Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes (50 page)

Not only were my body and brain saturated with an overload of bevels, poses, marks, colored tape lines, and kick variations, but, just when I thought I couldn’t handle one more task, they’d send me out to do publicity events on my free time when all I really wanted to do was practice or sleep. Let me assure you that we new girls spent our precious time off, which wasn’t much, trying to absorb all the choreo we’d learned so far. People who didn’t want to be publicly chastised, like me, did their homework. We begged the veteran Rockettes (even offering to pay them) or joined up with other terrified newcomers to pool our resources and practice what we had learned that day. 

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When we moved into tech rehearsals at the theatre, Linda and her staff sat in the audience to watch and critique. We were all relieved when the rare sarcastic joke emanated from the “God mic.” This was the nickname for the microphone Linda used, because her deep, authoritative voice sounded like the Lord giving commands from on high. The fact that she had lightened up ever so slightly was a sign that the show was going well. We were adequately prepared once the show finally opened, and more than ready to entertain an audience.

Being a Christmas “Spectacular,” our show required a spectacular venue. The newly built Grand Palace did the job exquisitely. With its oversized wreaths, swags of green garland and red ribbon, and plenty of twinkly lights, the exterior of the Grand Palace was properly bedecked for the holidays, enticing people from the get-go. The interior was no less festive. Upon entering the theatre lobby, patrons were overtaken by the smell of sugar-coated almonds roasting. There were treats to satisfy all the senses, not to mention stands bulging with Rockette and
Radio City Christmas Spectacular
paraphernalia including Rockette dolls, teddy bears, mugs, ornaments, and snow globes.

The show itself also lived up to its name and was spectacular beyond my wildest dreams. From every aspect, it seemed larger than life: The theatre was big, the sets were big, the cast was big (fifty-three people in all including twenty Rockettes plus five sheep, three camels, two donkeys, one dog, and a horse), and the costumes were big (370 costumes and 258 hats, so said one newspaper). And, of course, the Rockettes were big, not only in name and history but in size; we were tall, leggy girls wearing high hats that made us look even taller. It was a really big show celebrating a really big holiday. We played to packed houses nearly every show.

The actual scenes were no less impressive. The show began with the gloriously merry opening to “We Need a Little Christmas” in which the singers, dancers, and two children were dressed in satin ball gowns and tuxedos as if at a fancy party. They danced with shiny presents of all sizes, including three gigantic Jack-in-the-Boxes, as tall as the ceiling, that popped open. A real live, fluffy, white puppy dog appeared out of one package for a surprise finish. The set was so festive, one cast member commented, “It looks like Christmas puked all over the stage!”

This cheerful and uplifting opening song segued into our wreath number, which was the Rockettes’ first appearance in the show. Dressed to impress, we wore our gorgeous “snowball” costumes—long-sleeved, white and silver high-cut leotards with tiny skirts trimmed in white marabou. The costume’s nickname came from the white marabou hat that looked like it was topped with a fuzzy snowball. Add in our big rhinestone earrings, and we were a sparkly winter wonderland on legs.

Each night we stood on our respective sides in the wings waiting for our entrance as the jovial celebration commenced on stage. I liked to get to stage a little early so I could be one of the first to choose a wreath, because they were all slightly different—some more poky than others or with handles not as comfortable. A good wreath made my job easier and lessened my chance of a mishap. My heart started beating faster as our entrance drew near. I took deep breaths to calm myself down. 

The Rockettes held our giant green, red, and gold sparkly wreaths encircling our pretty faces as we made our way onto stage. The first time we performed for a live audience was so wonderfully surprising, because four-thousand people started cheering and applauding when we made our entrance.
Whoa! I didn’t expect that!

Near the end of the number, we sang a cutesy excerpt from “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” Then the music slowed down and trumpets blared “da-da-da-da-da-da-da” as a lead-in to the kickline, which started out slowly as a teaser with waist-high snap-kicks out and in, and then built up tempo into the famous eye-high kicks. The crowd went absolutely berserk. We were good for goodness sake!

Next was a Christmas sing-along followed by the darling “Teddy Bear Nutcracker”—a shortened version of the classic Tchaikovsky
Nutcracker
ballet. It was unique in that it was performed entirely by men and women dressed in various furry bear costumes, except for the main character, Clara, a young girl who dreamed of dancing with teddy bears. Some bears danced in pointe shoes, which seemed impossible in those outfits, because all the bears had to wear bear heads like Disneyland characters. Russian bears did an extremely athletic routine including jump splits and that famous Russian dance move where they cross their arms in front and do fast kicks to the side while in a deep knee bend. Three of the little people played baby bears and did a little dance, which garnered a deserved “Awww!” from the audience for their cuteness. Some of the Rockettes performed as the Arabian bear, the Chinese panda bears, and others. As far as I was concerned, I had already done my animal duty earlier in my bovine career and was perfectly happy to be left out. 

Following the
Nutcracker
was the all-time favorite “Parade of the Wooden Soldiers.” It had been so difficult to perfect, but it was all worth it, because the audience applauded wildly for every single formation. Their enthusiastic response really energized our performances. They cheered like that for every appearance we made throughout the show, not just the “Soldier” number. Having the audience appreciate us was a thrill.

Ending the first act was the mini-version of Charles Dickens’s
A Christmas Carol
, about the transformation of grumpy, heartless, cheapskate Ebenezer Scrooge into a man of joy, gratitude, and giving, thanks to the persuasive visions of the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future. It’s one of my favorite stories, and our sets and costumes depicting Victorian England were spot on. We even featured a real horse pulling a carriage, ghosts flying in on cables over the audience, and a snow fall at the end. It was lovely! 

After intermission, we opened with “Santa’s Workshop”—a charming scene with Santa and Mrs. Claus, elves (Jiggle, Squiggle, Wiggle, Giggle, and Bruce), life-size dancing toys, and the Rockettes dressed as rag dolls. This was, perhaps, the most delightfully entertaining portion of the entire show. The set was a colorful toy factory with moving gears, talking reindeer, and singing and dancing flowers and Christmas trees. We made our surprise entrance from the back of the house by exiting the theatre from backstage, running outside in the cold and snow, and reentering through a side door, where we waited quietly behind a curtain for our entrance. Then we held hands and flopped down the aisles through the audience and onto the stage. We looked so cute and funny in our puffy dresses with ridiculous bright orange wigs, red circles on our cheeks, and thick black glasses. 

The number was charming, and just when the crowd could hardly get anymore excited, we spelled out “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” with our blocks, and they applauded even more loudly. Well, most nights that was what we spelled. One night I got an earful from Julie, because, unbeknownst to me, I had not gotten my block facing the right way, and we spelled “MERRY CHRISTTAS!” Oops.

In contrast to the light-hearted Santa silliness, the following section—“Carol of the Bells”—was a breathtaking, white, winter wonderland scene saluting the tradition of ringing the bells to honor in the Christmas holiday. The cast, dressed in white and silver, performed a gorgeous ballet, dramatically playing giant chimes, bells, and xylophones, while women in white fur coats rode in sleighs. It was magical. As “Chicks with Sticks,” the Rockettes performed their staccato version of “Jingle Bells.” The reveal of the hidden xylophone backpacks was a huge hit. 

For me, “Sticks” was all about the blasted stick-twirl (which I practiced so many times before the number you’d think I had obsessive-compulsive disorder) and the headpiece—essentially a five pound, two feet high, white and gold marching band type-hat with about three feet of furry white plumage on top, enough to coat a good-sized animal. It was like having a high-rise strapped to my head. The chin strap was all-important, as it had to be buckled at just the right tightness to keep the hat upright during the number. In addition, my hair had to be fixed just right (the exact same way every night with the bun in the perfect spot), so that my hat would fit properly on my head. If the chin strap started to stretch a bit, or I inadvertently buckled it too tightly or too loosely or my head was extra sweaty, the entire monstrosity would topple over exposing me in my wig cap.

The trickiest part was our bow at the end of the number. I learned the hard way that if I dropped my head a little too low, that fur ball would come tumbling down, especially once my forehead was sweaty and the vinyl of the hat got slippery. I learned to keep my chin tilted up so the weight of the hat wouldn’t give in to gravity and take it down. The kind folks in wardrobe put sticky, no-skid material on the inside rim of my hat to help keep it stuck to my head where it belonged. I think it was the same stuff I lined my shelves with in L.A. to prevent my dishes from sliding off in the event of an earthquake. Still, I was always wondering if I’d end up bareheaded and scrambling to grab my hat off the floor before being trampled by exiting Rockettes.

Chin straps were a problem in the soldier number, too. Worst of all was when the strap broke, and the unlucky soldier would have to do the entire number with a stiff neck, turning her head ever so gently, so as not to lose her hat completely. On occasion, hats also got knocked off during the soldier fall, but at least that was the end of the number.

Even the best performer looked like a doofus and caused unwanted distraction and disruption by losing her hat or wig. It was crucial that we fastened our hats and wigs so securely that a tsunami couldn’t knock it off. If we didn’t, we’d find ourselves on stage in our wig cap looking bald as a, well, bald person. And then we’d have to attempt to retrieve the fallen headpiece as quickly as possible, or it was bound to be run over like roadkill by other dancers, turn into a dangerous obstruction for the next group on stage (think slipping on a banana peel), or put another performer in the precarious position of having to kick it like an attempted field goal into the wings so as not to trip over it. If we had to wear that same wig or hat in a later number, we were screwed. Performers actually warned each other about impending headpiece danger as in, “Wig down stage left #8. Be careful!” Or they’d whisper to each other, “Can you kick that hat offstage?” “Can you pick that up on your exit?” Once that costume piece fell, every dancer was thinking, “How can we get that off stage?”

To test whether or not a hat or wig will stay on, a dancer should practice doing cartwheels, getting her head caught in a curtain (making sure the curtain rips, but the headpiece stays put), doing somersaults, and having her little brother tug at it. If it doesn’t pass the tests, she hasn’t attached it securely enough. At that point, she should grovel and beg wardrobe to put horsehair on her headpiece and then anchor that sucker into pin curls with a million hairpins, realizing that the elastic chin strap won’t do diddly-squat. Dancers got lazy and cocky, claiming their chin straps would save them. “I don’t need hairpins,” they’d boast. The next thing they knew, their hats were football fodder, and there was a big nasty note waiting on their spot from the stage manager saying, “PIN YOUR HAT!” A true professional may lose a limb if a tornado were to strike the theatre, but her hat would still be plastered to her head.

The finale of the entire show was our live rendition of the Nativity—a reverent ending befitting the true spirit of Christmas, which brought tears to the eyes and a glow to the heart. In rehearsal it seemed so dull, but with the ornate costumes, sets, lighting, video of the narration, and live animals, it was truly a spectacularly moving experience. “The Living Nativity” was my favorite number to perform, because I could relax and enjoy being on stage without having to worry about making a mistake. My only concern was watching where I stepped, thanks to the animals.

As the crowd of taxpayers going to pay their taxes, we traversed the stage along with pregnant Mary riding on a live donkey, which also happened to be pregnant in real life. We’d be lined up in the wings and hear of poop alerts from the people who were closest to the stage: “Donkey doo-doo #5 stage left. Pass it on,” someone would whisper. Then as we did our solemn march to Bethlehem, we had to sneakily glance down without the audience noticing in order to avoid treading in a fresh pile. Some of the taxpayers walked with their sheep, creating even more opportunities for poo on the shoe. 

After we made our faux trek to Bethlehem, we ran downstairs to change into our sparkly, colorful courtesan costumes. While we were changing clothes, there was a scene in which Mary, Joseph, and newborn baby Jesus (a fake baby nestled in a little hay-filled manger) sat serenely atop a small mountain with shepherds and their sheep admiring them from below. One night, one of the sheep decided he was sick and tired of being stationed at the bottom. He wanted to be on the very top of the mountain, so he took a hefty leap, dragging his poor shepherd on the leash behind him. Tug as he might, the shepherd could not control his stubborn, runaway sheep and had no choice but to hang on and follow him up. Wait a minute…aren’t sheep supposed to be the followers? This was one faux pas that even the crowd knew wasn’t supposed to be happening. Everyone in the cast and crowd howled hysterically. It wasn’t the only time the sheep got feisty, but it was the funniest.