The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [362]
“She looks horrible,” Catherine said as a blond girl in a lacy black dress shyly stepped forward. She was brown and puffed, with her eyes sunken and circled with fatigue, and her face was hideously caked with powder. Loud cheering and a rat-tat-tat of hand-clapping greeted her.
“Hello, folks,” she began, sleepy-voiced, “I’m awfully glad to be able to say hello to you tonight, and I wanna say hello to all my friends and admirers of Radioland. Now I’m going to sing my favorite song for you.”
She smiled self-consciously into the microphone and cleared her throat. Her tired mouth opened into an 0 shape, and tunelessly and without energy she dragged out monotonous sing-songed syllables.
In Old Wyoming ...
“She may be a marvel or something but she can’t sing,” Studs whispered to Catherine.
“She sings worse than you do,” Catherine whispered back, squeezing his hand, smiling intimately.
“That’s no compliment.”
In Old Wyoming ...
When Louise concluded, a shower of change spilled onto the floor and assisted by other contestants, she quickly picked up the money. A half dollar bounced, rolled into a corner. Squirmy made a nose dive for it and skidded on his stomach amid laughter. He cake-walked away from Louise Strang, who pursued him, ogling and giggling, with an outstretched hand. The spectators laughed.
“Now I’ll call on another favorite, the inimitable Squirmy Stevens of team number four who scarcely needs an introduction. Squirmy.”
Applause again broke, and Squirmy, handing Louise Strang the silver piece he had retrieved, cake-walked to the microphone.
“Hello, everybody, I want to say that I thank you one and all for your interest in me and in our World’s Championship Super Dance Marathon out here at the Silver Eagle Ballroom and I’d like to say that I’d like to invite you, one and all, to come out here any time and see us do our stuff. And, folks, I wanna say this. A dance marathon is a fight, and the winner in a high-class field like the one we got here in our World’s Championship battle has got to be a fighter, and stick to it, and that’s what we’re all out here trying to do. Well, everybody, I thank you one and all. So long, Squirmy Stevens signing off.”
He cake-walked aside, a wide grin on his face. Money was thrown to him, and he made side-comedy grabbing it.
“You’ve just heard the inimitable Squirmy Stevens tell you what it takes to win a marathon dance like the World’s Championship Super Dance Marathon which we are staging here in the ballroom of the Silver Eagle. Now, there’s been a lot of letters asking for Georgia Ginger, the attractive and spirited little lady from the famous peach state, so I’m presenting to you, Miss Ginger, the Georgia Flash as she is known here among us. Come on, everybody, give this little girl a hand.”
Loud clapping accompanied a bobbed, sandy-haired, plump girl in dirty, greenish beach pajamas, as she stepped forward, her coy, baby face a smothered picture of sleepiness.
“Hello, folks, I want to thank you all for wanting me to say hello to you all, and I want to say that we all here appreciate what you all think of us and the interest you all take in us, and, folks, I want to thank you all,” she drawled, rubbing her eyes as she stepped aside.
“You’ve just had a word from that spunky little girl, Miss Ginger, the Georgia Peach, who expressed a feeling that all of us connected with this World Championship Super Dance Marathon at the Silver Eagle Ballroom have. We all feel the same way toward the public for its interest. You know, it means a lot to these people here to know you