I begged her to be explicit.
"Well, I'm doing the routine in my dressing-room, see? First the singing as a tease, see? Then the bubbles, then I start playin' with the anti-gravity zippers, see? Well, I get my skirt off, and then my blouse, and I've got panties and a brassiere, of course, using the skirt as a kind of screen, see? Well, there I am—"
"Yes?"
"In my panties and bra, of course."
"Of course."
"Usin' the skirt as a sort of a fan, see? Then I get to the part where I suddenly lift the skirt over my head, and I give a sort of wiggle—well, it ain't a wiggle, exactly, with my hips, and then—"
"Yes, yes, and then, Miss LaTour?"
"That's it, Doc," she said unhappily. "That's when it happened. One minute I was standin' there in my room, practicin', and then—the room wasn't there anymore."
I watched her closely—observing her reactions, of course.
"Where do you suppose the room went?"