Page:Angna Enters - Among the Daughters.djvu/190

 candidly, that she was the only refreshing young creature who had turned up in years to enhance his parties, a fragrant bud worthy of his interest, guidance, and help. As her visits grew more frequent his interest became affection, a sentiment Figente rarely felt. He looked forward to her unscheduled visits, sulking if she did not show up every few days and he was deprived of her fresh sallies about her Broadway associates, her uninhibited references to pursuits of the flesh, and even indulgent teasings of himself in relation to the latter. He discovered himself feeling an unfamiliarly paternal ambition to achieve for her a social eminence as the wife of Lyle Bigelow, his second cousin by marriage.

On this blustety end-of-March afternoon almost three months after the Beman Revue had opened in New York, as she lay while Figente modeled, Lucy thought about a problem that perplexed her. An article in a Sunday dramatic section about the Beman Revue had referred to Jackie Jacks, the comic, as an "artist." The term artist had been applied to him but not to Tessie Soler his co-star, herself, or even Damon St. John, who had designed the beautiful settings and costumes. Why was a man, well you couldn't exactly call Jackie a man, who imitated the way women swished their long skirt trains or burlesqued Pavlova's "Dying Swan," an artist just because he had audiences in the aisles, "fracturing 'em" as Phil, the cute stage manager, said?

"I want to ask you something," Lucy said.

"What?" mumbled Figente abstractedly as he modeled on a small terra-cotta Leda for which she was posing. The swan had been easier than the Leda.

"Would vou call me an artist?"

"Assuredly, my dear, or shall we say rather a goddess of love?"

"Oh, you make me tired, you know what I mean."

His bland glance made too clear what he thought. She'd pay him back. She raised her head and smiled mischievously. "I can't be much of a goddess of love—you don't seem to want to make love to me."

"You are a naughty child," he spluttered, unexpectedly embarrassed.

"I don't see why you won't talk about how you make love. I think it is a very interesting subject. Don't you think the idea of love is better than making love?"

No answer.

"I'd really like to know why you like Hal better than me." 178