Their gowns were cheap, their eyes lustreless. They regarded the customers contemptuously; their gayety was forced.
Anita was vivid compared to them. They usually ordered rye highballs which arrived in dark-colored glasses. She drank her whiskey straight, varying her draughts with brandy and tequila.
Kenneth was thinner. His skin stretched sharply over his cheek-bones. His legs seemed longer than ever, yet more graceful. The vaquero costume fitted him splendidly, the broad hat broadened his own fine features. The leather jacket clung to his form. His hair was tinged with auburn where Anita had touched it with henna. His eyes were clear.
Ken drank but little. Life itself was intoxicating. It swept him on, oblivious of time, unconscious of self, from late afternoon until dawn.
At first the house girls were attracted to him. They made simple, almost shy advances, revealing the hidden simplicity of their natures. They soon learned that he belonged to Anita. One of them, Lulu Renard, became deeply enamored of him. On a night when he drank more than usual, she managed to get him into her room. But Anita came after him. In fluent argot, Lulu accused Ken of being a maquereau. Anita laughed. Ken felt like crying. He went out, leaving the two women together. The next night Lulu came to him, took his hand and apologized.
Occasionally, business being dull, Anita would sit with Ken at a table. They would drink together. In some curious way a spark would fly from the woman to the man. Without a word being spoken, they would go upstairs together
