The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [130]
“So has everyone else,” whispered Ziegfeld, noting the excited buzz of conversation as every head turned to watch their progress to their table.
“Caviar!” he called loudly. “We’re celebrating here.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Ziegfeld, sir.” An eager young man appeared at his side, notepad in hand. “I’m Dan James from the Daily Star. I couldn’t help noticing you and Madame Elise, and I assume this lovely young lady is Miss Verity? Her new mannequin?”
“Her ex-mannequin, my new star,” Ziegfeld said, beaming, “Tell your readers that, Mr. James, and tell them to come to see her. She’s sensational.”
“I sure will, Mr. Ziegfeld, sir, thank you.” He bowed to Verity and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, lovely lady.”
“Y’see,” Ziegfeld said, waving his arm expansively around the room, “all these guys have noticed you already. That’s Tim Wells from Variety in the booth by the window, and I’ll bet you ten bucks he’ll be here next, even though he is lunching with Sally Vine—she’s a Shubert showgirl. Not in the same league as you,” he added disparagingly. “You will be a star before you even leave this room, Verity. Your name will be in all the papers tomorrow.”
She sat quietly, taking in the scene, wondering if it was Madame Elise’s fabulous cream suit that had suddenly endowed her with this magical beauty they were all talking about: There was no doubt she felt lovely wearing it. Whatever it was, she could feel curious eyes on her as she sipped a glass of orange juice. This was what it would be like onstage, she thought, blushing modestly, only worse. Except maybe it didn’t feel so personal when you couldn’t see the people looking at you out there in the darkened auditorium.
She sighed with pleasure as the waiter served the chicken in a creamy asparagus sauce. Ziegfeld had ordered it for her; and it looked delicious.
“Take it away, away … at once,” Madame Elise commanded, waving her arms about agitatedly. “The girl has to think of her figure,” she snapped at Ziegfeld. Turning to the waiter, she ordered him to bring a fresh green salad and a single noisette of veal, no sauce.
“Oh, but …” Verity protested, disappointed, as the chicken disappeared. Surely after starving because she was poor, they didn’t expect her to starve now she was rich! “Can’t I at least save it for Azaylee?” she asked, blushing again. Now she had done it, now she would have to tell them who Azaylee was.
“Azaylee?” Ziegfeld looked interested. “That your roommate? If she’s as beautiful as you, send her around, we might find a job for her too.”
“Azaylee is my … my little sister,” she said quickly. “I’ve looked after her since our parents died. And she is beautiful—but she’s only five years old.”
They laughed and she laughed too, relieved. Azaylee had skipped from being her daughter to her sister in a single breath and suddenly all her problems were resolved. She was no longer the suspect “young widow” but a responsible elder sister. The relief at no longer having to play the young widow role was immense, and she ate her salad cheerfully, careful not to order dessert under Elise’s watchful eye. But as they left, a discreet parcel was handed to her by the waiter. Ziegfeld said gruffly, “Tell Azaylee ‘enjoy. ’”
“In gossamer,” Elise lectured her afterward, “there can be no extra pounds, not even ounces. I know some of those showgirls are famous for their curves, but they wobble, my dear, and the new Vie Naturelle will not permit wobbles.
“Tomorrow we will begin to design your new wardrobe.” She waved her arms in her usual flamboyant gesture as the purple limousine took them back to Park Avenue. “We shall equip you from head to toe. Now we must discuss where you shall live, because of course you will need a new apartment, and I think I know exactly the place.”
“But, Madame,” she protested, “I can’t move into a new apartment, I have no money. I mean, I have only what I earn with you.”
“You forget,” Elise said, “I no longer pay you. Ziegfeld does—two hundred dollars. And I know of a nice little apartment