band went out with another woman. Not the one he ran away with."
"I wonder if I made a mistake not going to high school? I hate to think of all the things I don't know."
"But, dear, what would you want to know Latin for?"
"I guess I don't really but it does seem nice being able to open a book in any language and read it."
Dear Vida,
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I love to get your letters. I haven't written because I haven't any news except work. As you see, I am now in Boston, in a new show. I am the première danseuse which means practice all the time. I wasn't feeling well for a while but I'm fine now except when I'm tired. There are parties every night after the show. Harvard is here and you know how college boys are. One good thing is that they get champagne right off the boat. It's better for you than bathtub gin so don't you go to that speakeasy at Lauter Park! Write me again soon because I love to hear from you. I'm going to read those books rightaway.
P.S. Yes, skirts are halfway up.
In Figente's studio Lucy lay naked, half propped up on an olive velour couch hugging a cushion with her arms and legs. Since the night Lyle had taken her to Figente's almost ten months ago she and the sculptor had become friends. She had appeared unexpectedly one afternoon soon after the Yellow Ball, an invitation Figente recalled as not at all precise, and dependent upon his fixing a time convenient to himself. He was unaware that Lucy, unfamiliar with social amenities despite her reading of Emily Post, considered any invitation, no matter how vaguely murmured, definite.
Her innocence of his cool greeting and her breezy western "hello" to him and Hal, the latter still loafing in his pajamas, had diverted him. One could as well try to snub a kitten for entering uninvited. Her dress, he had noted approvingly, was well cut, its line and color alluringly accented, and without the blatant Broadway overtones of a Tessie Soler. At this second meeting he decided, as she chattered
