Across the ages, their passionate yet dangerous bond has remained unbroken. She has known him by many names as Mairon the Admirable, Annatar the Lord of Gifts, as the sinister royal counselor in the last days of Númenor. As a demi-god in disguise, a...
It was a close call that night at the theater. The morality police came banging on the doors after the final act, looking for dubious behavior. Luckily, the theater owner didn't allow gin on the premises. He was taking enough of a risk with his chorus line.
The girls onstage walked the border between Vaudeville and racy Burlesque. Ivy loved their costumes. It showed too much leg with golden fringes that shimmered as they bounced and twirled to the Charleston. But they were scandalous by the standards of the older generation, except for the rich, old men occupying the front row, nervously twisting their wedding bands.
"I'm starving!" Myrtle had changed into a dark blue number that put her impressive cleavage on display. "Mr. Oil Baron is taking me to Delmonico's for a late supper then we're off to this party in the Hamptons. He has a couple friends with him..."
Clad in sleek black chiffon, Maryanne touched up her signature scarlet lips and fluffed her strawberry curls in the backstage dressing room. "What kind of friends?"
"Young ones. Don't worry. I know you have standards, Maier," Myrtle teased as she sauntered past. "You're such a sweet little farm girl, so wholesome."
"No. I just like my men with less wrinkles than you," Maryanne dryly stated.
"Hey! The Baron is not wrinkly! He is merely vintage."
"Like a fine wine?" Ivy emerged from behind the dressing screen. She smoothed her hands over the creamy tassels of her dress, a lend from Maryanne for the night. The drop waist was perfect for her slim, statuesque figure. "As long as I don't tower over my date, I'm up for anything. Well, except for someone deadly dull."
"If you didn't insist on those heels, you wouldn't have to worry about being taller than the men you go with." Myrtle pointed to her feet with her cigarette holder.
Ivy lifted her chin and perched her hands on her hips. "I don't dress to fit men's tastes. I dress to fit my own and I like the way these make my legs look."
Combing the flyaway strands in her black bob, Ivy hooked arms with the two other chorus girls as they strode out into the night. The Baron was waiting by the alley with his open air car. Myrtle slid into the front seat while Maryanne and Ivy got into the back with the two nervous young Texans who accompanied the Baron.
Ivy's date was tall enough, but a stick in the mud as she had feared. Still, he insisted on paying for everything and she had a full stomach for the first time that week as they left Delmonico's. Maryanne seemed to be having fun though.
"Well, Miss Ivy," her date droned as they drove through the night for the Hamptons. "You see, a Hereford steer is something mighty aggressive..."
"Mmhmm?" she feigned interest, perching her arm across the door and letting her fingers catch the draft as they buzzed down the highway.
The Deadly Dull Cowboy blathered on for the entire ride about the different cattle breeds on his family's ranch in western Texas. Ivy spent most of the trip studying the piece of spinach stuck between his prominent front teeth and wondering if she should say something or just ignore it.
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