multiple cobalt Byzantine eyes stared back at him, and all else was a distant chiffon night sky with myriad sequin galaxies.
An ectoplasmic waft of envy frosted the beads and spangles of each sheer gown as the smoldering figure stood remote, eyes half closed, listening to the seductive call for response from the piano.
My goodness, Lucy marveled, all that time to make an entrance before beginning! But seeing Vermillion absorbed, she did not voice the thought.
A stifled titter from a drunken woman unable to bear the suspense delayed for the fraction of a frowning second the first note which at last came, disarmingly thin and placed in the middle register of Simone's voice which descended from a French nasal high A to an unexpected low throaty F. She began with a simple song. With a magnetic timbre and the crystalline enunciation of her early coloratura days at the Opéra Comique, she narrated the naively understated double entendre thoughts of a young woman before a first extra-marital rendezvous. The song enraptured those who understood and puzzled a minority who did not and were familiar only with the stock French signals of Broadway, eye-rolling, winks, and oo la la lifting of a skirt. But the second song, an obvious and melodramatic Argentine tango, was vociferously received. Vermillion's tension lessened and he leaned back elated at her success. The first song was evidence of her undiminished magic as an artiste, the second of her showmanship. She was in her best form tonight, lie thought, watching her smile indulgently as to an audience of children before giving them as a reward "Sur Le Pont d'Avignon"—in which they joined her with resounding "comme ça's" carried along by her contagious simplicity. This, he knew, was a prelude to "Ma Douce Annette" for which she was celebrated. With an undefinable and complete change of mood she sang to a lover to release her hand so that she might continue alone down a road. A song of turbulent love exhausted, becalmed into friendship.
I hope she wasn't as nervous as I was for her, though I ought to know by now she never fails, Vermillion thought after the last mordant note died—and saw Lucy watching him.
"She's wonderful, isn't she?" His voice came with an effort.
"Yes, but I don't know what it is that makes her cast a spell because she doesn't seem to do much."
He's still in love with her, so that's that, she thought, seeing his pleasure at her being impressed.
Simone concluded with an ordinary music hall ditty "Viens, viens
