Fans

“I don’t think she will.”

“They told her not to,” Tom whispered in reply, “but who knows.”

The two of us were standing — alongside other cast members — in the wings of the Citrus College Performing Arts Center. We’d already done our act, a twelve minute magic show, complete with a black, silk covered, refridgerator-box-size top hat from which a dozen dancing rabbits emerged and danced a jig.

All that remained was the finale.

“Field’s Follies” was the brainchild of John Fields, a long-time friend and our high school president. Reflecting his deep interest in old time entertainment — black and white movies, classic radio, traveling musical and dance troupes — it was meant to be a faithful replication of a 1920’s vaudeville show. John organized and emceed the two hour production that included a chorus line made up of the school’s cheerleaders, a Will Rogers impersonator, an Abbot and Costello/Martin and Lewis-style comedy act, and several musical/dance numbers.

I don’t remember when John and I first met. Probably junior high. What I do know is that he was singlehandedly responsible for me becoming a Laurel and Hardy fan. Of the more than one hundred films the pair made over their three decade partnership, John knew them all, and in detail. Mind you, not just production dates and shooting locations, but the funny bits — the timing, prattfalls, gestures and facial expressions — knowledge I watched him put to work in the planning and months of rehearsals for the show.

He did have help. A person I’d never heard of, but was told was a kind of local celebrity. Dressed in a leotard and baggy sweat shirt, this septuagenarian woman moved about the stage — making suggestions, demonstrating, and barking orders — with captivating ease and authority. Field’s Follies definately benefitted from her input and direction.

Who was this person standing just ahead of me, Tom and the other cast members, waiting to go on stage?

Sally Rand.

And she was about to perform the very act that made her famous. A routine for which she was arrested four times for public indecency at the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair.

You could have heard a pin drop when John finished introducing her show and exited stage left.

As the curtains opened, the dreamy, fluid arpeggios of Debussy’s Claire de Lune began. A few moments in, the darkness of the stage was pierced by a single spotlight, expanding bit-by-bit to reveal a single figure. Seated in a lunge position, only her leg and blonde, shoulder-length locks visible. The rest of her body was hidden behind two large fans — one held in each hand — made up of long, fluffy, baby-blue colored ostrich feathers.

From my position, I could see the faces of audience members seated in the first 7 rows or so. All eyes were fixed on their stage, their mouths either slighly ajar or covered with a hand, wondering, as Tom and I imagined, if she would.

Then she did. Her twinkling, silver-sequined bodysuit flitting across the deck, cutting a direct path to my feet.

The audience gasped — this was a high school show after all.

“She … she … she’s … ,” I stuttered, lowering my voice even further before adding, “she’s n a k e d.”

Tom said nothing. Instead, we both stared, the performance lasting another five or six minutes.

“Thank you, Darling,” she said when I offered the garment to her as she passed me by.

And that’s when I noticed she was not, in fact, naked. Rather, the entire act had been an illusion so masterful in execution it led everyone present to see something that literally had not happened — many of whom would passionately argue with anyone who suggested otherwise.

“You’re welcome, Ms. Rand,” I smiled, turning quickly to join the rest of the cast on stage for curtain call.