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THE PORTAL IN THE PICTURE Prologue SHE called herself Malesca. Her agent called her the "Loveliest Girl in the World" and I suppose he wasn't far wrong, at that. If I'd known she was playing the Windsor Roof that night I'd have gone somewhere else. But by the time I was at the table, having a sandwich and a highball, it was too late. The lights dimmed, the spot went on and there stood Malesca, bowing to the storm of applause. I wasn't going to let her spoil my drink. I could always look somewhere else while she was on. I ate white meat of chicken, drank my highball and thought about other things-until the famous velvet voice began to sing. I listened to her sing. A chair creaked. In the dimness someone sat down beside me. I peered through the gloom, recognizing the man, a top figure in show business. "Hello, Burton," he said. "Hello." "Mind if I join you?" I waved my hand and he gave his order to the waiter who slid up noiselessly. Malesca was still singing. The man beside me watched her, as rapt and intent as everybody else in the club except me. Two .encores later, when the lights went up, I realized that he was staring at me curiously. My disinterest in |
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