“Now listen here, Frances Hadley from near Mamou, this is a legit establishment. You got other ideas, you can go on down to Norma’s place over on Burgundy Street.”
Fannie would later find out that Norma was a notorious madam who owned one of the brothels around the corner. She would also learn that legit businesses in the French Quarter in 1929 were few and far between. And this wasn’t one of them.
“Tell you what. I’ll pay you ten dollars a week, plus tips. You can bunk with one of the girls up on the third floor. No cavorting with the clientele, unless it’s your day off. Then I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do.” He chewed on the toothpick, waiting for an answer.
“What exactly I got to do for ten dollars a week?” Fannie asked.
“There’s a nightly show. The guys in the band come in and play a few rounds of jazz. Once they get the crowd going, the gals come out and just kind of pose in front of their props. See that there oyster shell?” He nodded toward a papier-maché prop in the corner.
Fannie glanced over. “Yes, sir.”
“The good-for-nothing girl that used it in her act just ran off to New York. Now it’s yours. Your stage name is Miss Pearl. All you got to do is swing your ass a little and toss that papier-maché pearl around like you’re in love with it. One of the other gals can show you how it’s done. Just keep the crowd happy. Keep them coming in. That’s all you got to do. Now go try this on, let me see if you got what it takes.” He tossed a satin brassiere, some panties, and a cape her way.
Fannie let the brassiere dangle from her finger, unsure of what she might be getting herself into.
“You change your mind, I got plenty of other gals that would jump at the chance for a paying job,” the man said.
“No, no,” Fannie said, brushing past him.
The man grabbed her arm. “My name’s Tony Becnel, by the way. I’m the manager. And one more thing.” He yanked the gold cross from her neck and handed it back to her. “Don’t let me catch you wearing that cross around here. It’ll scare off the customers.”
The next night, after much coaching, a new haircut, and a cosmetics lesson from Gertie the Gator Girl, who shared the room on the third floor, Fannie appeared as Miss Pearl the Oyster Girl. She was timid at first, just kind of sat in the oyster and stared back at the audience as the jazz band played above her on a platform and waiters meandered through the crowd pouring drinks from bottles of liquor stashed in their apron pockets. The audience booed.
The following night Fannie watched Gertie to get a few pointers: the way she swung her hips about and raised her arms high above her head with her hands limp at the wrists, the way she pranced around the alligator with her eyes closed and her head back, as if she were in a trance. Sitting under the canopy of the papier-maché oyster shell, Fannie closed her eyes and tried to mimic Gertie. She wasn’t very successful at first, but after a few days, instead of boos, she was getting whistles.
And after a few weeks, when customers started flocking in to see her act, Tony changed the sign out front to read “Home of Miss Pearl the Oyster Girl.” They were doing so well, the club hired a young cop named Peter Kennedy to watch the door. They were told his job was to make sure the girls weren’t hassled by the patrons, but his real mission was to tip off the management when federal agents were in their midst.
Fannie had planned on staying on at the Starlight only until she could find a proper job, perhaps as a waitress or a clerk. But she’d become close with Gertie, who’d persuaded her to stay, if only a bit longer. She was surprised how quickly she’d become accustomed to her new life in New Orleans. The job wasn’t so bad. In fact, she kind of liked all the attention she was getting with her Miss Pearl the Oyster Girl routine. For the first time in her life, she felt special. Besides, between the salary and the tips, she was making more money than she’d ever dreamed of.
One night a few weeks later, Fannie opened her eyes to find a dark-haired young man with a tanned face sitting quietly at a nearby table as she swayed to and fro inside the oyster shell. He smiled at her. She smiled back. The young man came over after she had finished her act.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Fannie shrugged. “Sure.”
“My name’s Norwood. Norwood Bell. I’m a river pilot,” he said proudly. “You about the prettiest gal I ever laid eyes on.”