Then the lights went out. There was a barbaric scraping in the orchestra. A single spotlight from the ceiling flashed to the dance floor, where a pale negress stood dressed in a long piece of silk. In a strident voice she sang an unintelligible lyric which seemed to include the words “do that dance.” Then the lights changed to a garish red. The orchestra shrieked loudly.
The negress started to dance. First she moved only her head. Then her shoulders. Then her hips. And suddenly her whole body quivered to the music. Moving slowly, but never stopping her quivering, she danced from one table to the next, stopping only long enough to perform a rhythmic paroxysm before one of the men at the table. The spotlight followed her about the room. Several diners reached forward as though to embrace her as she shivered before them, but she smiled and flung herself out of their reach. Gradually she came to Arnold’s table. She stopped and wriggled her bare shoulders sinuously, whirling all the time. With each revolution her garment of silk unwound to the accompaniment of the trap-drum.
Dorothy moved her chair back to be out of the glare of the spotlight. Arnold sat still, with his hands on the table. The negress bent over the table, picked up Arnold’s half-burnt cigarette from a match-stand, placed it between her lips, whirled about once more, and leaped abruptly to the dance floor, leaving her silk shimmering behind her. She bent backward, touched her hands to the floor, and suddenly performed a “split.” There was a loud crash from the cymbal at this feat, and the room burst into applause. The lights went out, and the applause continued. The spotlight, narrowed to a mere edge of silver, flashed on the floor again, and the negress bowed, holding in front of her glistening skin the silk
[65]
