Part 37 (1/2)
”Western circuit--Western circuit!”
The Putney Building reared nineteen white-tile, marble-facaded stories straight up from the most expensive heart-acreage of Broadway and stemmed the Thespian tide that rushed in from every side and surged against its booking-offices.
A bronze elevator the size of a Harlem bedroom and crowded to its capacity shot them upward with the breath-taking flight of a frightened bird.
Ysobel crowded into a corner and nudged a youthful-looking old man in a blue-and-white striped collar and too much bay-rum.
”h.e.l.lo, Eddie!”
”h.e.l.lo yourself, Ysobel.”
”How are yuh?”
”Ain't braggin'.”
”What you doin', Eddie?”
”Rehearsin' with a act.”
”Musical?”
”No.”
”Specialty?”
”No--er--high-cla.s.s burlesque--two a day.”
”Oh!”
”You workin', Ysobel?”
”Got three things danglin'--ain't signed yet. Just came in last week.”
”S'long.”
”S'long. Come on, Della. Watch out there, Eddie--a fellow burnt a hole in my friend lookin' at her like that once.”
A t.i.tter ran around the elevator, and the old young man writhed in his blue-striped collar.
”'Sh-h-h, Ysobel; everybody heard you.” A rosily opalescent hue swam high into Della's face as she stepped out of the elevator, and dyed her neck.
”I should worry! I was never out with him in a show in my life that he didn't ogle a hole in every queen he seen. Out in Spokane onct he--”
”Western circuit--Western circuit--”
They hurried down a curving, white-tile corridor, rows of doors with eye-like gla.s.s panes were lined up on each side, and the tick-tack of typewriters penetrating. Della's breath came heavier and faster, and a layer of vivid pink showed through the artificial red.
”You wait out here a minute, Della. I wanna step in here, at the Bijou, and see if Louis Rafalsky is doin' anything this morning. Then we'll shoot up to the Empire--”
”Sure--I--I'll wait, Ysobel.”