Dance
by Theresa Cecilia Garcia © 2006
"Men are taught to apologize for their weaknesses. Women for their
strengths."
- Lois Wyse - American Advertising Executive
A quintet of wedding cake lovelies elaborately arrayed in well-placed
pasties and G-strings paraded for Paramount decorating a hundred dancing
pianos with hooped skirts that were wired to light up in the dark. The
avant-garde directors called the chorus line Poverty Row, considering the
Depression was on. Most of the ensemble dancers were hard-working girls who lived modestly and supported themselves on their salaries.
With wispy trails of silver hair and magical bright light he bore her image
from the stage to the projector to the screen and called her Doll.
"I brought you a new pair of shoes today, Doll." He spoke as the casual
observer he was who was always ready to take a dare but succumbed easily to beauty putting that tough guy reputation of his to the test.
"I've got a good role for you, Doll." He continued the horrible fiasco for
her attention which turned this sort of rugged glamour bad boy into one of
her many drifting unsuccessful suitors.
Soft pink and ample with a fine layer of lines forming around her full
face,platinum blonde waves of hair cascading below her shoulders, bright red lips, sharp very clear blue eyes with long, sweeping scimitar lashes and
thinly arched eyebrows carving their niche in her forehead, she didn't fit
the mold of the ideal movie chorine.
For many she was not worthy of serious consideration. Just another Gold
Digger, another formless block of stone with an abrupt personality and an
illogical symphony of political ideas which were often suddenly interrupted
by her overt sexuality.
"What I really want is to be in Dance magazine. Can you get me in?" She was prolonging his years of usefulness with the question,while remaining totally unaffected.
"Can you hoof, Doll?" Having laid sent after scent of youthful and pretty
pupils who understood the outrageous and hectic nightlife requisites of
improving a chorus girl's chances, he challenged her question with casting
couch appeal.
The whole affair had been in the works for many years and she wasn't going
to let the unsuspecting player destroy everything she'd worked so hard
for. Moving in close enough to smell his breath, she whispered in his ear as
her hand slid inside his trousers.
"Did you know, men are at their most vulnerable when they're hm, dancing?"
And with that, she gave him details about her adventures which excited not
bothered him.He put his hands between her legs and she moaned in his mouth.
She wasn't wearing any underwear but that was neither for his honor nor his
doubt, it was for her own personal power and she knew while unzipping his
pants that he would be hard, because she willed it.
"Marry me, Doll. I'll take care of you when your dancing days are over."
A sweet offer but she reached a point in her professional career where she
no longer depended upon her salary for her own personal maintenance. The
weekly pay envelope was inconsequential to her income from the many
intimates and admirers who used her image to advertise their manhood.
"No." She replied with callous yet playful humor before she went on to
explain..."I dress up productions for stage directors and producers, like
you , keeping all of our pockets lined in picture perfect employment. Such
is the life of the cabarets;natrually sleeping late in the morning and
taking life pretty easy."
And with that she wrote the story herself, about a girl who lost her
reputation and never missed it.The End
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