Crossroads of Desire by Amos Hatter — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

CROSSROADS OF DESIRE “Then you'll meet me?” “T’ve got to eat some placey’ She put down the receiver. Sometimes she had the feeling that Philip was more bother than he was worth to her. One of these days she was going to set things straight, reorganize. She had fought and clawed her way to fame and fortune in her profession, only to find such high estate devoid of warmth and happiness. Philip, of course, had been a necessary stepping stone; the whole foundation, in fact, for her success. There was an unholy alliance between her achievements and his wealth. Something had to be done about that! Connie returned to the living room a few minutes later. She scanned the gathering quickly and discovered Larry Brooks standing alone by her grand piano contemplating one of her rehearsal scores. She joined him. “Do you know music?” she asked. “A little, but not stuff like that.’ He removed his eyes from the sheet music and gave her a whimsical smile. “Ragtime is my speed.” “Then you're a musician,” Larry nodded. “I manage to eke out a living at it.” “Really. Where do you play?” Connie inquired with interest. “In O’Brien’s saloon over on Third Avenue.” ‘T think that’s marvelous.” He shot her a quick glance, his eyes suddenly wary. His tone changed and she detected a tinge of bitterness in his words. “You do? Then drop around some evening. See how the other half lives.” “Oh. I didn't mean it that way.” Inexplicably Connie’s heart skipped a beat. Her large, expressive eyes beseeched him for forgiveness “I—I meant anyone who can play good enough—” She bit her lip. Hardly anything she could say-would atone for the way her words must have sounded to him. “You don’t have to feel sorry about me. I’m quite happy playing in a saloon. It’s the first real satisfaction I’ve ever ae from my music.” “Won’t you play something? Please,’ * she begged, motioning to the piano. “This isn’t my kind of audience. Not my kind at all,” he said, glancing around at the other guests. “But I like ragtime.” CROSSROADS OF DESIRE “You'd better not let your public find that out. It would be something of a shock, to say the least.” He looked up and spoke as if quoting from a newspaper. “The great Constance Carter, epitome of the dance, favors boogie-woogie.” Connie’s lower lip protruded in a pout. She gazed at him from narrowed eyes. “Up to now I liked you.” That pronouncement had little effect on Larry Brooks. “I still like you, Miss Carter. I’ve never seen you dance but the pictures of you on billboards are very agreéable to look at, and very classical.” Connie did not reply. She continued to study him. She had never met a young man who, in such a short space of time, made her happy, jealous, angry and uncertain. At that moment they were interrupted by a couple who thanked Connie for a delightful afternoon and took their leave. Hoke reminded everyone that Connie had a performance tonight and the party began breaking up. She had no oppor- tunity for further conversation with Larry. Mrs. Switzer was the last to go and when Connie turned away from the door she had to hustle to get ready for her dinner engagement with Philip. She visualized Larry Brooks as she stood under her shower. He was good looking, yet not at all handsome. It bothered her that she kept thinking about him. There were a thousand young men in New York with ten thousand more possibilities. Yet, no one had so quickly aroused her interest and attention. Ten minues later she rolled her nylon stockings up over her beautiful and muscular thighs and fastened the tops to her garter belt. Quickly she got into a dark, fitted dress. When she entered the living room, Yvonne was already standing at the: door with her mink coat. “You look lovely tonight, mademoiselle,” the maid smiled. Connie slipped into the mink. As she drew on her gloves she turned and contemplated the French girl, She was attractive. There was no getting around that. Attractive and quite femi- nine. It was easy to see why Larry had looked at her. “So do you, and that’s not just my opinion.” Constance Carter left her suite on the eleventh floor of the Winston Arms, Ike, the elevator man, bowed as she entered the car and maintained a dignified silence as they descended to ConmcooOokxs.conn