And know the 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 have lived in our time, but we never carried on like that! In those pastel days,” and she tapped Docky’s arm with her fan, parting her lips with a snap, “we did carry on a bit—but this is too much! 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’t look at 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 searching for 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.