his lips upon her cheek. She appeared not to notice and a moment later they were again on-stage, acknowledging the applause. As the curtain fell, he turned. She was gone.
At the stage entrance, on the way to their dressing-room, he saw her. She was talking to a man. In the dim light he could not discern the man's features, but as he turned, he heard his own name.
Ed Feinberg, loose-lipped, heavy browed, a little bald spot at the crown of his broad flat head, appeared.
"Hello, Mr. Feinberg," said Ken.
"Come here, schlemiebl. Do you know? You was very good tonight—I think maybe I book you for about four solid weeks through the state. If you keep working very hard and I get good reports, maybe a week or two even in 'Frisco and maybe a club spot in L. A."
"That's great," Ken said, all smiles.
Anita's lips drooped. "Perfect," she said in an expressionless tone.
Her eyes faced Ken's. "I've gotta take a little run-out powder tonight, Kenneth. Mr. Feinberg and I, we got a little jabbering to do about terms and such things—"
"Yeh—I'd like you to chaperone us," said Feinberg, "but I only got a roadster and it ain't got no rumble seat."
"That's okay with me," Ken said. "I got sorta a date with … Zarah."
He returned to the hotel at half past two. He had had but one drink. Zarah had passed out and Bobby Glenn was putting him to bed when Ken left the Pagan Tea Room.
The night clerk unlocked the front door for him.
"Miss Rogers home?" Ken asked.
"Oh, yes, sir, since about one o'clock."
