FICTION

SHOWTIME

Dee Raymond

The show was obviously failing. Not even Joe Dubilow bothered now to give the dancers a hearty goodnight. "I guess that means we've had it!" exclaimed Cindy Brenner to the little group following her.

David Rennick glanced in through the stagedoor-keeper's lodge window. Dubilow was reading the entertainment section of an evening paper. There'd be a review in there somewhere of "The Great Shoot-Out," damning it with the faint praise that had been the show's lot since Baltimore. "Old Joe always knows," said David softly, slipping his arm through Cindy's. They'd been going together since the second day of rehearsals, over six months, and all the "kids" recognized them as a pair.

"Where're we going tonight?" asked Marty Salter. He was the kind of male dancer whose slimness and smooth features made people raise their eyebrows and smile knowingly. Yet, he too was paired, to Sally Rader, a striking, big-busted girl, who stood taller than any of them in her high heels.

"To Fatima's!" shouted Cindy, pointing up the Great White Way. "Our taste buds deserve it!" Her shoulder-length red hair was blown all about her laughing face as she turned out of the alley into the street proper.

"Besides, it's the only place you still have credit." Ace Demanski's growl only made the group laugh and giggle more. You could always count on Ace to be glum and serious even when they were all trying to be jolly, and, as well, it was true that money ran through Cindy's fingers like water.

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