Notes on a Cowardly Lion by John Lahr Page B

Lahr:
    The chorus is both beautiful and energetic. Even a sober-faced young woman who is a good chorus girl “because she is so different” won applause from the enthusiastic Sunday crowd.
    These clippings are the only indication that someone shared his theatrical dreams. Nameless in these notices, she used many aliases. She may have been looking for the right stage name, or perhaps the right personality. Mercedes La Foy, Elizabeth La Fay, Mercedes del Pino. Her real name was Delpino.
    My father had seen her at rehearsals, but he was ashamed of his shabby clothes, fearful of his unattractiveness, and he did not dare speak to her. The first words that passed between them were in Philadelphia, at a candy store across from the theater. He offered her some candy and began to talk about the show. As he talked, he kept looking down at his pants. He had a large hole on the side of his trousers.
    â€œOh, don’t worry about it, Bert,” she said, “I have those too.” She lifted up her long skirt and showed her stockings—they were ripped. She smiled at him. They laughed, and Lahr forgot his feelings of awkwardness.
    Their meetings had been infrequent, although Lahr thought of her often on the road. When he met Pearl in Portland for College Days (1916), Lahr asked about her. Pearl, who knew Mercedes from other kid acts, mentioned that she was going into a show called Katinka . It was not until the end of the summer that they met again in New York. Pearl recalls her. “She was the most beautiful Spanish woman you have ever seen in your life. Beautiful, beautiful, God …”
    She never spoke of her past, although Lahr talked about his family affectionately and puffed up his cheeks to imitate his father when he was in a rage. She spoke modestly about her dancing, which was the only thing that elicited her excitement. When she talked about it, her eyes, beautiful against the rich olive smoothness of her skin, would widen with intensity. Her hands, which usually lay placidly on her lap, became animated; and she continually raised them to smooth back her hair. He was amazed at how passionate she became about the theater. She was usually so quiet and unassuming, but when she spoke aboutherself and her work she took on a strange aggressiveness. It was unexpected. It made her mysterious.
    When Lahr went into The Best Show in Town Mercedes auditioned and got a job easily. She was very popular with the girls in the troupe. They called her “Babe” and flattered her. Although she was the most attractive of the girls, they did not look on her as a competitor. She showed little interest in men except for Lahr. She did not respond to the camaraderie of the cast, but she was friendly and never rude about the wisecracks they made. She took care of her body; her hair was always carefully combed and her lips painstakingly drawn. But in her clothes she showed a curious lack of imagination. The girls always had to remind her that her clothes did not match and that red and yellow—her favorite colors—did not go well together. It was as though she could concentrate only on one part of her body at a time, and could never see herself as a unity.
    At rehearsals Mercedes worked with the same ferocious energy in her dancing that Lahr put into his comedy. She practiced her new steps in the shadows of the large stage, working late on routines until her body responded without effort to the tempo of the music. (Her success had won her the unofficial title of “Miss Pep” from the performers and the press.) She was proud of her gracefulness. She knew how her legs tightened and relaxed when she beat out a rhythm on the stage. And when she was working well, she had the wonderful sensation of being apart from her legs and admiring them for their supple strength and smoothness. She always said she had beautiful legs. When she mentioned this in public people glanced down at them in amazement, because her face