Crossroads of Desire by Amos Hatter — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

COPYRIGHT — FIRST PUBLISHED 1953 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK, OR PORTIONS THEREOF, IN ANY FORM, All the names and characters de- scribed in this book are fictitious, and have no reference to any living person, THIS IS AN ORIGINAL STORY, ESPECIALLY WRITTEN FOR STAR BOOKS. Printed in Australia by Process Engravers Pty. Ltd., for the Publishers — The Original Novels Foundation, 149 Castlereagh Street, Sydney. Registered in Australia for transmission by Post as a Book, CHAPTER ONE ER guests, that wintry afternoon, numbered a dozen odd. That they were important people was beside the point. They were still odd and Connie was fed up. It didn’t make any difference to her that the skinny old gent with the white hair owned a fair-sized hunk of Manhattan. He was a bore. And Mrs. Switzer, the well-upholstered matron who dipped with five carat diamonds, was, in Connie’s book, a nosy, narrow-minded old bag. As for fame, Connie could match anyone in the room. Indeed, her brilliant performances as premiere danseuse of the Ballet du Roi made her the current sensation of the New York theatrical world. Constance Carter was not a name to be tossed off lightly. Yet here she was stuck again for at least two hours with Philip Hathaway’s friends. Had they known that Philip was paying for the party they would have been surprised and undoubtedly shocked. Connie was damned if she was going to lay out any of her own hard- earned cash to provide them with whiskey sours. And had they known that Philip was also paying for Connie’s apartment they would have been downright horrified. Such a practical arrangement bothered Connie not at all. Philip was actually kicking in a lot more than that toward her well-being. If he kept on insisting that she have his stupid friends in for cocktails every couple of weeks, she was going to assess him even further for the wear and tear on her nerves. “My dear,” asked Mrs. Switzer in a patronizing tone, ‘where do you get your amazing vitality? I saw your performance in Libretto last week and it was positively breathtaking, the leaps that you did.” Connie swallowed the stuffed olive from her Martini and put down the glass. Now, how the hell do you answer a question like that? She shrugged. “T guess it’s just a matter of staying in condition.” “Ballerinas never cease to astonish me. Such grace and beauty yet withal such endurance. Physically, I swear, you can take the measure of most men. How about that, Howard?” asked Mrs. Switzer, laughing raucously. ~ -~ COnmmichoolkssconn