A Lucky Break
This short story placed #1 in its group for NYC Midnight’s first round of the Short Story Challenge 2024.
The story prompt was Historical Fiction / A Grand Opening / A Dishwasher 2,500 words or less. Enjoy!
The soapy water stung Evelyn’s cracked skin as she scrubbed yet another plate in the kitchen of New York City’s hottest jazz joint–Club Alabam, swearing that one day, dishwater would never touch her hands again. She imagined it as a well-choreographed dance routine to get herself through the long shift.
Grab a plate, dip it in soapy water, scrub, rinse, and repeat.
Through the kitchen door’s porthole window, Evelyn could see the servers scooping up dish after dish to bring her way as the Saturday night dinner service wrapped up.
Dip, scrub, rinse, repeat.
Saxophones, trumpets, drums, and a piano struck up a rhythm she could feel pulsing through the tiles. Her feet tapped in time to the raucous beat almost of their own accord. She sighed, glancing down at her embarrassingly out-of-date ankle-length skirt.
Couples were pairing up on the dance floor, their legs kicking and twisting wildly. The crowd undulated back and forth like a giant wave of glittering beads, shining skirts, and two-tone wingtips. Behind her, Evelyn heard a playful melody as her fellow dishwasher Louise entered the kitchen through a door concealed to look like a row of shelves with a crate of liquor. The glasses merrily clinked as if to accompany her tune.
Doo-ba-dee-bop, skiddly-bop-bop,scoo-ba-dee-doo, bop-a-dee-yeah!
Drinking may have been illegal–strictly speaking–but Club Alabam served such fine cocktails that even the police commissioner would stop by to indulge. When Louise spotted Evelyn gazing longingly at the dancefloor, she gave her friend a sympathetic look.
“Heads up, doll, we can’t get lost in our daydreams just yet. Our shift is barely half over.”
“Right,” Evelyn sighed, reluctantly returning her gaze to the growing pile of dishes before her and stuck her hands back in the scalding water.
Dip, scrub, rinse, repeat.
By the time the last patrons strolled out of Club Alabam, it was nearly three in the morning, and Evelyn gratefully removed her apron. The boys in the band were taking their time packing up, laughing, and chatting between long pulls on cigarettes. Evelyn stepped to the edge of the dance floor and marveled at all the scuffs along the parquet wood, envious of every shoe that got to leave its mark. She was about to move to the exit when Louise sashayed to her side, grabbed her elbow, and twirled her to the middle of the dancefloor.
“Come on, boys, it wouldn’t be a Saturday night without an encore,” she crooned. “Play us a little tune!”
Blush stained Evelyn's cheeks, but the band happily picked up another round of the Charleston. Evelyn had to pick up her skirt to keep up with Louise as they swayed and twisted across the room, a few other staff members joining in. For a moment, Evelyn closed her eyes, allowing herself to get lost in the music, to dream about a life where she could spend her nights dancing across a stage under bright lights. The music died away too soon, bringing Evelyn back to reality.
The girls strolled down Broadway while Louise filled Evelyn in about the drama at her women’s boarding house. Apparently, her roommate up and left without any notice to marry a bootlegger. Evelyn barely listened, lost among the shining marquees announcing the newest films and plays. Yellow cabs rubbled down the avenue, and loudly colored ads for Coca-Cola and Lucky Strike vied for her attention.
They parted ways at Times Square, where Evelyn would take the R train down to her East Village apartment. But as she approached the subway entrance, a flyer caught her eye.
Dancing Girls Wanted for Grand Opening of Broadway Extravaganza!
Cut the rug six days a week as a chorus girl in A Lucky Break!
Tryouts at New Amsterdam Theatre, Sunday, 4:00 p.m.
Accompanying the headline was a picture of a chic young woman with a chin-length bob in a bejeweled turban. Evelyn touched her own hair, plaited, and wound tightly in a bun. 4:00 p.m. Less than a day away. Not that you’d stand a chance anyway, that small but loud voice in her mind said. She snatched the flyer off the post in defiance and shoved it into her pocket.
Evelyn slowly turned the lock to her apartment, but the click made her wince as she edged inside. She kept the lights off as she shrugged off her coat and shoes, stealing down the hallway like a mouse trying to sneak past a cat. A deep snore rumbled to her right, and she held her breath. The moonlight drifting through the curtains illuminated her husband, Robert, passed out on the couch. A half-empty bottle of rum sat on the floor just beyond his outstretched fingers.
Evelyn hurried down the hall into their bedroom and shut the door before allowing herself to take a deep breath. She opened their small wardrobe, and from the dark, dusty corner, a pair of tights and a leotard mocked her– as if she needed another reminder that her life had been full of movement before she married Robert at 17. From the time she could walk, her mother had her in dance lessons, from ballroom to ballet and tap. It was dancing that had brought her to Robert. They met at a church social where he was the first to request her hand and stayed by her side the whole night. Resentment rose like bile in her throat. She pulled the clothes out and shook off the dust as the bedroom door swung open.
“Robert, you scared me,” she said, clutching her chest. Robert just stared at her, eyes bloodshot and unfocused.
“What are you doing with those?” he slurred, pointing with the rum bottle. “I told you to quit it with that dancing nonsense.”
Evelyn lifted her chin, “You promised me when we moved here I could be a dancer.” She remembered how romantic the notion felt nearly four years ago. Robert had just landed a new job as a bricklayer at a big construction firm, the salary more than enough for her to attend a dance academy.
“You know money is tight. How could you be so selfish?” The words stung her skin as much as the scalding dishwater.
“Yes, how selfish of me to work every night of the week while you drink all of our money away.” Despite the truth of her words, she regretted them immediately. Robert threw the bottle against the wall behind her head, glass shattering down on the floor. The protest had barely formed on her lips when Robert lunged for the clothes and ripped them apart. He turned and strode out of the room, his steps thundering down the hall. Evelyn heard the front door slam a moment later. No doubt he was going out to find more booze. Evelyn stared down at shards of glass now mixed in with her shredded dream.
The following afternoon, Evelyn and Louise entered a diner near the club for a quick bite before their shift. Louise brattled on about how the headmistress of her boarding house was losing her wig over having to fill her roommate's vacancy on such short notice. Evelyn tried to supply the necessary “uh huhs” and head nods of an interested conversation partner, but Louise caught on.
“Evie, what’s got you down?”
Evelyn considered feigning nonchalance but realized Louise was the only one she could tell who might actually care. She pulled the flyer for the casting call from her pocket, which had been weighing her down like a stone all day, and handed it to Louise.
Louise’s eyes grew brighter with each line she read. “Evie, this is amazing! Please tell me you’re going for it.”
“I can’t. We have work, remember?” She sighed and reached for the flyer, but Louise yanked it away.
“The club can survive one night without you. I can cover your shift.”
Evelyn’s eyes stung with gratitude, but she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I have nothing to wear anyway.”
Undeterred, the corners of Louise’s mouth quirked up. Evelyn raised an eyebrow as Louise threw some money onto the table, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the door.
“Come on, Herald Square is just around the corner, and we still have some time to kill.”
Louise pulled Evelyn through Macy’s like a buzzing bee, hoping from rack to rack, pulling out every ensemble she deemed fit for an aspiring dancer.
Fifteen minutes later, Evelyn stood in the dressing room and slipped into a silver, sleeveless dress that was loose and light, barely grazing her knees. She pulled on the white silk stockings and rolled them down to keep her knees exposed—finally, a cloche hat with a large rosette and red t-strap heels. Evelyn inhaled deeply and pulled back the curtain. As she stepped outside, Louise and the dressing room attendant gasped.
“Oh my lord,” said Louise with a hand over her heart.
“Truly stunning, miss!” said the attendant with a polite smile, who placed Evelyn on a small pedestal in front of a large, gold mirror.
The woman who greeted Evelyn’s reflection was nearly unrecognizable. She felt like she’d stepped into a suit of armor, shielding her from that nagging doubt. She turned to the attendant. “I’ll take it all.”
Evelyn left the department store with a considerably lighter wallet and only 20 minutes to spare until the casting call. They hurried up 7th Ave, jostling past harried locals and awestruck tourists. At 42nd Street, Louise squeezed her shoulder, “Break a leg, doll!” She continued north while Evelyn turned left, the theater's large, sparkling marquee a north star to guide her.
She arrived just as the doors opened, and a man in a sharp-looking suit waved a line of girls through. Evelyn joined the back of the queue and tried to calm her erratic heartbeat. The following 30 minutes moved by in a blur. Evelyn’s limbs felt like they were trying to push through wet sand as she approached a table in the lobby, gave her name, received a large numbered square to pin to her chest, and moved into the auditorium to wait her turn to be called on stage.
Evelyn marveled at the curved walls and domed ceiling, at the effervescent hues of pinks, lilacs, golds, and reds that covered every surface. Above her, two large balconies cantilevered from the back wall. Stage boxes lined the sidewalls, each with a uniquely ornate floral design. Massive murals lined the stage depicting personifications of Truth, Love, Death, Virtue, and Courage. Evelyn fixed her eyes on Courage and silently pleaded that she could find her own.
The room fell to a hush as a man in a black turtleneck appeared on stage. “Ladies!” he said boomingly, “I’m James Elliot, choreographer for A Lucky Break. I’ll take you through a quick routine you’ll perform for us.”
A small band in the orchestra pit started a quick, lively tune, and James launched himself into motion. Evelyn didn’t dare blink as she memorized every movement.
Step touch, step touch, twirl left, twirl right, high kick, high kick.
James moved gracefully, like a lion stalking across the Savanna, and finished his routine with a flare of jazz hands, earning a round of applause from the audience.
With a slight nod, he said, “Now, we’ll be judging not just how well you move but also how well you can stay in sync with the girls around you. We’ll call you ten at a time, so listen for your number. After everyone’s turn, the judges and I will pick 50 of you to move on to round two.”
Evelyn was 100, the very last number. Group after group was called forward, and the longer she waited, the more the fist around her stomach tightened, threatening to bring up her earlier meal.
“Ok, last group, step up!” boomed James from his seat beside two other men.
Evelyn stumbled on the first step to the stage but managed to stay upright as she and the other girls formed a line facing the judges. The stage lights were so bright she had to squint her eyes. This is a good thing, she reassured herself. If she couldn’t see their faces, she could focus on the steps. Evelyn fixed a smile on her cheeks as the band started to play.
Step touch, step touch– Evelyn followed the moves James outlined. Her muscles strained to kick her legs out as high as she could, but she tried to think of it like her dishwashing choreography–just a series of steps to follow. She chanced a sidelong glance and saw she was keeping up with others. Twirl left, twirl right–the music was swelling to a crescendo as sweat glistened her brows. On the last note, she threw her hands out with a flourish.
“I think I did quite well,” one woman with cherry-red lips bragged as the girls filed back into the lobby.
“Only half of us will move on to round two,” said a blond woman as she chewed on her nails.
Evelyn’s own thoughts swirled as she placed herself against a wall where she could watch a large clock. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, and that fist around her stomach continued to squeeze.
Finally, James returned to the lobby, holding a piece of paper. “If I call your number and name, please move over to my left.” He cleared his throat, “3 Dorothy Anderson, 8 Mildred Fisher, 11 Sylvia Carter,”
Squeals and hoots dotted the air from those who had been called. Evelyn tried to count how many spots were left, but she had an overwhelming urge to melt into the carpet.
“92 Doris Reynolds, and 100 Evelyn Lewis.”
Evelyn blinked and tried to clear the fog from her mind. A woman standing nearby gave the large number pinned to her chest a pointed glance, “100, that’s you!”
Four weeks later, Evelyn sat before her vanity backstage amid a flurry of beads, feathers, and glitter as she applied another coat of red lipstick and combed her bob. In front of her sat a large envelope containing divorce papers she intended to mail Robert right after the show. She never bothered to return to their apartment after her audition; instead, she took up the empty room in Louise’s apartment. Every time he tried to visit the boarding house, the hawkish headmistress shooed him away.
“Five minutes!” Called the stage director. It was the grand opening for A Lucky Break, and the air was charged with anticipation. Evelyn took up her spot in their opening formation, front and center.
The band began to play, the music swelling and filling every inch of space. The curtain rose as the spotlight shined on Evelyn, illuminating her new beginning.
