OCR Interpretation

Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, September 28, 1947, Image 88

Image and text provided by Library of Congress, Washington, DC

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045462/1947-09-28/ed-1/seq-88/

What is OCR?

Thumbnail for 7

He lost his heart to a girl who sang as
she flew through the air on a swing
From down wider the stage, all the bull fiddler could ever see was her legs
A Short Short Story
I am glad enough to land this job when they
are putting together the orchestra for the
new musical show of Vincent, the big pro
ducer, so I do not gripe too much. But I get
the bass viol’s usual lousy break.
The Blenbouse Theatre, where we are to
open, has an overhanging stage, and they put
me and the French horn at the very back of
the pit — we can’t see a thing of what goes on
overhead; I have to stand there wrestling
with my oversized fiddle — and look out at
rows of seats. I feel a little bitter, especially
when the flute tells me the showgirls have the
neatest set of Grabies he sees in years.
I tell ray friend Herman about it after the
dress rehearsal. Herman is a bass viol player
like myself —when he can find a job; we
share an apartment and are very good friends
indeed. “If the comedian looks as funny as
he sounds,” I state, “hell do. The star has a
fine voice. And there’s a kid who does a spe
cialty. She could carry the show all by herself.
What a honey!"
"How do you know?” asks Herman. “They
keep you under the stage.”
by Matt Taylor
Illustrated by James Schucker
“Well,” I tell him, “they put her on a rope
swing and push her while she sings her second
chorus. She comes shooting out right over my
head, and if I look up and stretch my neck at
just the right time I can see — well, she sits
on the swing with her legs sticking straight
“Blonde or brunette?” Herman wants to
"They don’t push her that far,” I state.
“Ill have to ask the cornet.”
The show is a mild hit The first-night audi
ence seems to like it, and they laugh heartily
at some pantomime overhead that I wouldn’t
know about. They give the kid on the swing
a big hand, and when I think what I must be
missing I get plenty sore. Legs are all very
well, but sometimes the face above them is
highly interesting, too.
I read all the reviews the next morning.
A couple of critics single out the kid. One of
them writes: “In her specialty number she is
the darling of the evening. I didn’t see enough
of her.”
"He should complain!’’ I tell my friend
“I’ll see the show tonight and give you a
full report,” says Herman. "Anything for
a pal.”
That evening I look out at Herman in the
fourth row, enjoying what goes on over my
head. And later he tells me about the lad.
“A honey, all right,” he says. “One gorgeous
babe. A blonde.”
"I know,” I say. “They got her photo in
the lobby.”
"You can’t tell anything from that photo,”
says Herman. “You should see her smile, and
the way she flashes those lamps! I never saw
— what are you groaning for?”
“I’ll twist my neck tonight trying to see
her above the waist,” I tell him.
“If you got it that bad,” says Herman,
“you ought to go backstage and 9ee her. or
send in a note.”
“I’m only a bass viol player,” I remind him.
“Now and then you meet a girl who don’t
mind,” says Herman.
“But she’s big-time,” I state. "Watch the
gossip columnists give her a play. And the
doorman tells me there are a dozen guys hang
ing around all the time trying to get notes
through to her. What chance have I?”
“I see the point,” says Herman. “You’d
better forget it."
“I won’t forget it. I’m in love.”
“A guy can't foil in love with a pair of
stems,” says Herman.
“A guy can — with the right stems.”
A week later, crowding too for forward dur
ing the swing number, I knock over the saxo
phone’s music stand. And the next week I try
to do it with minors. But nothing works.
The show runs for six weeks, and to me she is
still just a pair of legs and 9 voice. Then clos
ing notice is posted, and I risk all and write
to her.
“I tell her everything," I explain to Her
man.- “I say I am just a bass viol player, and
* www sue iias an uc oig-money piayooys
to pick from; but I love her more than any of
them, and I ask her to go out with me after
the last performance. If she says yes. I want
to be out in the audience that night. You can
take my place in the pit. Herman. I can
arrange it for one evening.”
And darned if the kid doesn’t accept! She
writes a note, and says she’s deeply touched
by my devotion to the lower half of her. Then
she says I have been too bashful. She loves
bass vfols. Her dad used to play one at Ham
merstein’s Victoria years ago.
Herman takes my place with his giant fid
dle that night, and I sit in the third row,
feasting my eyes. She is the sweetest little
eyeful I ever see, and the upper half of her
tops the lower half of her, and I am not just
gagging when I say it.
She swings out a couple of times. And at
the end of the third swing she leans far for
ward. She thinks — bless her little heart! —
that I’m down there in the pit and she wants
to see what I look like. The next time she
leans far back, trying to see over her shoulder.
Then far forward again. Then she tries to
wave. And on the next swing she tries to
blow the bass viol kisses with both hands.
OM__1_1.. I. . a
* tuav a mm u OUC UlACS A piClly
I we Herman leap forward, spilling over a
couple of first violins.
She foils into his arms and they both go
down with a crash. .
I try to get to them in the pit. Then I try
to get to them at the stage door as they are
being packed away in the big town car that
belongs to Vincent, the producer.
"I got to see her!" I tell the cop who holds
me back. “I’m the bass viol player-in the
“Oh yeah?" says the cop. “The bass viol
player is in the car with her, and he’s got a
lump on his head as big as an egg from saving
her life."
“Where are they going?” I yell at him.
“The producer’s taking the little dame to *
his place on Long Island to recover from the
shock." He chuckles as the car pulls away
from the curb. “Look at her snuggle up to
that guy in there!” he says. "And him just
a bass viol player.”
"Now and then you meet a girl who don’t
mind," I tell him sadly.
And this kid don't, I guess. Vincent stakes
them to a Bermuda honeymoon. I read about
it in the paper, and 1 go out to find an oboe
player to room with. Him and me can go nuts
together. The End

xml | txt