One of the girls got fired last week for borrowing an evening dress from wardrobe."
Word had spread backstage that Lyle Bigelow was back from Palm Beach and showgirls found reasons for passing where he waited.
"Mother's Pussy is a sly one," Nel Cambridge said to Lilianne Westminster, as Lucy left with the biggest catch in New York.
In the black limousine Bigelow sat carefully apart from Lucy. Broadway never had sported a beauty like this in his time. Could she actually be as young as she looked and still have those eyes? Hard to resist pulling her right over, yet he wanted to laugh because of the overpowering Mitsuoko. Best go slow. Shame though he couldn't take her to supper alone instead of wasting time in a mob.
"Sure you're not too tired for a big crowd tonight?" he asked tentatively.
"Oh no." She shook her head positively and pulled at the folds of chiffon crossed over her breasts. "This thing is hot but I don't know how I'll ever get it on right again if I take it off because it's just my drape from the show."
He laughed at her frankness. Was it naivete, or a hint for an evening wrap?
"You call me Lyle so I can call you Lucy," he said.
They drove not up Fifth Avenue but almost to Washington Square, stopping at a large house with a red door and brass knocker. A Negro in a white nightgown, wide red sash and red flowerpot hat let them into a hall with gold walls. Shedding hat, stick, and chiffon scarf, they mounted lilac-velour stairs to where a twin of the door-opener opened shiny black doors and they were engulfed in a spangled choppy yellow and black sea of people shrugging, winding, and laughing to the latest jazz rhythm of "Margie-e-e"!
Oh boy! What a party this is, I can't wait to dance. I guess I'm just a jazz baby at heart, Lucy thought, excitedly wiggling her toes. But Lyle's firm hand turned her to face a little yellow lam£ butterball with a lace jabot and ruffled lace under wide cuffs who took her hand in his tiny fat ones as Lyle said, "Figente, this is Helen of Troy."
A thin short upturned nose had nostril slits, a thread line pulled down a baby mouth, and slowly heavy eyelids rose and two dark marbles bulged at her. She parted her lips to take in surplus wonders her eyes could not absorb. Butterball's skull was plastered with gold-dusted curls, a good idea for the stage. Rouge on those tallow cheeks and lips, irridescent purple on the lashless lids.
