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

dress. She sat wooden as a doll in the taxi, wanting to get home to Jenny and the five cats and a cup of hot coffee; and the coffee was ready, she smelled it the minute the door opened. "Whatever in the world," Jenny said, hugging her, while the cats nudged her feet. She didn't answer. Over Jenny's shoulder she could see someone seated on the couch, like a dainty ivory figurine draped in black. "You have been with my husband!" said the girl. She turned her sad eyes and it was the girl from Otto Kahn's party, Blanca deSaulles. "You must stop trying to take away my husband." She touched her throat with one black-gloved finger as if she were choking. "I don't want your husband; I don't even like him. Look at my dress. It cost a week's salary — and look." "Lord have mercy," murmured Jenny. "Do you think I like being pulled and pushed about? Florenz Ziegfeld was waiting for me tonight at the Sans Souci. Because of your husband, I missed seeing Florenz Ziegfeld!" Her mouth wobbled in spite of her, the tears wouldn't be held. "If I've misunderstood you, I'm sorry." "You ladies just please step in here and have a cup of coffee," Jenny said. "The waffles are coming up." There was a moment of hesitation, then, a trifle uncertainly, they stepped over the cats and sat down at the small table. Jenny poured coffee, brought out the waffles and smoking sausage. As they ate, they watched each other guardedly. Blanca was a real lady, the kind from the society pages. Pearls shone in her ears, her black dress was severely simple, her hair was parted in the middle, smoothed back into a chignon with a single pearl pin. Mae noted it all. She noted too that the liquid eyes spoke of love and sorrow. Blue, the big Persian, had crawled up into her lap and Mae stroked it absently. Why should anyone so lovely and so rich be unhappy ? "Jack is what you would call a chaser," Blanca said. "I know. 22