Screenland (Nov 1941-Apr 1942)

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His voice was urgent, full of confidence as she opened her empty bag and showed it to him. "What about that rope of beads around your neck, my plucked bird of Paradise?" "I couldn't do that," she shuddered. "My father gave it to me." "What do you care?" Omar grinned. "Buy it back when you've won. Your luck is bound to change." "You mean to get worse !" Poppy's voice rose desperately. "I'm beginning to think I'll never win." Suddenly she caught her breath. "I wonder, can I get a good price for it?" "My dear Miss Smith." Omar laughedas he pretended outrage. "Your question insults the house. We buy and sell everything in the most honorable manner." He lifted his fingers to her throat, pressing them against it lightly as he unloosened the clasp of her necklace. "You're a beautiful woman, Poppy." How well he knew the strength of softness at the right moment! "This sparkle is artificial. You don't need it." Her rings, her bracelets, the little clusters of jewels from her ears followed the bracelet, but still she came back night after night. And Mother Gin Sling smiled as she saw her, her eyes not slumbering now as they had been in the beginning but glittering, avid, desperate, as she turned from watching the wheel to seek Omar. He was not with her so much now. More and more his eyes followed Dixie, so pretty and pert now in the clothes that had been bought for her, paying for them by playing the game Mother Gin Sling had ordered her to play, yet feeling his charm too, even as she played it. It was then Poppy knew it wasn't only her money she had lost or her pretty glittering baubles. It was more than that, so much more that it sickened her to think of it and yet she couldn't do anything about it. She had always been so sure of herself, so proud, but now her sureness was gone and her pride too as she stumbled over to Omar sitting at the bar with Dixie. "Were you paying for the drinks ?" Poppy demanded coldly after Dixie had taken one look at her burning eyes and sauntered away. "Or was she paying?" Omar shrugged, and now there was no tenderness in -his eyes or his smile either. "I can say with pride that I've never paid for anything in my life." "And do you thnk you can keep up that enviable record?" Poppy demanded. Suddenly her voice broke as she appealed to him. "You're not going to make me jealous, are you, Omar?" She felt so frightened, so desperate. She needed him so much now ; his reassurance, his casual tenderness, his love, whatever it meant or didn't mean. All that money she had lost, all that money she owed to that inscrutable, smiling, yellow woman who owned the place. Over fifty thousand dollars already, haunted her through sleepless nights. But if Omar would only be the way he had been in the beginning she could pull herself together and win that back somehow and be free again and maybe even happy, the way she used to be. She gulped down a glass of raw whiskey, for champagne only seemed to make her feel worse. "Now don't make a scene," Omar said as she tried to put her arms around him. Funny the way women were, so elusive in the beginning, running away, and then how quickly it became they who pursued and who fell to their knees begging. "How can you be jealous of a little chorus girl who doesn't even own the clothes on her back?" "Don't play with me," Poppy said desperately. "I won't stand for it I've watched you both for an hour." "No wonder you1 lose." He shrugged indifferently. "Why don't you watch your game?" His lightness went then as she leaned forward and grasped his arm, her nails digging through his sleeve. He shook her off impatiently and his voice became almost a snarl. "I know your nails are sharp, but is this the time and place to show your affection?" "I told you not to play with me!" Poppy cried. Suddenly she picked up her glass and flung the whiskey into his face. Then as he stared at her coldly she broke again. "Please forgive me, Omar. I didn't mean it. Maybe I had too much to drink. I'm sorry, don't be angry with me." He looked at her and for a moment her heart waited. Then she relaxed as he smiled and put his arm around her again. And Mother Gin Sling watched them for a while before she turned and went into her office, that secret smile on her lips. Everything was coming out right, everything, she decided as she sent for Hawkins and the comprador. "Sit down," she said as the men came in. Then turning to Hawkins, "I want you to send out some invitations for our New Year's dinner. Formal." "Very good." Hawkins bowed. "White tie chow." Then as if startled by a sudden thought, "You're not going to close on New Year's Eve, are you?" "I'm only closing a chapter of my life." Mother Gin Sling smiled enigmatically. "To begin with, to give the occasion some tone, Lady Blessington." "She won't come." Hawkins shook his head. "It's easier to have the late Empress Dowager." "She'll come," Mother Gin Sling said softly. "Then see that Van Aalst, de Michot and Jackson are here and the Marchese and Marchesa di Mondragone. And put down Sir Guy Charteris." "I say." Hawkins looked up. "Aren't you putting me to a lot of unnecessary trouble? You'll have an empty table." "It will not be empty." Her voice was quiet. "They will come. All of them. Seel to the invitations at once." She disregarded the comprador as she opened the drawer of her desk and took out what could have been a table for a doll's house and a box of small images which could have been the dolls which would inhabit the house and began setting them around the table. But the comprador was shocked out of his sleepy indifference as he saw what those dolls really were, miniature replicas of the guests she was; inviting to her dinner. "You're plotting your revenge like an engineer," he said, frowning at the image of himself he picked up to examine more closely. "But these blue prints could have been more flattering." "You'll be on my left." She took the doll from him and put it beside the one representing herself. Then she picked up the one that was Sir Guy and for once tht mask was gone from her face, leaving _il livid with hatred. "He'll sit there opposite me." Then she turned as one of the mer i from her cashier's office came in. "She wants fifty thousand more," he said "Give it to her." Mother Gin Sling': voice rose impatiently. "I told you to giv< Miss Smith anything she wants. No limit' whatever." She picked up the small dol that was Poppy as the man left the room "And she'll sit there," she said, placing he at the table. Then she laughed, wildly, dis cordantly, as she crushed the doll in hei hand and the sound of the plaster heae breaking was like the sound of bone ane flesh being crushed. Then quickly she rosi and walked into the other room. 80 SCREENLAND