here in San Bernardino. You are a very wonderful dancer. You will go far. Have you had lunch?"
"No," said Ken.
"I know a charming little tea-room nearby; the host is a lovely fellow. Will you be my guest?"
Curious that he should have met an acquaintance of Pierre Fortand's the moment that Anita left him to his own devices! Zarah was, of course, Mexican. Ken decided that Zarah had seen him leave the theatre and had followed him to the park.
He liked Zarah, who had been everywhere … from the Faroe Islands to Zanzibar. He liked Bobby Glenn, the handsome platinum blond boy whose Pagan Tea Room seemed strangely incongruous, hiding as it did in the basement of a private house on a side street. Zarah's interest in him, he decided, was quite natural. In show business, as Anita had said, all men are brothers.
He told Anita about his lunch with Zarah later that day. "The old dog." She laughed. "Watch out for him." She was feeling much better, she said. But she would go to bed early—right after the show.
"Try Zarah tonight." She drew the corners of her lips down in a mocking grimace. "Make a date with him."
As they danced the waltz, he saw Zarah's eyes watching him from the wings.
"You are holding me too tight," whispered Anita. He swung about, she flew from his arms in her forever surprisingly bird-like flight. She returned to his arms. He danced close to her again, body arched into body. They began to spin, around, around and around in an intoxicating whirl. As they pivoted off-stage, he managed to brush
