It was a slight shock, as if the picture had suddenly come to life. She was so exactly like it. The only thing different was her dress, and this was something formal and white and very simple. But the neck was cut down to her waist, and the material was so sheer that you would have known exactly what she wore underneath it if she had worn anything. She looked like a wayward Madonna decked out in a suitable disguise to find out what really went on in night clubs.
She said, “Sorry I wasn’t ready, but I had the goddamnedest time getting dressed. Every lousy rag I put on looked like hell.”
“Well,” he said, “I’m glad you were able to save something out of the junk pile.”
“Pretty frightening, isn’t it?” she said, looking down at herself. “Brings out all the floozie in me. And everything else. Well, nobody can ever say I didn’t give my All.”
She had a glass in her hand, practically empty. She emptied it, and sat down beside him and tinkled a small hand-bell.
“Shall we have some more serum before we go to the rat race?”
He drained his own glass and nodded, but the acceptance was hardly necessary. The butler appeared like a watchful genie with a shaker in his hand, and proceeded to pour without any instructions.
Simon gazed at her speculatively over his cigarette.
“It’s a hell of a way to get acquainted, isn’t it?” he remarked. “But it’s nice of you to cooperate, as Byron calls it.”
“If a girl never had to cooperate any worse than this,” she said, “this goddamn racket would be a breeze.”