masseuse in Seattle, as a waitress right here in Hollywood. Guess the trouble with me is I'm a good-time Jennie. Only thing that stops me now is poverty."
He noticed her cheap, flimsy dress, the square onyx ring on her finger, her spit-curl which fluttered in the electric fan's breeze.
"Olive and cream cheese sandwich," she ordered. "I need a few pounds here and there for my nude. I'm a sketch right now from not eating regular.
"Y'see, I cut out the rough stuff, kid, when I got cancelled last year. I'd taken it on the chin here and there, being a sap more often than not. A cluck who could hoof fell for little Nita's technique and paid for an education in dancing. The first year out, playing the sticks, was great. Then Gus walked out on me, and I teamed up with a dame. That finished me. I never could stand women. I'm a man's gal. So I began to hit the bottle in such places as Walla Walla and Devil's Gulch, or what have you. Now I'm living on a little insurance income. Do you think you wanta take a chance with me? Won't you be going off to New York or Europe with your old boy?"
Ken smiled. "That's washed up," he said.
"You're walking out on him?"
"He kicked me out—last night."
She said nothing for a long time. He lighted a cigarette.
"Forgive me for asking this question," Anita Rogers said, "but have you any money of your own? You know what you said last night about the valet filling your pockets."
"I have enough to last for a few weeks."
"Boy," she breathed. She kissed her finger tips, then traced the kiss on his lips. "I like you. You are regular.
