VII
HALF the audience was Mexican; the orchestra squeaked through the overture with dismal monotony of tempo and old Sam Anderson was always late on cues—he acted as grip, props and curtain man—yet it was a great opening performance. The audience warmed quickly to the routines of Rogers and Gracey, applauded loudly when Ken let his legs fly high in his specialty. They received four curtain calls after the waltz.
"We pepped them up, the tamales, for their Bible lesson," Anita laughed as they dressed. "Boy, it sure feels good to work."
He was naked except for his strap and he rubbed his lean body with alcohol, then powdered himself.
"If you went on that way," Anita said, "you'd wow 'em all the way to Mexico City."
He had lost his shyness. The stage, sparkling lights, music and applause, was stimulating dry wine. He stepped into his street clothes, bubbling over with enthusiasm.
"Let's do something," he suggested.
"I'm for celebrating. Let's see—we each make one fifty profit on the day. I'll chip in and buy a bottle of gin with you."
"I'd rather not drink," he said.
"Not even a special Anita cocktail? Here—" she tossed him a dollar bill.
67
