Chapter 19
THE GIRL IN THE GILDED CAGE
By June and what with sticky heat Lucy's head felt addled with the past few months of art talk at Ilona's and Figente's. Occasional but interminable monologues by Vermillion whom Figente delighted in egging on baffled her. Even when Vermillion talked to her she could not tell whether he was thinking of her or maybe in the back of that mysterious head of Simone. Figente was always around, never leaving the room once. Ilona's talk while impressive seemed like Woolworth jewelry next to what you heard at Figente's. Maybe it was those dancers around her who anyone could see would never get anywhere. Not professional. Maybe art wasn't professional. It was easier and more fun fooling around with the chorus boys. Stage-door Johnnies were all young or old Carlys.
"Hey there, Claudel's boy!" the director at a brush-up rehearsal yelled, peering into the dark of the orchestra floor.
Lucy gave Gentleman-of-the-Chorus Tom a push from her. "Hurry up, he's mad."
She slid into her seat in the corner of the last row and put her ballet-slippered feet on the red seat ahead. Rehearsals were fun and chorus boys were cute. They could be played with when you felt like it and never minded being called Claudel's boy when one was missing from the lineup: it was a company joke. These days reminded her of when she petted in Denver except now she did the inviting and could buy her own strawberry sodas. All the boys were different yet alike, because every one of them wanted to be in show business, be admired physically, just like girls do. Some were going to dramatic school to learn to act, yet they knew how to act with other men, or girls. Some were learning taps from Johnny Boyle or at Ned Wayburn's.
Ilona had been furious when she'd gotten Kirby a job in the chorus, but my goodness, he needed it. Ilona says he is prostituting his art
