“I’m a little Prairie FlowerGrowing wilder every hour!No one here to care about me—I’m as wild as wild can be!”
“I’m a little Prairie FlowerGrowing wilder every hour!No one here to care about me—I’m as wild as wild can be!”
“I’m a little Prairie FlowerGrowing wilder every hour!No one here to care about me—I’m as wild as wild can be!”
“I’m a little Prairie Flower
Growing wilder every hour!
No one here to care about me—
I’m as wild as wild can be!”
Then she put one hand on the top of her head, and the other on her hip. Jigging up and down to the music ofthe piano, she began to rotate on her toes. The frayed voice continued—
“I’m a little patchwork quiltAll my edges trimmed in gilt!No one here to cuddle with me—I’m as cuddly as can be!”
“I’m a little patchwork quiltAll my edges trimmed in gilt!No one here to cuddle with me—I’m as cuddly as can be!”
“I’m a little patchwork quiltAll my edges trimmed in gilt!No one here to cuddle with me—I’m as cuddly as can be!”
“I’m a little patchwork quilt
All my edges trimmed in gilt!
No one here to cuddle with me—
I’m as cuddly as can be!”
There was loud, determined clapping, and Daisy ran off the floor, her face suffused with blushes.
“Perfectly grand, dear,” said one of the guests. “So much sweeter than thefirsttime you gave it.”
“Thatwon’t last,” said Beulah, looking at Daisy who had returned to the room and was holding someone’s hand, obviously searching the face of her friend for signs of approval. “It won’t last—I’ve been all through it.”
In the alcove, six musicians wearing short red skirts, white blouses, white silk stockings and red sandals, were holding their instruments in readiness. They were camping among themselves, though the one with the clarinet looked just a trifle uncomfortable. Drewena asked them to play a slow drag and they began “Mood Indigo,” the harpsichordist tapping her red sandal on the side of her chair, each musician looking oddly like his instrument. Drewena favored a tempered arrangement of popular music in the modern idiom. For a simplified expression of this type of instrumentation she had chosen the curious grouping of harpsichord, vibraphone, harp, bassoon, clarinet and drums. She felt that any brass, even muted,would destroy the exotic, passionate tenor of the music achieved by the combination of strings and reeds (the drums having been modulated by casings) and affected also by the arranger, who had found the predominant oriental theme from listening to Drewena herself at the piano.
Some of the dancers walked idly, in as slow a tempo as possible. Others, however, flew around the floor in a febrile reaction to the sometimes sweet, sometimes wild expression of the orchestra. Carrie’s popularity was noticeable. She flew from partner to partner. But her dancing was a little heavy, and her large, moist eyes followed Miriam.
Drewena held on to Miriam tightly, preferring to be led.
“Your arm is like a rock, Miriam,” she whispered.
This winter idyll was drenched in an arbor of delicate flowers that grew from the basketball scents of the dancers. A cloth seemed to cover Miriam’s eyes; but as she opened them, it was Drewena’s white-tinted hair that confused her. The soft waves and ringlets covered Miriam’s arm and the paths that had intrigued her so long were now undivided. Nevertheless, as she breathed of Drewena’s cheek, that which had been unrevealed before came swiftly in an explicable panic. She stopped in the middle of the floor. Her mouth was dry.
“I’d better prepare for my act,” she said quite suddenly.
Without a word Drewena broke from her, and Miriam followed her quick steps through the archway.
“How irresponsible you are to-night, my Miriam,” she breathed, a grave smile darkening her eyes. Then she called Tai.
The child ran into the powder room and bowed reverently before her.
“You will obey my friend for a trick,” she said. “It will not take long.” She placed her hand for a second on his shoulder before she left.
“It will be fun, Tai,” said Miriam, noting the child’s frightened look.
Tai bowed again.
“I shall do as you bid, mistress,” he whispered, his piquant face quite solemn.
Just then a footman entered with a good hemp rope. Miriam rapidly explained the routine of the act, asked the man if his shoulders were strong, gave a simple instruction to Tai, finishing just as the orchestra ceased. The second number was being announced as she returned to the drawing room.
Someone screamed very faintly and Docky looked at Beulah; for, radiant with smiles and dressed in long white tights, Sophie posed in the doorway, a wild-looking pigeon in her hand. She began to pivot slowly.
Docky raised her scented handkerchief to her nose.
“Pee-yoo!” she said softly. “Here comes the pigeon-woman! She’s gone pervert on us!”
“Yes,” agreed Beulah, and began to hum. “‘We’re camping to-night on the old campground.’”
A person near them who was dressed in a hoopskirt made in the shape of a bell, stood up, the bell chiming once, twice, before she adjusted her bodice.
“Your clapper rings indiscriminately,” said Beulah, in a mild tone.
“It is rusty from lack of use, my sweet,” replied Angela, who was an undertaker.
“It is atrophied,” said Docky. “But let’s watch the dance.”
Sophie, who had waited until all attention was centered upon her, now leaped from the doorway, flinging out the pigeon which was tied to her wrist by a string. Upon alighting, one of her thin legs bent under her, then she began to dance. She pirouetted and waved her flabby hips while the bird tried desperately to escape. Once it descended upon her head and lifted the transformation. The guests had a fleeting glimpse of a pink, bald dome. Occasionally Sophie’s joints cracked. The effect was macabre.
“Mercy!” said Beulah. “Ifmybones were in that condition, I’d have brought my little can of lubricating oil. She positively drowns out the orchestra!”
“‘Little’ can, did you say?” timidly questioned Daisy, who had rejoined the group.
Beulah did not turn her head. Only the bulges on her neck seemed to stiffen and bulge out further.
But Sophie was now in difficulty. The pigeon had become terrified and was jerking at the string. All pretense of dancing stopped and Sophie stood there, feebly waving her arms. Pitying her, Drewena stepped to her side, closed one hand gently around the panicky bird and slipped the noose from its leg. Out in the dim corridor she opened a window, touched her cheek to the bird’s soft, rumpled feathers and, with a sigh, tossed it into the darkness.
Miriam had returned to the powder room when Sophie came in, near to hysteria, weeping.
“Oh, heavens!” she cried, while the mascara streamed down her cheeks. “It stooled on me!” And she wiped the top of her bare head with a handkerchief.
“That’s nothing—a seagull once did the same for me,” said Miriam. “You can’t get it off that way. Why don’t you stick your head under the shower?”
“You’re insulting,” said Sophie, drying her eyes.
Miriam left the room in disgust.
Another number was on. Carrie, her fingers fan-shaped over her heart, was singing “Mother Macree” in a soft voice, high and clear. The strange tonal quality was like that of a contralto.
Drewena was accompanying her. And along the rows of gossips there was now complete silence. Miriam noticed that both Beulah and Docky were holding handkerchiefs to their eyes, and when the last words—“God keep you and bless you, Mother Macree” trailed off,Miriam watched a solid, tremulous emotion sweep the crowd. Only Kate, openly defiant to any sentiment, poured a drink down her throat and looked at the others with disdain.
This time, as they danced, Miriam sneaked the footman in through the back, and hoisted him to the long beam, one end of which lay in shadow. Once more, she whispered instructions to her assistant, then went for Tai. The music ceased and she could hear Drewena quieting the crowd.
Then Miriam entered the room. She did not walk with the air of one experienced in drag, but her stalking, feline movements seemed even more proper. Several paces behind her came Tai, a rope over one tiny shoulder, his eyes lowered. He still wore the golden tunic and it gleamed against his little body as he held out the rope to Miriam. She took it, coiling it sailor-fashion on the floor, then hurled one end to the ceiling where it held, in a rim of shadow. Immediately Tai grabbed it and climbed upward to the beam, apparently on a rope which was in no way supported. Only the magician could see the tensed form of the footman holding the slight weight of the child. Then Tai disappeared. Miriam lifted her arms and the rope fell in waves over her shoulders. She dropped it, turned to the crowd and solemnly picked up her train. Tai, smiling and bowing, ran forth from its folds, and held out his arms to Drewena.
The crowd was charmed; but Drewena, furious, caughtup the child and hurrying with him through the corridor, took him into his own room and laid him upon his own bed.
For a moment her hot cheek rested against the child who petted her, saying nothing. Then she swept into the powder room where she knew she would find Miriam. Still furious, she faced her friend.
“Miriam,” she cried, “that was a coarse trick.” Her eyes were narrowed and a drop of blood was welling out of the corner of her lip where she had bitten herself. “What made you do it?”
Miriam inhaled the smoke of her cigarette.
“We don’t think alike, Drewena,” she said reflectively at last. “There was nothing coarse in the act. It is a good trick.”
“Under your skirts, Miriam!” said Drewena, her deep blue eyes watching her friend intensely.
Miriam shrugged.
“You and I have a different attitude toward such things, I fear. I hope the child feels the way I do about it. He is quite innocent—as apparently am I.” Then for an instant Miriam’s eyes became colder than Drewena’s. “Of course, I cannot help, nor can I control your interpretations.” A dark, ugly vein showed vertically now in the center of Miriam’s forehead. Drewena’s white velvet gown seemed to turn blood-red before her.
Even in her own anger, Drewena was amazed. Surely these could not be the features of her friend! Shewatched Miriam as she turned and walked to the ottoman where she sat down, breathing heavily. A tremor passed through her body and she sat, looking straight ahead. Fascinated, Drewena saw the vein in Miriam’s forehead diminish at last and her features become natural again. A little frightened, she went over and put her hand on the shoulder of her friend.
“It’s just that I love both of you so much, Miriam,” she said. “I was jealous of you both. Please, forgive me.” Her hand was trembling. “And now,” she added, trying to compose herself, “I must announce Kate’s dance. Won’t you come out?—she dances divinely.”
“Later, Drewena,” Miriam said in a despondent voice. And when Drewena had gone, still looking disturbed, Miriam lay down on her back on the couch and stared at the ceiling with both eyes open wide. Her thoughts were jumbled and confused in this strange atmosphere. She had felt singular reactions. Desires that were new to her had come upon her without warning. Were her concepts changing? Or had they lain dormant, awaiting only the right moment to make her aware of another facet in her individuality?... And did this constitute a shame to God? Should the mind reject what the spirit had planted?... Was this not a possibility for every man, as well as the necessity for the cultivated group outside?... It was obscure to Miriam, lying there. Her mind was tired from these perplexing questions. Such problems as these charged without apparent reason. She stood up, held thesides of her head which now ached violently. Slowly she went to the doorway in time to hear Drewena announce Kate’s dance.
The crowd applauded vigorously and Miriam could feel again the mass excitement.
“As usual,” continued Drewena, “Kate has adapted a native dance-ritual to her own choreography. To-night she will interpret the fire dance of a tribe of Andean people.”
Drewena stepped back as Patsy came from the corridor with a smoldering, perfumed brazier which she placed upon the floor, now cleared for a space in the center. The music began, the muted drums became more prominent, and Kate walked from the shadows of the alcove to the brazier, standing quietly beside it, her eyes lifted upward, watching the smoke, her hands palm outward before her. There was a leather strap around her forehead and a leather wristlet above the left hand. On her upper arm was a metal band which had the dull gleam of copper.
The high knee movement as she circled the brazier showed the control and discipline of her deeply tanned legs, and the supple flexibility of a professional dancer. Her bare feet slapped stiffly against the wooden floor as she continued to circle the smoke which was now rising like a slender blue pillar. As she went round the coals, her body rotated while circling, so that at times she faced the low flames and at others had her back to them, herbody always arched, her circled head often coming close to the flickering brazier. A soft, faun-colored wrap that looked like chamois swung from Kate’s waist; but on one side it had been cut in from the hips where the fine webbing of her dark jockstrap covered her.
Among the excited watchers, none was more affected than Beulah. She kept wiping her mouth and whispering, “My God!” to Docky. Docky, however, for once, was too fascinated to reply.
Intoxicated by the wild music and by the incense which now pervaded the room, even more by the dance itself, Kate continued her steps with more abandon, her copper body whirling with such rapidity that she seemed to be weaving amid the smoke, making it catch her enthusiasm as it leaned toward her at every angle until it spiraled upward as though part of the dance. A bolo knife with a polished bone handle rested against the nearby wall and Kate leaped toward it, picked it up swiftly and fastened the looped thong around her wrist. Then as the song of the Firebird[2]grew wilder, she swung the heavy, shining blade as though cutting her way through vines and wet, tall grass, until the knife sang in the air and Kate’s slim, powerful body weaved from side to side in her savage desire to get once more to the flames. Her teeth were drawn back as though fighting with intangible yet formidable spirits, and her handsome face was set in a perfect mask of determinationto get to her own beckoning god—the crimson soul of the flame—life-giving and protecting. At last she reached the genie of the fire-bowl, her face, arms and belly streaming with sweat, the bolo knife held rigidly over her head and her left hand supporting the sinews of the wrist which held it.
This time, instead of circling the brazier, she leaped over it, held herself suspended one fraction of a second before she dropped lightly on the other side, wheeled instantly and repeated the floating movement until the blur of her body became one with the smoke. Suddenly, to the horror of the guests, there was a soft whisper, like fire through damp reeds, and the odor of burning hair mixed with the scent of the pitch. As the crowd held its breath sharply, Kate let out a fierce, sensuous shout of triumph, and whirled in eccentric half-turns into the shadows of the alcove....
There was no applause. The crowd was stunned by this amazing, painful exhibition into deep silence. Docky abstractedly removed and wiped her glass eye again, and Beulah dabbed futilely at her aging face. But their attention was now quickly drawn to the corner where Roberta had been sitting. She was standing in such an imperious manner that everyone turned toward her in astonishment. The broken rays from a chandelier nearby revealed her beautiful, tragic face as she said with the elegance of contempt, “And now—letmespeak!” Her resonate voice filled the deep silence, and she crossedthe floor to a place where she could face the crowd more fully.
Rather nervously, Drewena hurried to her and whispered something; but Roberta’s desperate expression stopped her from speaking further and she drew back, more than ever perplexed. At this, Miriam, watching the blue fox muff attentively, walked quietly to Roberta until her eyes said, “Stop!” which Miriam did, a few paces away.
Then, in level voice and without gesture, never taking her eyes from Miriam’s face, Roberta said—
There on the sheets, my lad,With small gold arms and hair tossed backMost carelessly,She bears the quality we lack.And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad.Here in my arms, my lad,With strong gold wrists and hair tossed backIn liberty,You bear the quality I lack.And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad.But in my glass, sweet lad,I see thy dreams, thy lady’s,And thy profligacy.Andknowthe quality you lack....Yet still I’m older, perhaps weary, and some sad.
There on the sheets, my lad,With small gold arms and hair tossed backMost carelessly,She bears the quality we lack.And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad.Here in my arms, my lad,With strong gold wrists and hair tossed backIn liberty,You bear the quality I lack.And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad.But in my glass, sweet lad,I see thy dreams, thy lady’s,And thy profligacy.Andknowthe quality you lack....Yet still I’m older, perhaps weary, and some sad.
There on the sheets, my lad,With small gold arms and hair tossed backMost carelessly,She bears the quality we lack.And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad.
There on the sheets, my lad,
With small gold arms and hair tossed back
Most carelessly,
She bears the quality we lack.
And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad.
Here in my arms, my lad,With strong gold wrists and hair tossed backIn liberty,You bear the quality I lack.And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad.
Here in my arms, my lad,
With strong gold wrists and hair tossed back
In liberty,
You bear the quality I lack.
And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad.
But in my glass, sweet lad,I see thy dreams, thy lady’s,And thy profligacy.Andknowthe quality you lack....Yet still I’m older, perhaps weary, and some sad.
But in my glass, sweet lad,
I see thy dreams, thy lady’s,
And thy profligacy.
Andknowthe quality you lack....
Yet still I’m older, perhaps weary, and some sad.
There was a buzz of disapproval as Roberta finished. “Well,” said Beulah, “we may havelivedin our time,but wenevercarried on likethat! In those pastel days,” and she tapped Docky’s arm with her fan, parting her lips with a snap, “wedidcarry on a bit—but this istoomuch! I feel like entering the philanthropies. They’re so much quieter.”
“Yes, yes,” said Docky, “I tried it once. But it’s too expensive, Beulah. And don’t expect, dear, too much of your personality. We’re getting wrinkles. Soon the lovelies won’tlookat us for less than a dollar! How your quarter has worked as long as it has, is beyond me!”
Roberta had returned to the solitude of her corner when there was a terrified screech from Patsy, and Rio, completely drunken, in servant’s skirts held high above his knees, lurched into the drawing room. He stood there just inside the doorway, swaying and looking around at the gathering.
“Whores!” he shouted stridently, raising one heavy brown arm in his anger. “You lousy, campy sons-of-bitches!” He forced his risqué Robin Hood hat down to his ears, his shoulders nearly popping out of his dress, and his great legs encased in red football stockings which were rolled just beneath his hairy knees. Then he saw Miriam looking at him without amusement as she leaned against the piano. Rio walked slowly to her, his arms hanging like lead. As he approached, Miriam did not stir and there was a contemptuous look upon her face. Rio moved his lips in an obscene gesture and pretended to whimper.
“Could a old ’ooman show ’ee the sights o’ Cooney Island? I’ll do no traffic with ’ee.”
Miriam smiled, for in his hatred Rio had mimicked his character with perfection. Even the crowd began to think it was a camp when suddenly, without warning, Rio struck Miriam who fell slowly to the floor. Drewena noticed that she looked like Tai, the way she was curled. With a low scream, Drewena ran swiftly from the room while Rio looked on with contempt. But his expression changed as he saw his friend still lying open-mouthed, a little absent, upon the floor, one slippered foot thrust out from the folds of the yellow dress.
Drewena now returned silently. She was carrying a long, gilded whip. She held it firmly in her delicate hands, the barbs away from her, ready to be snapped. As Rio bent over his friend, he started to kneel. But before his knee was completely bent, Drewena brought the thorned end of the gold scourge straight down across his shoulders, the faint swish modified by Rio’s cry of pain and surprise; for as the flesh was ripped from his back there was the sound of crushed bubbles. In his agony, he rushed at the white-gowned hostess, but Drewena, as though in a fantastic ballet, dodged him and pivoted so swiftly that when Rio passed, the wrench and throb of his sickening pain as he was struck again, brought forth a groan from everyone in the room. Drewena stood poised for the next thrust, and her expression brought Rio on once more, his great hands searchingfor her through his agony. Again she avoided him and turned to lay the hooked rods into his lacerated flesh. Rio, in all his bravery could stand no more and fell upon his face, his arms reaching out like claws. Cool and mindful of her action, Drewena struck him again until the blood formed in small pools by his side.
Roberta still stood silently in the shadow of her corner. Docky, who had been watching her, had seen with her one alert, keen eye, a single movement and a flash of steel as Roberta withdrew her hand from her muff, then returned it stoically when Rio fell.
This time, as Drewena lifted her arm, Miriam sat up. There was no movement, no shudder from the prone figure on the floor.
“Wait, Drew!” called Miriam. “Leave the man alone!”
Drewena looked at her incredulously.
“This beast knocked you down,” she said, “and without reason.”
She turned again to strike, but Miriam arose unsteadily and held Drewena’s arm.
Drewena dropped the whip.
“Do you, then, considerthismore important?” she asked nodding toward Rio who was still lying quietly, his blouse in shreds upon his blood-soaked back.
“He is my friend,” said Miriam. “We are going home.”
“Our rendezvous?” breathed Drewena.
“Will wait,” said Miriam.
Then, kneeling down by the stricken man whose face showed no expression as she turned it toward her, Miriam repeated, “It’s Martin, Rio, ... Martin ... we are going home.” Half lifting, half imploring, Martin got Rio to his feet, and as the man leaned heavily against him, they crossed the floor amid the horrified silence of the crowd.
Then “Boor!” ... “Common!” ... “Stiff!” ... came to Martin’s ears as he bore the weight of his friend onward to the doorway. At last, he could stand no more of it.
“You!” he cried, turning. “You! Leave us alone!—my friend and me!”
In the hall, Martin looked at Rio’s thrashed back.
“We’d better go to my room,” he said. “Call a cab for us, Patsy.” And he threw Deane’s coat over Rio.... As they left, they could hear the sound of music and dancing.
Carrie had gone into hysterics. Her high heel had caught in her train and ripped it open. She was rushing to the powder room when Drewena saw her. The hostess followed her guest through the groups of dancers and found Carrie on the ottoman, crying brokenly. Drewena closed and locked the door. Her lips were bitter—to have revealed herself and lost her caste over a graceless Polynesian was unbearable! She went through a hidden paneled doorway into Tai’s room and lightly kissed his fingers, listening to the sweet sound of hiseven breathing. Then opening the door into the corridor, she called the footman who brought Patsy to her at once.
“We are leaving, Patsy,” she said. “Arrange for an early departure. We will go to Paris. Cable Jacques to meet us.”
Patsy bowed.
“May I say ‘thank God,’ Madame? I speak reverently.”
Drewena laughed, and for a moment looked into Patsy’s faithful eyes.
“Arrange things quickly,” she repeated as the attendant left.
Again Drewena tiptoed past the sleeping, tired baby and entered the powder room, closing the panel behind her and ignoring the pounding on the door.
Carrie still cried, her tears dampening the golden pillows of the couch.
“Miriam left without asking me to dance,” she kept on sobbing.
Drewena picked her up bodily and making a cradle out of her own slender arms, held the unhappy girl. Singing a soft, melodic lullaby, she rocked Carrie, thinking, “It is time once more, for me to go. Ah, Martin!—indiscriminate man!—you see beauty only through your prostitution.... How I envy you!... How I ...” Drewena’s thick tears clung to her lashes and did not fall on Carrie who, now rocked asleep, held tightly to Drewena’s comforting breast.