songs replete with not entirely symbolic sex imagery. Ken ordered a highball. A slender blond boy with the manner of a shy school girl came to their table.
"This is Ken Gracey," Howard said. "Meet Jean Darling."
"I'm so glad to see you," Jean Darling said. "It's been a long time since you'd paid us the honor of a visit, Howard."
"I've been terribly busy," Howard replied.
"I didn't know you'd been here before," Ken remarked.
"He hasn't been here for nearly a year," said the entertainer. He was handsome, his hair platinum, his eyes the amused, contemptuous eyes of the world-weary youth. For you, Howard, he said, "I'll do all your new songs. I've learned every one, every one. They're perfection. May I sing them?"
'Most certainly, Jean," Howard said.
Jean began to sing in a low, husky voice. He had visited "Sweeter Than Sweet." His imitation of Rosemary Rose was recognizably good.
"He's really a great mimic," Howard remarked. "He can do women better than most, although he's quite a man. Played football at Erasmus and won an amateur boxing tournament last year."
As Jean sang and Paul busied herself with her guests, Ken grew restless. He wanted to be alone with Howard, away from this nondescript room, the weak-mouthed Jean Darling, the repulsively fat Paul. Ken's memory returned to Hollywood, the Rendezvous and his chat with Buddy Nolan. Little round tables, quiet groups, men with men, women with women.
