Ziegfeld girl, toe dancer and expert gold-digger, eyed him coldly. Round-cheeked, wide-eyed Myra "Ga-ga" Malloy, baby-stared at him, then puckered her lips wryly because he ignored her. Ex-school mistress Louise Hayden sighed and thought he was just too good-looking. Garna Kendrick, high-cheeked, athletic, remarked that he was not an obvious nance; he might do in a dark port on a stormy night. The jet-black eyes and ebony hair of Luisa Pagano glistened as she said she didn't care what he was—he was lovable and she wanted to be loved by him.
Late one afternoon, Ken enjoyed a refreshing swim at Howard Vee's expense. The young producer took him to the Apollo Athletic Club opposite the park. They swam naked, snorted like young porpoises, raced to the steam room, lounged in billowing clouds of moist heat, were briskly massaged, relaxed, slept for half an hour, ate dinner and then returned to the theatre.
"I've been watching you," Howard said, as they left the club. "You're to be my real sensation. I'm proud I discovered you."
"I blush," Ken laughed.
"Take a bow." Howard grasped Ken's arm as they strode down Seventh Avenue toward the theatre, lungs expanded with cold pure air. "This is only a beginning. You are electric. Audiences will love you. Just wait and see."
Indeed, Ken felt electric vitality within his finely drawn body. As in a lightning flash, he now stood revealed, a figure of youth racing down the avenue toward Broadway, toward the theatre. He laughed, half aloud. He was tumultuously alive.
"Feel good?" asked Howard.
