Phantom lady Read Free Page B

out of joint at every step she took, and throwing little nosegays out to the women members of the audience from a flat basket she carried slung at her side.
    By the time she had run through two choruses of the thing, every woman in the first two or three rows was in possession of one of her floral tokens. With the notable exception of Henderson's companion. "She purposely held out on me, to get even for the hat," she whispered knowingly. And as a matter of fact, every time the hitching, heel-stamping figure on the stage had slowly worked her way past their particular vantage point, there had been an ominous flash, an almost electrical crackling, visible in her fuselike eves as they glided over that particular location.
    "Watch me call her on it," she remarked under her breath for his benefit. She clasped her hands together, just below her face, in vise formation.
    The hint was patently ignored.
    She extended them out before her,, at half arm's length, held them that way in solicitation.
    The eyes on the stage slitted for a minute, then resumed their natural contour, strayed elsewhere.
    Suddenly there was a distinct snap of the fingers from Henderson's companion. A crackling snap, sharp enough to top the music. The eyes rolled back again, glowered maniacally at the offender. Another flower came out and winged over, but still not to her.
    "I never know when I'm beaten," he heard her mutter doggedly. Before he knew what she meant, she had risen to her feet, stood there in her seat, smiling beatifically. passively claiming her due.
    For a moment there was a deadlock between the two. But the odds were too unequal. The performer, after all was said and done, was at the mercy of this individualistic spectator, for she had an illusion of sweetness and charm to maintain at all costs in the sight of the rest of the audience.

    The alteration in the stature of Henderson's seat mate also had an unforeseen result in another respect. As the hip-hiker slowly made the return trip, the spotlight, obediently following her and slanted low, cut across the head and shoulders of this lone vertical impediment, standing up on the orchestra floor. The result was that the similarity of the two hats was brought explosively to everyone's attention. A centripetal ripple of comment began to spread outward, as when a stone is dropped into heretofore still waters.
    The performer capitulated and capitulated fast, to put an end to this odious comparison. Up came a blackmail-extorted flower, out it went over the footlights in a graceful little curve. She covered up the omission by making a rueful little moue, as if to say, "Did I overlook you? Forgive me, I didn't meant to." Behind it, however, could be detected the subcutaneous pallor of a lethal tropical rage.
    Henderson's companion had deftly caught the token and subsided into her seat again with a gracious lip movement. Only he detected the wordage that actually emerged, "Thank you—you Latin louse!" He choked on something in his throat.
    The worsted performer slowly worked her way off into the wings with little spasmodic hitches, while the music died down like the clatter of train wheels receding into the distance.
    In the wings they glimpsed a momentary but highly revealing vignette, while the house was still rocking with applause. A pair of shirt-sleeved masculine arms, most likely the stage manager's, were bodily restraining the performer from rushing back onstage again. Obviously for some purpose over and above merely taking bows. Her hands, held down at her sides by his bear-hug embrace, were visibly clenched into fists and twitching with punitive intent. Then the stage blacked out and another number came on.
    At the final curtain, as they rose to go. he tossed his pro-

    gram into the discard, onto the seat he had just quitted.
    To his surprise she reached down for it, added it to her own, which she was retaining. "Just as a memento," she remarked.
    "I didn't think you were sentimental," he said,