Page 32 of The Harvey Girls

Twenty-Four

Billie had only been at El Tovar a week and a half, and Charlotte just shy of a month, when they saw their first celebrity. And it was not just any famous person.

“Oh, Lord!” Alva’s sour face suddenly lit up like a fireworks display. “It’s him!”

“Whom?” asked Charlotte. They were standing by the coffee urns as two men approached the reservation desk across the dining room.

Alva’s expression returned to its usual state of distaste for everyone and everything. “Where’ve you been living—under a rock on Jupiter?”

Billie came up beside them with a coffeepot in hand. “Is that…?”

“The Latin Lover!” breathed Alva. “I’m certain of it!”

Charlotte was more concerned about serving her guests than who the random—though rather good-looking—man might be. She turned quickly to see if a table of ladies quibbling over what to order had laid down their menus yet and nearly crashed into Nora.

“Jaysus, watch yourself!” hissed the head waitress. “Maybe if you’d had more than fifteen minutes of training, you’d have learned not to plow into people by now.”

“I apologize,” Charlotte said coolly.

Nora narrowed her eyes. “Meaning you think you’re in the right.”

Charlotte certainly did think she was in the right. Nora had collided with her just as much as she’d collided with Nora, and training had nothing to do with it. But the woman had an ear for derision, and Charlotte’s tone was doing her no favors.

“What? No!” Alva suddenly whined. “Why does she get all the good ones? I’ll bet he tips bags of money!”

Charlotte looked back across the room as the men were being seated at one of her own tables.

Still glaring at Charlotte, Nora said, “You’ll take the table, Alva. Important patrons go to the seasoned girls.”

“That’s not fair,” said Billie. “Charlotte’s just as good as—”

Nora’s face went wide with mock disbelief. “Did you miss the bit about my being the head girl with prerogative over who gets which tables?” Her eyes continued to bore into Billie. “And about who stays on coffee service until her hair goes gray?”

Billie tucked her chin and cast her gaze at the floor.

Nora turned to Alva and snapped, “You got what you wanted, now don’t dawdle.”

Alva practically skipped to the table.

When Nora went off to harass some other poor soul, Billie whispered, “So unfair. Alva’s the worst girl on the floor.”

“It’s fine, Billie,” said Charlotte. “I don’t even recognize the man.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Charlotte, that’s Rudolph Valentino.”

By the time Charlotte had taken the ladies’ orders (finally), and Billie had caffeinated half the room, Alva was scurrying back, her face ashen.

“I can’t do it. I can’t even look at him, he’s so beautiful.”

“Well, don’t look at him, then,” said Charlotte. “Look at his friend or cast your eyes into middle space and just listen to what he wants to eat.”

“I can’t!” squeaked Alva. “I think I may have had a teeny, tiny accident…”

Billie pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, but it came out as a weird snort. Nearby patrons looked up to see if someone was choking.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” muttered Charlotte, squinting in disgust. “He’s just a man.”

Alva shook her head. “He’s a god! No woman could look in those eyes and not—”

“Pee herself?” Billie snickered. She clamped her hand over her mouth and whirled to face the urns so no one would hear her snort again.

“I can’t go back there,” Alva whined. “Charlotte, you have to take the table.”

“After you begged for it? Absolutely not. Besides, Nora would have me shot at dawn.”

“Please, please ! I have to go change my drawers.” Alva scurried away before Charlotte could protest again.

Charlotte shook her head and turned to Billie. “What should I do?”

“Try to keep your drawers dry?” Billie erupted into another burst of giggles.

As Charlotte approached the table, she had a vague memory of a movie poster she’d seen. Mr. Valentino was the titular character in The Sheik , a film that had generated a worldwide, collective female swoon. Charlotte hadn’t seen it, of course, but girls at Wellesley had gabbled about it endlessly.

But as she came in close proximity to that face—the smooth, tan skin; the sultry brown eyes; the charming smile—she had a notion of what all the fuss was about. The man was a god. Or looked like one, anyway.

“Is everything all right?” Voice faintly scented with Italian, the Latin Lover’s words seemed edible. “The other girl, she is…”

“Everything is fine,” said Charlotte crisply, as her knees started to quake just a little. “Please allow me to take your order.”

When she returned from the table, Nora was waiting for her. “The bloody gall!” she hissed. “After I specifically—”

“Alva begged her to!” Billie was suddenly at Charlotte’s side. “She… she…” Billie started to chuckle. “She wet her—”

“Apron,” Charlotte interjected. “She got a spot on her apron and asked me to step in while she procured a new one.”

Nora narrowed her eyes. “If I find one word of this to be false, you’re both on the morning train.” She turned on her heel and left them.

Charlotte closed her eyes. “I should never have—”

“Go serve the sheik,” said Billie. “I’ll make sure Alva knows you didn’t tell Nora that she wet herself in the middle of the hotel dining room.”

That night they lay in their beds deeply relieved. Alva had been all too happy to corroborate the apron story.

“What did he look like up close?” Billie whispered into the darkness.

“To be perfectly honest…”

“Yes?”

“He was absolutely beautiful.”