Strip-Tease

I

THE first part of Manhattan Maids, the new show at the Willis, was nearing its close. Arthur, the little old man who during the intermission sold molasses kisses with a copy of Peppy Tales and a pair of nudist dice in every package,— ‘Just put the sixes together and hold them up to the light,’—was stacking his wares together in his wicker basket. He adjusted the leather sling around his neck, ready to go before the house when the curtain ran down. The two plainclothes detectives were standing in the narrow lobby by the ticket-chopping machine, their overcoats, jackets, and vests open against the heavy steam heat, their hands thrust deep in their pockets. They were watching the show through the open doors. They had arrested the cast on every Saturday for the past four weeks.

The Willis was a smaller house than those in St. Joe and St. Louis, but its worn boards and weary, cracked curtain had known forty years of burlesque. Of its 260 seats, seven were occupied this night. In the last row of the house two couples who had paid for the darkness, not the show, were sitting nuzzled in each other’s necks. The other customers were two sweatered sophomores from the University of Kansas City, who sprawled in the front row, and a bald traveling man with an unlighted cigar in his mouth, who sat in the fourth row right, yawning and running his hand nervously across the top of his bony, pale head. After the last raid, when the saxophone and trumpet players deserted the sinking ship, Manhattan Maids had also lost its valuable straight man, who owned the only dinner jacket in the company. Frankie Martin, one of the two comics, had taken over the songs the straight man formerly had sung before the curtain. Frankie ordinarily wore white tortoise-shell glasses and a little red outing hat to show that he was a comic. When he went before the curtain as the straight man, he simply took off the hat and glasses and put on a black bow tie.

Now Frankie, as straight man, was singing ‘Over the Rainbow’ to the seven customers and the rows of empty seats. He stretched out his hands, his Adam’s apple throbbing eloquently in the final plea, ‘Why, oh why can’t I?’ The college boys in the front row popped their hands together twice, looked around behind themselves as though seeking support for their enthusiasm, and subsided. ‘And now, friends,’ said Frankie, bowing and smiling down at them, ‘as the act preceding the grand finale of the first part of our show, we present that beautiful young lady who has won the heart of all lovers of Kansas City burlesque, the lovely Miss Joan Merry, in her famous specialty stri —’ He glanced around at the closed curtain behind him and said under his breath, without moving his lips, ‘Oops, Joan, sorry.’ A squeak of laughter came from the girls in the line, giggling in yellow feathers in the wings, and he grinned at them. ‘Joan Merry in her inimitable dance of desire

— the dance that shocked Chicago — and boys, she sure has something there.’ He smote his hands together, leaning forward with his black eyes asparkle. ‘The Willis presents — for your pleasure

— the reigning beauty of Kansas City — the darling of 42nd Street — our own — our adorable — Miss — Joan — Merry.' He began a lead-off salvo of applause as he backed into the wings, and Arthur eased past the two detectives to put in a couple of claps from the lobby.

The members of the audience lifted a little out of their passive postures. A woman’s white hand appeared at the dividing fold of the blue velvet curtain, and then, reaching outward, revealed all her powdered arm, naked to the elbow. The lovers parted and sat up to watch. The dancer turned the curtain back around her invisible body and paused there, hidden in velvet, waiting for applause. The salesman took his hat off his lap and placed it carefully on the next seat. The orchestra, a piano and trap drums, softly and suggestively began ‘Limehouse Blues.’

The single white arm was the semaphore of Eros, the promise that was about to come true. A kind of anticipation, scattered among seven people, yet definite, arose as the footlights dimmed to a low reddish purple. The arm of the woman stirred against the dark blue of the curtain, the long thin fingers grasping the rich velvet, the narrow red fingernails showing through the light haze of floating cigarette smoke. The velvet drew back further, showing the arm to the shoulder, the curtain wrapping itself around the unrevealed body behind it, denominating curves that were still secret. Softly pumped the piano, welding the minors of the chant seductively together, and the drum grunted out the deep half-held, half-given rhythm,

‘going the way that the rest of them did.'

Suddenly the arm flung back the curtain, and there she was. She had smooth white blond hair cut in a Salome bob. She wore a long tunic of shimmering silver, to cover a vermilion gown whose chiffon edges showed beneath the tunic. Her sandals were small and black. She was young, and when she knew they were looking at every line of her she tossed back her heavy hair and smiled suddenly, cocking her head on one side as though saying ‘Why not?’ The college boys suddenly looked at each other and let out two piercing whistles; the salesman turned around and said ‘Whew!’ across the empty seats, and settled down to watch.

There was a little smile around the corners of her mouth as the music began to swing. Breaking abruptly out of her winsome pose, she set out across the stage with her long workmanlike stripper’s stride, leaning back from the hips, her arms folded across her full breasts, her head moving with the swing of her shoulders. Once, twice she crossed the stage diagonally. The smile on her lips crept upward from her mouth and possessed her eyes. As she reached the wings each time, she turned with a dipping curve. The third time she crossed she dropped her hands to the knot of her tunic, and gave them a pert glance of inquiry, laughing a little to herself at their intentness. The fourth time, when they were watching her with the faith of animals, she suddenly walked out of sight into the wings.

They waited politely. When she did not come, there was a light popping of hands. One of the boys in the back row yelled, ‘Come on, Joan, we haven’t got all night!’ The girl at his side sh-shed him, making believe she was shocked.

The teaser appeared again, moving with the same methodical swagger. Her two hands, the wrists bent like a dancer’s and extended hip-high in something comically like admonition, now were keeping offbeat time with the calculated rhythm of her hips. The silver tunic had slipped down over one shoulder. Twice she crossed, this time back and forth, and suddenly, standing at the wings, with a light shrug she let the tunic open and slip down. In the same motion she tossed it into the wings. She stood there a moment, gave a little general all-over shrug, winked, and slipped out of sight. Every one of the five males in her audience clapped; the two girls edged forward on their chairs, staring. The detectives slipped through the door and softly sat down. After a moment they removed their hats and delicately put them aside.

The stripper came pacing forth again, smiling at them, gay and wanton, her white legs showing through the slit in her gown. The eyes of the audience counted the buttons of her vermilion gown, sought the secret of its zippers. And then she saw, beyond the footlights, the two new shadows, squinted slightly and recognized them. She crossed the stage the orthodox three times, swinging her arms, but the last time she did not stop at the wings. She did not reach behind her back or down her hip for button or zipper. She did not pause. She kept on walking across the stage, and when she reached the right-hand wing she simply turned and walked back again. She came to a stop at the wings, very shy and girlish. The spotlight changed from deep purple to white intensity, she too widened her smile to a full beam, dropped something like a curtsy, and slipped off with a wave of her small white hand. Instantly piano and traps went into ‘Jumpin’ Jive,’ and the girls of the line, in pheasant costumes with golden plumes, came gesticulating out of the wings, with toes a-tap and buttocks wiggle-waggling, watching each other’s feet to catch the beat of the step.

The salesman let out a howl and began to clap angrily. The two college boys whistled their indignation. From the back row the couples called, ‘Hey, what’s the idea? Hey, Joan! You call that a strip? He-e-e-y!’

The piano played louder, striving to drown them out. Then they began to stamp. In the hollow theatre their feet immediately sounded like thunder, and the girls on the stage lost step. The seven customers pounded with insistent determination. The salesman caught hold of the empty seats on each side of him and began to bang them up and down. The tapping girls slacked to motionlessness, and the music fell away.

There was a flutter of consternation backstage. Frankie came out, beamed over the footlights as though asked for an encore by an enthusiastic audience, and held up his hands. ‘Now I know what you want, folks,’ he said. ‘But, as you all probably have read, there’s been a little misunderstanding about the intentions of this theatre. I’m criticizing no authorities and naming no names when I say that the Willis has always been a family theatre. We never expected to be the object of the attentions of the police, never in the wide world. We have carefully kept apart from politics. Yet there has been trouble’ — he made a sign to the wings and the curtains closed behind him and the slippers of the girls could be heard as they clicked off — ‘and our company has been made to suffer. Yes, the name of this fine old theatre has been sadly misused.’

Frankie took a few steps across the stage, straightened his shoulders out of their comedian’s slump, and went on. ‘But we must also understand another thing: the law is the law. Isn’t that so, my friends? We must all respect the law, regardless of what we think, regardless of our own consciences.’ Catching a sign from the wings, he spoke more loudly. ’And so I hope that in the second part of our show, which will follow immediately after this brief intermission,’ — he was rising to a cheerful crescendo, — ‘we shall be able to entertain you in the style of the old Willis. And I trust you will do your part by receiving us in the same friendly spirit. And so thank you for your courteous attention, and after our usual ten-minute intermission, on with the show!’ He disappeared neatly. The audience sagged, muttering, as the footlights went out and the ceiling’s single chandelier, like a feeble sun, gave them full light again. To save current, half the bulbs had been unscrewed.

II

A moment later Frankie came out the door at the side of the stage, minus his white tortoise-shell glasses and red hat, and walked up the wall aisle. The salesman was waiting and blocked him. He held out a torn piece of newspaper. ‘Look at what you say in this ad,’ he said bitterly. ‘You’ve got a nerve. “The only burlesk in K. C.” What the hell do you mean by calling this jig a burlesque show? I drove one hundred and fifty miles out of my way from Joplin just to see a tease. I want a tease or I want my refund.’

‘If you’ve got a kick,’ said Frankie pleasantly, ‘save it for after the show. Then give it to those two guys with badges out there in the lobby.’ He waited briefly for the other comic, a lanky older man in sloppy suspender trousers and a tall black hat. ‘Hurry up, Nat,’ he said. ‘Coming,’ said Nat, blowing his nose, and they sauntered into the lobby together. ‘Hello, boys,’ they said, stepping over the feet of the detectives, who had sprawled out on the lobby sofa. The detectives looked up with clear, expressionless eyes and nodded slightly. The two comics went part way down the lobby, then Frankie stopped and turned back a moment.

‘Say, Henderson,’ he said to the younger detective, ‘when are we going to get back them two hula costumes you kept after the pinch last Saturday? You still got them over at the courthouse, you know.’

Henderson was a paunchy man of twenty-eight. Drawing with his teeth the strings of a bag of tobacco, he peered upward into his pipe without answering. Frankie turned his look to Peebles, the other detective, who was forty and fatherly-looking. Peebles had a chew of tobacco high in his cheek. He spat and wiped his mouth with a big handkerchief. ‘We give that shredded wheat back to you once, I thought,’ he said mildly.

‘Once,’ said Nat. ‘But not the last time.’

‘You don’t need ‘em,’ put in Henderson, pushing down his tobacco in his pipe with a thick thumb.

‘Hell we don’t,’ said Frankie. ‘We need ‘em for rehearsal tonight. Got to get next week’s show ready.’

‘What’s your rush, Frankie?’ said Peebles, looking up.

‘Can’t keep the girls in the same rompers and feathers for more than two months straight, you know,’ said Nat. ‘If you won’t let us use bras and gadgets, at least give us back the hula stuff.’

Peebles turned his face to Nat and spoke with affected somnolence. ‘Why put your neck out, when you know rompers are okay?’

‘We got to make a change of show sometime,’ said Frankie. ‘ Don’t you realize that means a change of costume?’

Peebles thought a moment and then said, ‘Why?’

‘My God,’ said Frankie softly. ‘Nat, you tell him.’

‘The judge acquitted all the girls in those hulas,’ explained Nat with patience. ‘That makes the costumes okay and legal, doesn’t it?’

‘This is another week,’ said Henderson. He winked at Peebles, blew a cloud of smoke, and smiled through it enigmatically, happy with some secret of his own.

‘Listen, Henderson,’ asked Nat bluntly, ‘are you aiming to book the girls in the line again this Saturday? Are you planning another pinch?’

The two college boys brushed past them, walking out. The traveling man appeared in the door by the empty ticket-chopping machine and stood there with a querulous expression, the advertisement still dangling in his hand. The doors banged hollowly, and a cold patch of air came in from the street.

‘Look out, or you might give us ideas,’said Henderson. He turned to the older detective. ‘Shall we book ‘em again, Eddie? I’ll leave it to you.’

‘Search me,’ said Peebles blandly. ‘Up to the chief, I guess.’

Nat put his arm around Frank’s shoulder, drawing the actor doorward. ‘Come on, let’s eat,’he muttered. They had both been playing without makeup, and in their freakish clothes their earnestness seemed grotesque. ‘Listen, boys,’ said Frank, looking back, gazing rather at the big feet of the detectives than at their faces, ‘you’ve seen the business we’re doing. Is it brutal? I ask you.’

‘Or is it brutal?’ said Nat. Henderson shrugged, scratched a match on the floor, and relit his pipe. ‘How much is seven times forty cents?’ asked Frank, holding out a beseeching hand. ‘Can a show run on $2.80 a night? Can it? We’ve got seven girls and three men to feed, the two musicians, the lights, the door, and Arthur. Four weeks like that, and I leave it to you.’

’Listen,’said Nat, returning a step, ‘at the matinee Wednesday we had one man. He left in the second part of the show. . . . Aw, come on, Frank. They aren’t even listening.'

Frank held back for a word. ‘Four Sundays over at the station, four hearings before the judge Monday morning, four discharges,’he said. ‘I ask you, is that lawful?’ The two comics exchanged looks of indignation, perfectly timed, and went down the lobby. It was their unrehearsed scene, and in its way it was flawless, but on such an audience it was wasted. Henderson and Peebles smoked and chewed tobacco in a kind of rough unison, slowly and with satisfaction. They said nothing at all.

Arthur emerged with his basket of molasses kisses. The salesman, mollified by what he had heard, moved over to allow Arthur to ease his basket down on the ticket chopper. The two detectives turned toward them.

‘They go much for your stuff tonight, Arthur?’ asked Peebles faintly.

‘Try and sell something to anybody that already feels he’s gypped,’said Arthur. ‘Just try it.’

‘it’s an off night, I guess,’ said Henderson, yawning. ‘Either that or your show’s lousy.’ He winked at the salesman.

‘The trouble is,’said Arthur, in a low, deadly voice, ‘when you guys clean up a bunch of political grafters, you think you’ve got to wipe out everything else. No matter how many people you throw out of work. You don’t care.’

‘Cut crabbing and give us a coke,’said Peebles.

The old man unstopped two CocaColas from the icebox behind the ticket chopper, handed them over, waited briefly for payment, and, receiving none, went on. ‘Of course, the girls out back ask me what’s wrong. “Arthur,” they say, “what have we girls got to be persecuted like this for?” They think the men in the show ought to be able to tell them. What can we say? We don’t understand it, that’s all. We can’t get at the reason.’ He unstoppered an orangeade for himself, drew deeply on it, and stared into space.

‘Every Saturday night you grab us,’ he said. ‘Okay. You hold us as much as twenty hours without bail. Okay. We get out Sunday afternoon too nervous to rehearse. Okay. Then Monday morning the judge discharges us. Guilty? Hell, no. You say it’s just to be sure we stay in limits. And what do you mean by limit? We can’t bump. We can’t shake it. Why, even in the movies they can shake it. Look at Dorothy Lamour — ever seen her when she didn’t shake it? Never. Close her picture? Never.’ He shook the bottle and held it up to the light. ‘And then next Saturday night, same thing all over again. Why? What sense is there in it?’

‘I see by tonight’s paper,’ put in the traveling salesman helpfully, ‘where Judge Jones told a reporter in an interview yesterday that with Kansas City all cleaned up this new district attorney ought to make a good candidate for the Democratic senatorship.’ He took a breath. ‘Could politics have anything to do with this?’

‘Of course it does,’ said Arthur contemptuously. ‘Does the governor crack down on St. Louis, right in the same state? Oh, no. Have you seen the burly in that town? Bump, shake, and a complete strip. I could show you. Tonight, now, right off. Joan could show you the kind of thing they get away with there.’

Abruptly Henderson raised his head. ‘So Joan knows all about it, does she?’ he said. He looked at Peebles and grinned.

‘Why, sure,’ said Arthur, angrily pounding the ticket chopper with his veined old fist. ‘Anything’s the limit in St. Louis. And yet here in a theatre where Gypsy Rose Lee got her start back in 1930, — here in the cradle, you might say, of burlesque, — fine girls from fine families have to suffer. Have to read their names in the paper week after week. And why? As nearly as I can figure it, simply because the governor happened to decide to clean up the machine in K. C. first.’

‘Meanwhile Saint Loo can get away with anything,’ said the salesman excitedly, with a challenging look at the detectives.

‘Sure,’ said Arthur disgustedly. ‘Everywhere the answer is the same. Politics and graft.’

Henderson blew a ring of smoke between the salesman and Arthur. ‘I wouldn’t get this mixed up with no politics,’ he said slowly and measuredly. ‘Not if I was you and wanted to peddle my papers around K. C.’ The salesman looked as though he had been struck in the face. Arthur turned his back.

The salesman meandered slowly out, the advertisement still aimlessly flapping in his hand. Arthur whirled and pointed after him. ‘See that guy?’ he said. The detectives made no answer. ‘See that guy?’ he repeated savagely.

‘Sure, I see him,’ snapped Henderson. ‘ I see him take a powder when I cased his talk about politics. Well?’

‘All right,’said Arthur, ‘only there goes ten customers. The drummers all hang together. He’ll tell them all, every one. Stay away from K. C. You’ll hear it in Chicago, you’ll hear it in Cincy, you’ll hear it in Memphis. Stay away from K. C. It’s a dead town. When they cleaned it up they couldn’t stop there. They had to kill burlesque. No life at the old Willis any more. Dead.’

Henderson languidly held up the two emptied pop bottles for Arthur to take. As he did so something caught Peebles’s eye. He hauled himself to his feet with a grunt, pointing at a small yellow button on the wall behind the chopper. ‘What happens when you push that button?’ he said, pointing a forefinger toward it.

‘Just rings backstage.’

‘Sure, Eddie,’ said Henderson, his head bobbing sagaciously. ‘It tells Nat and Frankie that our prowl car just parked outside and they better get some clothes on the girls. Give it a push for the hell of it.’ Arthur tried to catch the upraised hand, but Peebles thrust him aside, pushed with a thick thumb, and then turned to grin, showing his gold teeth.

‘That’s no raid button,’ said the little old man bitterly. ‘It’s just to start the show. It rings in the White Front Cafe next door. Frank and Nat are having coffee there. It rings backstage, too. Joan and the girls are ironing costumes there. Oh, you wise guys. You — wise — guys.'

‘Nuts!’ said Peebles, settling back on the sofa. ‘That wire leads right into the stripper’s dressing room.’

‘See a bell and you have to push it,’ said Arthur, clenching his hands till the knuckles cracked. ‘All it means is: get ready for to ring up your curtain. Now the troupe’ll blame me for cutting the intermission.’

‘What’s the difference when you start this show?’ asked Henderson languidly.

Suddenly the little old vender lost his temper. ‘Are you crazy?’ he screamed, purpling and pounding the top of the ticket chopper. ‘I just told you the truth, didn’t I? I told you it don’t mean nothing except first call for on stage.’ He planted himself before the sofa, hands on his hips. ‘ Want to know what’s the matter with you?’ he demanded. He shook his long forefinger under their noses. ‘You’re too blue,’ he said. ‘Blue is burlesque for dirty-minded. Take me along Saturday night in the wagon with the girls and Frankie and Nat, if you want to. I’ll say it again. You’re too blue. You’ve got minds that are just naturally blue, and so everything looks blue to you.’

‘Take it easy, Arthur,’ said Henderson. ‘We never touched your racket yet. That stuff you sell is no Sunday-school literature. If you shoot off your mouth too much, we might have to handle you.’

‘All right, but look who’s coming in,’ snapped Arthur, scratching the back of his scaly hands. He pointed his nose down the lobby where the comedians, their mouths still full of crullers and coffee, were entering from the street. ‘See? Am I right? Aaah, wise guys. How I love wise guys!’

Frankie and Nat went past the sofa, ignoring the detectives. ‘That seemed like a kind of short intermission,’ said Nat to the old man. ‘The dicks pressed the button, not me,’ Arthur answered flatly. The eyes of the comedians flickered fire; the peddler shrugged his shoulders.

‘Okay, Arthur,’ said Nat. ‘I left half a mug of coffee, but we might as well ring up and get it over with. Anybody left?’

‘Just the necking party in the rear seats,’ said Arthur. The comedians went through the door.

Abruptly Henderson cleared his throat. ‘Hey, Frank, you,’ he said commandingly. ‘Wait a second. Come back here. I want to ask you something.'

Frank came back, taking his empty white comedian’s spectacles out of his pocket. ‘We’re just going to ring up, John Law,’ he said. ‘You’ve already cost me a mug of Mocha tonight. Make this short, will you?’

‘What I want to know is,’ said Henderson, ‘where does this Joan Merry live in town?’ He had the manner of a health officer inquiring the residence of a notorious streetwalker.

Frank wet his lips slightly and looked at Nat before answering. ‘You’ve got her address on the blotter, haven’t you?’ he said.

‘Sure,’ put in Peebles, ‘but you told us some of the girls had to sleep in the theatre since they lost their rooms. So we let you give the theatre for home address. Remember?’

‘Yeah, I remember,’ said Frank. ‘ Hey, Nat, come back here a minute.’ The older comic returned. ‘Listen, the boys are up to something new tonight. They want to know where Joan lives. When she’s at home, they mean. Think we could tell them the address of her flat? Would she mind?’

‘We could ask her,’ said Nat. He looked at the two sprawling figures with widened, suddenly gentle eyes. ‘But who should we say wanted to know?’

‘Say anything,’ Henderson answered. ‘Don’t hurt her feelings. Say a couple of admirers.' He elbowed Peebles with elephantine mischief, and Peebles, overcome, giggled behind his hand.

‘She’d probably expect a little token of some kind beforehand,’ said Frank kindly. ‘You know.’ He measured them impassively. ‘Like flowers, or — a mixed basket of fruit and candy, say. It’s customary, when you give a girl’s address. I mean, if you’re admirers, see? That’s the way it’s done in show business.’

Peebles and Henderson looked at each other. ‘Well, there’s no rush about it,’ said Peebles. ‘We weren’t thinking of running around to her flat tonight, or anything like that,’ he added, blinking innocently.

‘Oh, nothing urgent,’ said Henderson, loosening his collar with two fingers. ‘We’ll have to give some thought to that present first.’

‘It’s a nice idea,’ said Nat sweetly. ‘Particularly when it comes from you boys. Let’s go, Frankie — the girls’ll be getting cold.’

III

When the comedians had gone, Arthur sidled up before the two detectives. ‘Want me to tell you where Joan lives?’ he whispered furtively, bending his gray head over between theirs.

‘Yeah, where is she staying?’ said Peebles.

‘It’s a secret around the theatre,’ said Arthur hoarsely. ‘She lives with Frank.’

‘That so?’ said Henderson, sitting up suddenly. ‘How long,’ he added, bending eagerly close, ‘has that been going on?’

‘Over a year,’ rasped Arthur darkly. He turned away to compose his face. ‘She married him last February,’ he said pleasantly. Suddenly he lost control and burst out into a wild cackle of laughter. They looked thunderclouds at him. He came out of it, coughing slightly. ‘And here’s another shovelful of dirt, boys,’ he added with seraphic softness. ‘Get this — this is good. Nat — the skinny one — is her father.’ He held himself in control a moment, and then burst into a wild howl, merciless and complete.

The detectives were silent for several seconds. Arthur watched them cunningly. ‘I’m going to ring up now,’ he said, standing on tiptoe, reaching for the button. ‘Better go in if you want to see the second half of the show. We can’t reserve seats even for you, with business rushing like it is.’

The detectives arose and stretched. Henderson shook his topcoat about him and glanced at his wrist watch; Peebles pretended to yawn. ‘Quite a wise guy yourself, aren’t you, Arthur?’ he said. He shouldered into his overcoat. ‘Come on, Hendy,’ he said. They marched down the lobby, their heavy haunches moving under their clothes.

Arthur reached up and pressed the button. The house lights went out, and in the back row the two couples put their arms about each other and nestled down together. In the orchestra pit the pianist’s hands fell upon the ‘Washington Post March,’ the traps making it sound like the advent of an army, and as the curtains parted the barelegged girls pranced in, piping ‘An Apple for the Teacher.’ Three girls in the rear line were dressed as red Indians, with tomahawks and sunburst warpaint, the three girls in front of them were the fife-anddrum corps of the Spirit of ‘76, engagingly bandaged, playing their fife and piccolo without touching them to their lips, the drummer sketchily thumping a tambourine. Mottled rompers showed beneath their brown silk shorts. And when Frankie and Nat, powdered and peruked, handed gallantly from the wings the stately figure of Liberty herself, — the American goddess, beautifully enwrapped in red, white, and blue silk ribbons, — Miss Liberty had the face and body of Joan Merry. As she floated dreamily across the stage, displaying her queenly charm to the lovers in the rear row, a curious smile, as though she were inwardly amused, hovered about her mouth. But Liberty did not undo a ribbon; Liberty did not reveal a curve. Only her soft eyes alertly searched the house, and even though she did not find the two faces she sought, Liberty smiled and smiled and smiled.