Part 36 (1/2)
”Around the knees I mean, Ysobel. It's hard for me to walk.”
”If it was any looser I'd get a fit of the laughs like I did over that red serge. If it was any looser--for Gawd's sake, leave that neck open!
No, no; down like that! A strip of real, lily-white, garden-variety neck, and she wants to pin it shut!”
”I--I feel ashamed--I--I--kinda hate to leave it open.”
”Shades of Vyette! Leave that neck alone, can't you? After all my preachin' yesterday, look where I landed you. Nowheres!”
”Like that, Ysobel?”
”Take the pin out, there; center left like that. Say, girl, I wish you knew about this game what I've forgot.”
”Me, too, Ysobel.”
”Say, listen to her warblin' down there, will you? What's she practisin'
for, I wonder--a chaser act on a four-a-day circuit? Breathe in, girl, you may be a perfect thirty-six, but you'll never make a tape-measure see it your way.”
”Shall I--shall I tell 'em I got a voice, Ysobel? Me and my little sister used to sing in--”
Miss Du Prez glanced up over Della's shoulder and, by proxy of the mirror, their eyes met. The red of exertion was high in her face, and one corner of her mouth compressed over pins, so that her words leaked out as through the lips of a faun.
”Voice! You remind me of the fellow that went down to Bowling Green to bowl. They got as much room for voices in musical comedy as a magazine's got for anything besides the advertisin' pages.”
”My little sister's got--”
”Can you beat it? 'Voice,' she says. You put your voice in your ankles and waist-line, girl, and it'll get you further. And as for scales like our friend down-stairs, learn to keep the runners out of your silk stockings first. There, give it the Anna Held tilt--there--more--so!”
”Oh-h-h, Ysobel--oh-h-h!”
”Swell, and then some. Who you got to thank? Who steered you right?”
Like a pale-gold aura of moonlight spreading out from behind a black cloud sprang Della's hair against the drooping brim of her hat. She was like a tight-draped, firm-stayed Venus, lyric in every line, her limbs wrapped in an ephod of grace and a skirt that restricted her steps like anklets joined by a too short chain.
”Here, put them white gloves in your bag and save 'em for outside the office doors. Ready?”
”Oh, Ysobel, if my little sister Cottie could only see me now!”
”Don't forget the lines I learnt you last night--two years' experience on Western short circuit--spot-light work, and silent princ.i.p.al--thirty dollars.”
”Western short circuit--Western short circuit!”
”Dancing and first-row promenade specialty.”
”Dancing and first--”
”Say, you ain't unlearnt it already, have you?”
”No--no.”
Down four flights of narrow, unlit stairs with their gauzy laughter, lingering in black hall corners, and then out into a sunlit morning.