All That Glitters Read Online Free Page A

her with the official key to the city, and afterward there would be a motor cavalcade from the depot up to Main Street and right through the center of town.
    Ah, for the feverish thoughts that swam through the air of my room that night, like so many fishes in the sea, and, oh, for the fetid dreams my perverted fancy concocted as I slept. That doll-like face my eyes knew so well, those platinum ringlets, those bejeweled fingers, those twitching lips and rolling hips, that inviting honkytonk voice—did I really sleep that night? I wonder. And, oh God, the tits… I wasn’t fourteen for nothing!
    Next noontime, at the Atheneum, when the bell rang releasing us from our two hours’ enslavement to the Muses, we stampeded from the place into the bright sunlight and exciting holiday pandemonium of Main Street. Few scenes in my life have ever made such a dent on my impressionable mind as my first taste of what the Hollywood brand of hoopla and ballyhoo was and still is capable of. Bands played, flags waved, crowds cheered, there were photographers, reporters, policemen, remote units from the local radio stations. Both sides of Main Street were lined with a horde of screaming, bawling, shouting, gesticulating, popeyed gawkers standing tiptoe to see—what? Little, so far as I could tell, since I saw nothing but a beef trust of backs in front of me. A rusted drainpipe ran up one wall at the Atheneum entrance, and by some adroit maneuvering I managed to elevate myself above the heads of those in front, where I beheld a sight I shall never forget.
    Out in the street, proceeding at a measured rate of speed along the thoroughfare, was an automobile—the automobile of our mayor, George Allen. I recognized him from his pictures in the paper, as well as the fact that he occasionally played golf with my father. The windows of the long, dark green automobile were rolled down, and behind his trademark pince-nez on a black silk ribbon he sat beaming and nodding, and at his side sat—BABE!!! Oh yeah !
    If the Virgin Mary herself had been sitting beside Mayor Allen in his hammer-claw morning coat, his top hat, pearl spats, and spectacles, I for one could not have been more impressed. Less, actually, because I never really imagined the Virgin to possess breasts, while Babe—oh, there they were, those twin headlights, that gorgeous set of clydes sticking out to there. She was wearing a big cartwheel hat of black Milan straw (once or twice she turned her head and you could see it was a cut-out; her hair showed in the back). Her dress was shiny, cut low, with diamond clips in the corners, and she had ice on her arm up to the elbow. That was the arm she waved with; the other hand lay anchored in her muff—a silver fox muff that matched the fur chubby that was tossed over those shoulders—and it was hot that day. Hot, I’ll say.
    She smiled. Those pearly-whites flashed as if there were diamonds set between them, and you could see her eyes as they rolled about in her head like bb-shot. I felt myself stricken, then I went berserk on the spot. Heedless of my brother or our schoolmates, I leaped down from my perch and in seconds was shoving my way through the crowd, feeling hot and cold, as if I might burst or faint dead away. The slow-to-move were ruthlessly pushed from my path, the immobile became suddenly active as I weaseled my way through the press of bodies until I emerged at curbside just as the official vehicle, preceded by a marching brass band, drew abreast.
    Looking neither left nor right, I plunged from curb to street, launching myself in a beeline for the main attraction. I saw nothing else, I had eyes only for her and the cartwheel hat, the flashy dress, the agreeably demonstrated pulchritude, that darling pink-and-white face, those flaxen curls. Nearer I came and nearer to the goddess; perhaps I was reaching out with my hands as though to grab —something!—I don’t remember, but forward I went, closer, until I was beside the car,