The self-enchanted : Mae Murray : image of an era (1959)

Mr. Dillingham appeared, immaculate, as stout and natty as any boulevardier. Pink shirt, black tie, pearl stud and a precisely clipped white bristle of moustache, but above the moustache his face was as kindly as a cherub's ; he ogled her frankly as she and Vernon rehearsed the Castle Walk. He liked pretty girls, he took an impish joy in them. "You're quite a tyke," he boomed. He sat in the front row, crossed his broadcloth-covered legs and watched on. Looking at him you could quite believe that he had stolen away Ziegf eld's valet Sidney, the top gentleman's gentleman in New York. "Once more now," Vernon said, tapping one toe. "You're very patient," she told him. "Thank you." "It's going to be perfect, thank you. Now for your opening number with the boys." They stepped out of the wings, six handsome fellows singing : "Dancing teacher, show us how to do the fox trot!" "You'll have to watch your step," she sang, before the prompter could cue her. "Tell us what to do." "You must follow me." "Can we do it too?" "Very easily. Watch me!" And away she went. "That dance is simply great and it's so up-to-date . . ." Eight o'clock. They stopped long enough for her to eat a sandwich. Fitters worked while she ate. The prompter read the second act and fed her cues. "Dancing teacher, won't you show us . . . You'll have to watch your step." She ate slowly, storing the energy, then droned her lines parrot-like. Nine o'clock. They hooked her into blue-gray chiffon, fitters still taking a stitch here and there in the bands of sable while she brushed her hair. The knocking startled her. "Five minutes, Miss Murray, five minutes please." The please, the protocol, the tone of voice that went with the gold star on her door! She was ready, studying herself in the harsh lights