The Camera Eye

by NEW MAN LEVY

A native New Yorker, NEWMAN LEVY is a lawyer, a versifier, and the author of much lively writing about, opera, movies, and the theater.

WE WERE seated in the lobby of the hotel as she walked swiftly by us, turned a corner sharply, and was gone.

“That’s an uncommonly goodlooking girl,” I said to my wife, who was deep in a crossword puzzle.

“Do you mean the one in that imitation blue taffeta dress with the green and red flowered design?”

“The girl that just walked by.”

“Yes,” said my wife, “with that dowdy rayon dress on. It’s a copy of one I saw at Hattie Carnegie’s, and a poor copy at that. You’d think, though, that sh’d have better taste than to wear a chartreuse hat with it , especially with her bleached hair.”

“Bleached? I didn’t notice her hair was bleached.”

“Good heavens, you could almost smell the peroxide. I don’t mind a bit of make-up provided it looks fairly natural. But you could scrape that rouge off with a knife. They ought to add a course in make-up to the curriculum at Smith.”

“Smith? Why Smith?”

“From her class pin, of course. You must have noticed it hanging from her charm bracelet.”

“I wasn’t looking at her wrist.”

“’ll bet you weren’t. Nor at those fat legs of hers, either. A woman with legs like that shouldn’t wear high-heeled patent-leather shoes.”

“I thought she was a very pretty girl,” I said apologetically.

“Well, you may be right,” said my wife. “I was busy with my puzzle and I didn’t notice her particularly. What ‘s I he name of a President of the United States in six letters, beginning with T?”