"But at night, you look sometimes the way you did in Tia Juana. You know, mother said then she thought you needed someone to mother you. She didn't have the nerve herself."
He placed an arm around Norah's shoulder. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be all right."
That night, Johnny Keeler quit the show. The lanky blond youth handed a two-weeks' notice to the stage manager.
Ken heard the news from Jean, who was gloating. "Di doesn't care," she said. But Diana, it was apparent, still cared. Between acts, she met her husband in the corridor just outside Ken's dressing-room.
"You've disgraced me," Ken heard Keeler say. "You're living with her now, not with me. I'm mad enough to walk out on you. I don't care if I ever work in a show again. I'm taking a train back to New York."
Diana had hardened. Her skin was now gray beneath rouge; her eyes were frequently glazed and cold.
"You're always drunk now, going around with those jennies. It's a wonder the show stays open with Gracey and his mob in it."
Ken, listening, did not move. He sat in his dressing-room, the door ajar. He heard Keeler's voice rise. "Can't you get mad? Don't you feel anything any more? Has she dried up your heart, too?"
She replied in a low tone. Ken could not catch her words. Her voice rose. He heard her say: "I hate you!" Keeler's voice broke. "I don't hate you," he said. Then footsteps.
