“Do you want to meet her?” asked Carla, looking at Holton, knowing that he did.
“You don’t know her?”
“But of course. I know everyone.”
They cut their way through the bewitched men, cut through to the enchantress herself.
Laura Whitner was dark and slight with full breasts. Her face was as delicate as a carving in ivory; sallow, too, as old ivory. The lips were brilliant red and she twisted her mouth in childlike expressions and her sad dark eyes glittered from habit and not from fire. She looked unwell, thought Carla.
“Carla Bruno!” exclaimed Laura when she saw them. The two women embraced with warmth and the enchantment was broken for the admirers and they began to withdraw from the circle of her spell, smiling as they departed, leaving her alone in her theater with only two admirers.
“But my tiny Carla, what are you doing in New York? I haven’t seen you for years, not since Paris.”
“I’m here visiting.”
“But I’m so happy to see you! You know, you’re the last person I’d expect to run into here.”
“I had to get away from Europe. I hadn’t been to America since I was a child.”