience. Or they’d bounce and roll around on stage waiting to trip an unsuspecting dancer. It was like dancing in a mine field.

The climax of the number was the surprise when we all lined up the length of the stage and turned to play “Jingle Bells” on the xylophone of the girl next to us. That was the first time we revealed the existence of the xylophones to the audience. Had we just been standing still, it would have been easy to play the xylophone. Heck, I’d done that back in music class in elementary school. Here, however, we had to play the song while doing leg poses and turns. The bars on the xylophone were numbered, and we memorized the number pattern as we played: 3 3 3, switch legs, 3 3 3, switch legs, 3 5 1 2 3, turn to face the other direction; 4 4 4 4 4 3 3 3 3 3 2 2 3 2 5…”  The switch denoted the bevel changes in our legs. It was tricky and much more challenging than the pat-your-head-while-rubbing-your-tummy trick.

All the Rockette numbers were brilliantly conceived and superbly choreographed, but the entire rehearsal process was grueling. The highly focused, intense work ethic included little time for joking around. After all, Linda and her assistants were under the gun with a measly few weeks to put the entire package together, neatly wrapped, and tied with a bow. Quickly teaching choreography for a show is one thing; making all your ladies look like mirror images is quite another. 

*******

Most of the time the Rockettes were sequestered in our own rehearsal room, so it was exciting to finally meet the rest of the cast—the singers, dancers, Santa, Mrs. Claus, children, and especially the “little people” (people with dwarfism or extremely short stature). I had never even seen one little person in person, so seeing an entire group of them was astonishing. I tried not to stare, but they were so interesting to watch. We had seven little people in the cast, all with different movement capabilities depending on the size of their limbs. While the Rockettes were hired for our abundance of height, they were hired for their lack of height. (It’s all good.) The little people played the roles of Santa’s elves, baby bears, and dancing snowmen. Their part in the show was the easiest by far, apparent in the way they were always light-hearted and laughing, unlike the high-anxiety Rockettes who bore the weight of the show on their shoulders. The little people had a great sense of humor in spite of, or maybe because of, seeing the world from such a low vantage point. They couldn’t even reach to put money in the soda pop vending machine, something I took for granted. While they were relatively small, they were certainly big fun.

Little people aside, there was some jealousy from the rest of the cast, because the Rockettes worked a six out of seven-hour rehearsal day (with an hour for lunch) and the rest of the cast worked a seven out of eight. Rockettes also were paid more, received special gifts, and attracted most of the publicity and attention. We were the famous ones—the box office draw. Nevertheless, I was actually a little envious of the singers, as they looked and sounded phenomenal. And while their standards of performance were just as high as the Rockettes, they didn’t have quite the pressure put on them that we did. 

The entire cast, except the little people, rehearsed and performed together for “The Living Nativity,” a scene that required a large number of people to sufficiently dramatize the Christmas story—the birth of Jesus Christ. It was amazing to me that such a commercial production still ended with such a religious finale, but it had been performed at Radio City since 1933 and the crowds kept coming. And they weren’t all Christians. Some people loved it more than any other part of the show, and others were bored, but it was a
Radio City Christmas Spectacular
mainstay nonetheless. Unlike the strenuous Rockette numbers, this number was as easy as a walk in the park with a few simple hand gestures. It was so simple, it seemed uninteresting at best. 

Basically, we enacted the main scenes leading up to the birth of Christ, which were narrated to music. People were assigned various roles: Jesus’s parents—Mary and Joseph, taxpayers, shepherds, the three kings, and their corresponding queens and royal courtesans. Each of the three kings, queens, and courts had their own color of costumes: There was the gold court, the red court, and the blue court. As a taxpayer and a gold courtesan, I was relieved not to have to think too much or work too hard.

Once we actually started performing the show, there would be live animals: a donkey, sheep, and even three camels! Several cast members were chosen to be shepherds holding a live sheep on a leash. Everyone dreaded being a sheep handler because the sheep could be feisty and buck or wander the set searching for grass to graze. Trying to get out of it, some people cleverly claimed to be allergic to sheep. Linda didn’t buy their bull, so they were forced to search for a slightly corrupt doctor willing to write a letter excusing them from their allergy-exacerbating responsibility. The camels came with their own professional handlers, so we didn’t have to deal with them.

In addition to “Nativity” and our Rockette numbers, some of the Rockettes were chosen to perform in non-Rockette capacities with other cast members in scenes such as the “Teddy Bear Nutcracker” and a mini-version of the Charles Dickens’s classic
A Christmas Carol
. Somehow, by the grace of God, I was the only Rockette not selected for an extra part. This was fine with me, as I was challenged enough by my Rockette duties. Perhaps Linda realized that and kept my show as simple as possible.

My first year as a Rockette was like birthing my first child. I knew it would probably be difficult, but I never dreamed I could withstand such pain. Drugs (ibuprofen and acetaminophen) helped a lot, but I still had to pop that baby out. Many of the new girls ended up crying (myself included), because the whole experience was so physically, mentally, and emotionally stressful, and we got so many notes (corrections) telling us what we had done wrong.