RANSVESTIA

Angie Saunders, aware of the scrutiny, looked directly ahead of her at the far wall of the club. Her blonde hair was short and combed forward over her forehead. The back was very short but thick and brushed down about the nape of her neck. Cort smiled inwardly. I've more hair than she has, he thought. Her eyes appeared dark in the gloomy atmosphere. Cort noted that her skin was just as smooth and soft after the removal of stage make-up as it had appeared under the heavy lights. Her hands were long, tin and quite still as she waited for him to complete his inspection. The narrow straps of the halter-type dress revealed high, well-rounded breasts. Her legs were hidden in the long folds of the silk dress, but then he had seen quite enough of them in the show to form a judgment there. He sighed to himself. Even her deportment was first class, as she sat and waited for his inspection to be complete. The heavy silver and jade earrings were just the touch required for the aura of class that exuded from her. His pulse quicken- ed. Mayer was, of course, absolutely correct, she was an adequate dancer, had excellent timing in the sketches played by the Revue, her voice was husky and rich, and she looked gorgeous.

Cort picked up and drained the Scotch. "Well, Miss Saunders," he said. "Let's pick up the manager of this club and talk about buy- ing up your contract."

Jean Rodriguez, possibly the best dancer of the Pearl City Revue, tiptoed quietly from the room where her oldest son, Cameron, was now sleeping soundly. His restlessness when she had arrived home each. night at about three o'clock had become a feature of their stay in Las Vegas. He needs to be away from this place, she thought; at least to a city where he can meet other kids at regular times. She thought of their bank balance and sighed. If only they didn't change costumes so much But that was what brought the Revue its recurrent bookings and the satisfying upgrading of income over the last four years; until perhaps at last their big break was in sight.

now

―

a

Jean had reached the kitchen at last. She plugged in the kettle and began to put Sanka into two cups. As she realized what she was doing, she looked up anxiously at the clock. Four thirty. Just as she contemplated whether to put the coffee back or not, she heard the key in the door of the motel room. A swish of silk, and the familiar Chanel perfume, announced Angie's arrival. Angie shivered as she came into the kitchen, slowly removing Jean's jade earrings. Her expressions was

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