most beautiful girl and knew a lot about men too, but here she seemed like what she was, a girl. Well, that wasn't precisely the right contrast. Simone had refined what she knew into an art except that one didn't know where the artist or woman was separate, or were they? One couldn't expect Lucy to be an artist yet. After all, Simone was so much older. She suddenly felt dizzy and mixed up. Probably the humid scents of the full American beauties, spidery chrysanthemums, sprays and sprays of orchids, to say nothing of Lucy's overpowering Mitsuoko, on top of all that champagne, confused everything.
The accompanist entered, followed by a waiter bearing glasses and champagne. "Pardon for the delay. When I see Monsieur Figente I return for another bottle," Jacques burbled with forced gaiety, his teeth with several black gaps going up and down like piano keys. Vermillion had evaded him in the hall and now, looking anxiously at Simone, he observed the stage of the drug she had taken in his absence.
"Monsieur Pierce is a harpist extraordinaire. He has such ideas for me as you never dream of," she said captiously because she suspected him of having been discussing her with Vermillion.
During the tinkle, pop, and fizz exchanges Lucy reflected on the phenomenon that was Simone, cataloging and weighing in the mirror the physical attributes in contrast to her own that made the singer fascinating. The loosely curled coxcomb lightly washed with henna so that the real light-brown hair shone through was unusual in these days when everyone had a neat marcel or slicked boyish bob. The silver and green shining makeup that probably could be bought only in Paris and the gold-flecked teal-colored eyes gave her pale skin a clear greenish cast, especially next to the heavy burnt-orange taffeta. She not only was an artist, though why was a mystery because all she did was stand still and sing, but she looked the way a toast of the town should. Of course she was older than she appeared on the stage, you could tell by the way her makeup was settling in lines on her face, but she looked like a woman who knew all about love. Maybe that made her an artist. She must have been beautiful when she was younger, with that delicate thin nose, tiny close ears, and that pointed face. Of course she was old for Vermillion, though she was still beautiful in an exotic way and maybe, because he was an artist too, he liked older, more interesting women. It was hard to talk with people who knew a lot, but it wasn't polite just to stare and say nothing about her performance.
