Well, Helen G. came in to-day. Outré. Outrageously outré. She got the dress somewhere else of course. I did not inquire where. I did not want to know. I am sorry she knows. She may acquire another.
It was in the Egyptian style, white and scarab-y with a low slung sash covered in blue and red glass beads. Oh dear! It was Egyptian. It made her look like a pyramid, pointy on top and as broad as the Nile on bottom. I called her 'Cleopatra' which she adored, of course. I did, however, say as delicately as possible that hips were not so much in style these days. She pouted, but in time I was able to show her that one can be Egyptian without being so very literal. It is á la mode right now, of course, but one needn't be covered in beetles and buzzards to make a point.
Jane B. brought in her daughter too. Sweet little moppet called Janine: no hope at all of ever being graceful, but with some chance perhaps of being dramatic when she is older. I am to worry about her début, though she hardly seemed old enough. Nonetheless, she does come out in a mere six months. White, of course, and some pink. What else? How dull. Why does a girl need to be boring to prove her innocence? Pink is démodé. I tried to explain, but pink it must be. Sigh.
Darling darling Sarah had dinner with me. She looked delicious in her green silk. We danced to I've Got a Song for Sale and drank lemonade and then Sarah took me back to her rooms where we had champagne, real champagne, and laughed over the photographs of her family she took when she went upstate to visit. Her older sister is hopeless, and her brother is too tall and too fair. He practically looks German! Naturally I cannot stand for it.
Tomorrow it's a film with Ruby T. who is always a delight, even if she does carry a flask of gin in her bag!
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And what more could one ask from such a full day of dressing, dancing, and drinking? Henri closes his journal, satisfied with the day's follies and - just a little - owled. Pretty good for a Tuesday.
He looks to the clock at his writing desk. Surprisingly, it's only 9:00. How could the time have passed so slowly? Henri realizes that he's barely tired and begins to consider his options for the next two . . . four? . . . five hours.
On cue, the telephone rings.
"Henri! Oh, my dear Henri, you poor thing!" It's Millie B. - quite a doll to dress up, she's one of your favored customers. "You of all people shouldn't be languishing at home at this time of night," she purrs. "Nevermind, dearie, I have just the thing. For a Tuesday night, this'll be the berries and more. How would you like to see a real eastern monk? My sister's friends with his mammy, Mags Whitcombe. Oh, I don't know her - she's got money, but" - Millie growls a little - "she doesn't have It.
"So, you wanna go honey? It's on the up-and-up at the Audubon Ballroom - but you sound a little ossified to me." She giggles. "I got two invites . . ."
"Ma cherie," M. Henri says, his French thick and a little lazy. He pauses a moment. He does feel a little pixilated, but is there really such a thing as too much champagne? Millie is just the girl for a fun evening, and maybe there can be more champagne somewhere along the way or back again.
"The Audubon is le miaou du chat and there is no one in New York I'd rather go with than Mademoiselle Millicent. You must know that, mon coeur, but I go only if you wear your crimson with the black trim. You will look tres jolie on my arm in crimson seeing this étrange Eastern monk."
M. Henri pauses, smooths back his sandy hair, and waits to see if she'll indulge him with the best gown he's ever made her. There's only one thing better than a fun evening and that's a fun evening with advertising.
"Oui oui, your wish is my command, Henri. Can't you meet me there? We'll be late, but what's new?"
"Mais oui, mon coeur. I will meet you there. It is très chic to be late, non? I will see you soon, Miss Millie."
Henri plunks the receiver into the cradle and stands. he gives a quick glance in the mirror. His white tie and waistcoat are still spotless; his tailcoat is not creased. He is still in very good shape for a long, wonderful evening. He pauses to wonder if he should take a moment to change his simple gold cufflinks for something grander, perhaps the amethyst, but decides it will take too much time.
Henri takes up his walking stick--the one with the silver top in the shape of a mermaid--and his silk top hat. He swings his evening cape (black, of course, but lined in pale blue not the ubiquitous scarlet) over his shoulders. He pulls on his spotless white kid gloves as he heads downstairs . Henri hails a taxi.
"To the Audubon Ballroom, garçon, très rapidement!"
"Whatever, bub. The Heights it is."
(You can pick it up at "An Evening at the Audubon". Feel free to narrate Millie's actions there too - consider her Henri's sidekick for the evening.)
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