Work Text:
Louise was still running on a vaudevillian’s clock that afternoon. June told her to come and meet her at twelve on the phone last night – catching Louise at six PM, when Louise had just woken up after flying into New York for a gig at 11 that morning. It was just a couple of hours before Louise was needed at the club and her head was a whirl of promises, champagne, routine and dance. In her haste and stress, it took Louise a few minutes to realize that her sister wanted a noontime meeting, not at nighttime one.
Gypsy, Louise – she felt like both on some days, and on others like a new creature that no one had ever seen before – had grown up enough to realize that a whole crew of people relied on her being ready, witty, and luscious-looking every evening. Unfortunately, she always ended up with the worst travel hangovers during her first day in town. And this was her first face-to-face encounter June after so many years. Good God.
Louise stood a little straighter, checked her makeup in the mirror of the Carnegie (Hotel, not Deli)’s bathroom. She was holding up pretty good; her suit was well-tailored, well cut, and classy – velveteen for the winter, in shades of emerald green. She dressed like a lady, projected an aura of class and calm. Giving them nothing at all, but promising the whole world.
Emerging with clean hands and a freshened face, she immediately spied her sister.
June hadn’t changed much, she’d just gotten taller. She was a cutie pie with an all-American face and a smile that could sail all the ships at sea back to port. Maybe she’d gotten a little broader, her face a little rounder, but she guessed that had to be expected when you had a couple of kids. Louise brushed off her skirt and straightened her hair before approaching her sister with a strong, confident stride.
“I’d know that face anywhere,” June said, and at the sound of her voice made Louise’s little heart kvell just a tiny bit. “Come here, let me look at you!” she requested. And then she found herself standing still under June’s circumspect examination. “Good, you’ve been eating. And probably drinking. I’ve heard things about those places where you work.”
“You sound like Herbie,” Louise said. It was Herbie who had made contact with her, after she’d become Gypsy Rose and become the toast of America’s back pages. She had to admit that she missed him.
“Better to sound like Herbie than mama,” June said, and they both shuddered.
“So how’s Tulsa?” Louise asked, and worried she’d fallen face-first into some terrible news.
“He’s all right,” said June, and she called over the waitress. “Turkey on rye, doll, no mayo, and a big thick chocolate milkshake. What do you want, Louise?”
To stop feeling like I’m in Oz, thought Louise, but she said “a big greek salad, light on the oil, water, and a chicken salad on wheat.”
The waitress went off to put their order in, and the sisters observed each other over syrup tureens and water glasses. “Tulsa’s fine. He’s just going crazy being stuck at home,” June said.
“I should’ve asked about his leg,” Louise said. Tulsa had a tumbling act on the side, appearing on TV shows while June was mainly on the radio these days. It was easier to do a couple of hours in the afternoon – she could be home with the kids before they came back from school, and it more than paid the bills. She was talking about Hollywood and screen tests, the last time Louise had gotten a letter from her sister.
“It’s still broken,” June said. “You asking won’t make the bones knit faster.” They snorted. “So how’s Otto?”
Louise choked. While June had a semi-conventional life, Louise had dated around. With powerful producers, like that wonderful Mike Todd. At the moment she was seeing Otto Preminger and wasn’t entirely sure if the demanding dictator of a director was going to be her future. If anything, she expected to have a little fun and a few laughs, and everything else would fall into place when she decided to settled down. “Sex ten, banter two.”
“Oh God,” June remarked. “If he’s that bad at it, dump him.”
“No one dumps Otto,” Louise pointed out. “You just let him drop diamonds on your plate, let him try to mold you into someone fresh and interesting, and when he lets you go for another pretty girl, you’re gracious, smiling and accepting.”
“Well, that sounds like the pits, and you deserve better than the pits.”
Louise didn’t tell her sister that not every woman was lucky enough to have a Tulsa drop into their lives just when they needed him. “I know how to get him to shut up,” Louise said. “And until then I’m gonna have a good time strapping diamonds around my neck.”
“Just as long as they don’t turn into a collar,” said June. Their food arrived, and Louise shut herself up by drinking and snacking.
“Have you heard from Mama?” June asked. The words froze Louise. She didn’t expect June to bring her up, but should have expected her to.
“Every other month. She wants a new penthouse in Amsterdam; she wants a suite at the Ritz. I tell her to put her request in to Otto and she hangs up on me,” said Louise.
“She doesn’t call me at all,” June said. “I might not be big enough for her yet. Or worse – she’s waiting for something terrible to happen to Tulsa, and then she’ll jump in.”
“If anything ever happens to Tulsa,” said Louise firmly, “You and those kids are moving in with me. Don’t ever go to mama if anything ever happens to him.” The part of Louise’s brain that kept trying to remind her that she didn’t like kids spoke up but she ruthlessly silenced it.
“Okay, Louise.” June sat up. “I have just one question….” Instead of asking for work – instead of demanding things from Louise, from Gypsy, the way so many people did before her, she leaned forward in her chair. “What’s Barbara Stanwyck really like?”
Louise laughed. It was so freeing – so good – to do so. She reached into her purse, grabbed a cigarette, and handed one to her sister. Then the story began.