Minnie nodded again, and smiled forgivingly at Letcher. She was willing to sacrifice anything for a career.
While the girl next to her helped Minnie put on the make-up, Minnie wondered why she was in the movies. She certainly wasn't pretty or even young; twenty-eight if she was a day. But she had a nice wide reassuring smile, a pretty mouth, (now that the Cupid's bow was painted over her thin lips), and straightforward, sympathetic eyes. Her nose was long and pinched; she tried to cover a high forehead by loops of thin marcelled hair. When she spoke her voice was husky. She started to cough and hurried out of the dressing room into the lavatory. Her muffled coughing could be heard through the door.
"Looks as if the old bug's bit Eleanor, all right."
"What bug?"
"T. B."
"'What bug?' she asks, can you imagine! What d'you think it was, the kissing bug?"
The gale of laughter that followed left Minnie bewildered and resentful. She was using Eleanor's theatrical powder at the time, and she thought her a very nice girl.
"I'll bet Eleanor hasn't had a kiss since Beauregard threw her over," said Alicia Adams, "but what can you expect at her age?"
Alicia was seventeen, a silver blonde, with transparent skin, pink as a seashell. Her pouting mouth gave an immature expression to her small pointed face. Her eyes, large and heavy lidded, were her most noticeable feature. Dreamy eyes, they were called, but no dreams slumbered in them.
