Paula Winters opened the door; closed it softly behind her and slipped onto the stool beside the door. "Hi," she said. "Thought I'd never get out of there. A party, Dad and his parties." "How did you manage?" Hennie pretended to complete an eyebrow with a pencil, leaning over close to the mirror and wondering if Paula noticed the fear in her eyes. 'Not now,' she thought frantically, 'I must not bungle now!'

"How did I manage getting out? Darned if I remember," Paula laughed, and stopped. "If I didn't think you were perfect last night I'd say you were more beautiful tonight."

"Not so," Hennie tried levity, "if I were perfect I could keep my men."

"That wouldn't help." Paula laughed again. "A man doesn't want perfection. He wants a woman. You look lovely."

Hennie tried to smile. "You've quite the knack for using words, like a sculptor using his hands," she said with a darting look at the trunk in which were the orchids. "If I'm not lovely before you use them, I am when you're through."

Paula smiled, getting to her feet. "We have a half hour before you go on," she said.

"Yes," Hennie said. "And when I'm out there singing my heart to you, will you go out to get me an orchid again? and be back? be back with an orchid for me?"

"But don't I always, foolish girl? Don't I always have an orchid for you? Half an hour," she said, walking slowly toward Hennie, and looking at her watch.

Hennie jumped. The sudden blast of a police siren was going by: a shrill nerve of sound.

The crowd clapped mechanically. It was early yet. Hennie looked for Joe. He was sitting at the table on

one

the right from the stage. He nodded; winked with a smile; gripped his big hands so that each elbow reached out from both sides of him. Hennie smiled back and wondered if the smile was as dry as it felt in her throat. In the middle of "Stormy Weather" Hennie turned to watch Paula leave the dressing room. According to expectations Paula should be back in about twenty minutes. with the orchid. A beautiful trap.

Hennie finished her song and wet her lips mechanically. The crowd was warming up. She nodded her head with thanks and introduced her next song. The drumer had the spotlight. A blue light was trained on him. Hennie watched him. His face, loose and hanging, was tightening gradually as he entered the feeling of the number. She had to look away quickly. He was pushing the pulsing rhythm, a furious heartbeat, into the air. She clasped her hands together and pressed them to her. 'Laryngitis,' she thought, 'what if suddenly I should get an attack of laryngitis when she gets back?' Through the song she watched Joe flip a coin significantly, the only link needed to reach the place she had dreamed of since she was a kid. The telephone booth was right behind Joe.

'A party, Paula had said,' Hennie thought, 'What if her father isn't there when Joe calls? What if Paula doesn't get back?' Her thoughts shuttled between the two possibilities. She knew Joe's blind rages. She was sure he'd blame her.

In the middle of "Sonny Boy" Hennie spotted Paula re-entering her dressing room with the orchid. She was amazed that not one note betrayed the excitement she felt. Was it fear? nervousness? He'd kill her if anything went wrong. What could go wrong? Her voice was better than ever tonight. Everything was going as planned. The song was over. She