Uneasily, Laura took the costume from him and went into the smaller
room. She closed the door. There was no way of locking it.
The small room was piled high with junk--more old newspapers, cartons
of magazines, phonograph records, ledgers, all kinds of debris. Laura
put her handbag down on top of a stack of trade journals and examined
the costume McCarten had given her.
There wasn't much to it. Just a pair of blue panties with spangles, and
a halter. They both looked a little small for her. With an uncertain
glance at the closed door, she began to undress. There was a keyhole in
the door, and she didn't trust McCarten very much. He was just the sort
who would peep at her while she got into the costume, she thought.
She moved to the side of the room, where she hoped she would be out of
peeping range, and closed the dusty venetian blinds.
Her hands were trembling a little as she unbuttoned her blouse and
carefully hung it over a chair. The plaid skirt came off next, then the
half-slip. In the drafty office, she shivered a little in panties, bra,
and garter-belt. Her hands went behind her back and she undid her bra,
letting her breasts tumble free. She had an excellent figure, she knew.
Her breasts were big, but not so big that they drooped or dangled. They
thrust outward and upward from her chest, two rounded white globes
tipped with little reddish-brown nipples.
Quickly she reached for the halter and put it on. It was tight, and she
just barely managed to get her breasts into the cups and fasten the
snap in back. Looking down, she reddened a little in embarrassment. The
halter was so tight it was like a second skin; there were evident bumps
at each nipple.
Hurriedly, now, she rolled the panties over her hips, took down her
stockings, removed the panty-belt. She pulled the briefs up over
her loins. They were really scanty, just a tight triangle of cloth
round her waist. Craning her neck, she saw that several inches of
buttock were exposed on either side in back. For a moment she hung
back, frightened of showing herself to a strange man in a costume as
revealing as this. The thighs and bra seemed designed for a smaller
girl, and on her they were dreadfully provocative.
For a moment she came close to getting back into her street clothes and
leaving. But that would be foolish, she told herself. She wanted to
have a career. She was going to have to show her body a little, if she
hoped to get anywhere in show business.
She opened the door and walked into the other room.
McCarten was on the phone again, but the moment he saw her he said,
"Excuse me, Phil. Something important just came up. Call me back in an
hour, huh?"
Laura saw the reaction on his face. His fleshy mouth had sagged open,
and his bloodshot eyes were wide with surprise. She knew she had made
an impression on him. She stood by the door, throttling back her
embarrassment, while his eyes roamed her body.
"Well?" she asked, smiling.
"You're okay," he said hoarsely. "That's a pretty good build you got."
"Do you think I can have a job?"
He smiled. "I'd say the prospect's pretty good. But let's keep the
audition going. You know how to do a Charleston?"
"Yes."
"Okay, then. I'll play. You dance."
He went to the piano again, and pounded out a tune for her, looking
back over his shoulder to watch her as she danced. Alone in the middle
of the floor, she did the Charleston for him. There were some uneasy
moments when she was sure her halter would break from her exertions.
She began to sweat, and felt the globlets rolling down her almost bare
body. McCarten seemed to be playing forever--hours and hours. Actually
it was no more than three or four minutes before he stopped.
He walked over to her, appraising her. She was almost as tall as he
was, at her height of five feet five.
She was panting, and she was afraid she would catch a cold, heating up
in this drafty office. But she said nothing.
McCarten said finally, "You're not a bad dancer. And you've got a swell
figure."
"Thank you."
"I'm not complimenting you, I'm appraising you. No thanks needed. And I
think I can get you work. Chorus-line stuff at first, better jobs later
as you absorb professional polish. You've got a lot of natural ability.
With voice training and a decent dance coach, you can go places. Just a
couple of things that have to be checked, first."
"What are they?"
"Those," McCarten said. He extended two forked fingers. He was pointing
at her breasts.