Lucy mistrusted Gus the pianist, the floor, but not herself. The momentary contraction of her stomach was gone. The way the women looked at her filled her with confidence.
She stood well turned out on her left leg, right leg pointing straight out in front, arms out at the sides, elbows a little too sharp but fingers properly crooked. Head high, chest up. Flexing of silk buttocks angled the tarlatan up, like a bird's tail. She ran five steps out onto the floor into fifth position, and bent her knees in preparation for the music which did not come. For a fearful instant she rolled up on her toes in silence but Gus was there to meet her when she arrived. With all the diligence at her command, twittering feet and balancing arms, she began the mechanical "Doll Dance."
"And don't forget to smile," Miss Klemper had warned.
Woodshaving curls bobbed up and down tickling the edges of her pink ears. Eyes, too, played a part. She held them open, doll wide. Stiff mascaraed lashes, like insect antennae, sensed the focus of all kinds of eyes.
There was no responding grip from the treacherous cornmeal slippery floor for the satin box toes and, without warning, she slipped. A brief slip. A malicious laugh broke the web of attention. She guessed to herself it was funny all right when someone slipped, and kept on smiling. It would be easy to slip again on this floor. Catching the next beat she went into high kicks right and left.
The drummer grinned at her aplomb, took up his sticks and began to work them, as the saxophonist, smiling too, drew in his lips and began to blow. Communion of performers against their ever-hostile protagonist, the audience, which always must be conquered.
Patronizing indulgence of the women died, their jaws tightened as the men's mouths loosened—eyes licking as they watched what had at first appeared child become Circe.
It felt good to kick, shimmy, and turn. Who would have thought that old "Doll Dance" to have so much rhythm? I wonder what Miss Klemper would say, Lucy thought, almost giggling.
Cat's eyes were watching her.
Why that's Opal—I thought it sounded like her laugh. I won't look at her. The girls at the Empire sometimes wink like this.
Freddie winked back.
Opal yawned and glanced about with a bored expression to convey it was all so tiresome. The nerve of that—floozie, dressing up as if a famous star, and that makeup. Showing off, always showing
