"Channeling Rita, Part Two"

While the stagehands cleared the cardboard car profiles, lampposts and buildings from Lisa’s Rita Moreno-as-Anita “West Side Story” tribute, I smoothed my dress, subconsciously recognizing the preparation that went into it.

None of the Rita-worthy dresses in Wardrobe fit my petite frame, so my mother and I found a homely old prom dress and glammed it up. It was blue (a color my mother noted that looked legendary on redheads), and had these heinous ruffled straps. We removed the straps, split the bodice in two and separated it from the skirt in the front. By pulling the bodice across to fit my body, it gained a draped effect; we formed a sweetheart design by molding the fabric to half a strapless bra. To hide some of the ‘flaws’, my mother added small ‘cuffs’ to the top of the cups. After crossing the skirt in the front at the slit and re-attaching it to the bodice, we used the excess material to make a flattened bow for the hip on the side of the slit. I didn’t want the slit to reach above my knee- it bothered my modesty- but my mother and logic won out to mid-thigh. After all the alterations were completed, my mother fastened the slit to knee-length with a strategically placed safety pin; “In case we change our minds?”, she’d suggested more than stated.

We’d originally bought white ready-to-dye satin gloves and attempted to dye them navy with disastrous results. We fortunately found a worn pair of mousquetaire gloves at a thrift store. The eyelets on the right glove gave too easily; my mother and her friend made a joke about ‘young ladies too eager to lend a hand’ that was lost on me at the time. We were forced to ‘ruin’ the convenience of the wrist buttons by stitching the seam closed, then we dyed them azure- the effect was a midnight blue that complemented the dress! My mother wanted me to wear black fencenets over nude colored hose, I thought the more opaque the better. Our compromise? Navy-colored dancer hose with fishnet designs, Cuban heels and mock seams. With all of this and my drama club makeup makeover, I was ready.

They cued me to the middle of the stage; I took one step and realized the safety pin was ‘too safe’, so I removed it. I made my way to the middle of the stage, turning my back to the audience. As they lowered the empty gold frame just behind me, I was struck by a curious thought. ‘I am fifteen-and-a-half…the same age Rita was during her first screen test…’. I giggled softly to myself as my tape- with my brother doing his best announcers voice over a Jose Escovedo Salsa groove- chronicled the mini-bio of Rita Hayworth. The volume started off normal, then boomed as the curtains were drawn and my brother announced “Ladies and GENTLE-men! Introducing M.J. Lauder as Rita Hayworth’s GILDA!”. The spotlight hit me and I was ‘framed’ from head to hip; smiling over one shoulder, hands on hips, in a starlet’s pose. I tossed my waved up hair to cue the raising of the frame, then did a semi-circle sashay in-time to the salsa drumbeat my brother- the wanna-be DJ- added to the beginning of the song. I popped my hip to one side and threw my arms above my head as the voice of ‘Gilda’ boomed:

“When Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked the lantern
In Chicago town
They say that started the fire
That burned Chicago down…”

I smiled, shimmied…strutted and (amazingly) reveled in the fantasy of being Rita-as-Gilda doing my one-glove striptease. With the spotlight shining in my eyes, I realized silhouettes of heads aren’t as intimidating as faces. My brother thought the ending of the song needed “something”, so he added a soft drum roll which precluded my bowing and running from the stage. I could barely register any of the congratulatory comments being made…my only thought was ‘Where is Mommy?’- I was no longer ‘Gilda’ but a girl again. My mother was already backstage making her way toward me. As she hugged me, carelessly smearing the glamorous makeup onto her jacket, she whispered “Princess, your Aunt Donna would have been so proud of you if she could have been here to see this.” My Aunt Donna, living in another state, had called to encourage me in her own way: “Don’t break-a-leg…break some HEARTS!” My lovely aunt who so effortlessly had channeled the image of Rita throughout her life- misunderstood for her flirtatiousness and lovely charm- would only be with us another three years.

Of a sort, this was a tribute to another woman also; to be a flawless ‘Gilda’ I’d channeled my Aunt Donna.

It has been repeated several times that Rita Hayworth referred to an unfulfilled desire to be more ‘domestic goddess’ than love goddess; as someone who shares her star sign, I am inclined to believe it. Most Librans are like ‘redheads with brown rinses’ when it comes to fitting in to domestic life.