"No, I can't imagine that. I think it's the other way around. Suicide for not being in love."
"You're crazy. Sometimes you give me the shivers. The trouble with you is every man who looks at you falls in love."
"Not every man."
"Name one."
"Figente."
They shrieked.
"What was Simone like?"
"It was a very interesting afternoon. I like her a lot. I learned something too."
"What?"
"Oh, things. I'll tell you some other time. She told me how she developed her style of singing. She said when she was young she used to sing that Annette folksong in a single high line. When she was older, and lost her voice, she realized what the words meant—it was as if the words talked to her, telling her things she knew and other things she didn't know until the music and words told her. Like the line 'Mon ami Pierre, laisse ma main'—that means 'My friend Pierre, let go my hand.'"
"I know, don't forget I had French in high school—"
"She knew then that friend meant lover from whom she longed to release herself. She said that movement of her hand means withdrawal, not only from a man but from the world and her hope of happiness. Why are you crying?"
"It's so beautiful. How much one would have to write to explain all that. I wish I'd been there."
"I thought it interesting too. Of course it isn't the sort of thing you can do in ballet, unless maybe with a partner. But I think the dance should be pure movement, without meaning, don't you?"
"I hope you're not going to let Ilona influence you. Take my word for it, she has misread a book she has on abstract painting. The abstract forms of painting aren't intended to be imitated by the human body."
"You might as well admit you aren't interested in dancing," said Lucy.
"I love to watch you dance."
Lucy was not flattered. "I'd like to do something more artistic too. I'm as far as I can get doing specialties. I'll never get a show all my own, like Marilyn Miller, unless I sing and act. People, critics, and managers are queer. If you are the première danseuse in a concert
