The Case of the Singing Skirt

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George Anclitas looked at Ellen Robb with the shrewd appraisal of a cattle buyer inspecting a shipment of beef. "Black stockings," he said.

Ellen nodded.

"Long black stockings, way up," George said, making a gesture which included the hips.

"Leotards," Slim Marcus added parenthetically.

"I don't care what you call 'em," George said. "I want the black shiny ones that are tight and go way, way up."

"That's the stuff," Slim said. "Leotards."

"And the skirt," George went on, eying Ellen appraisingly, "about halfway down to the knees with a little bit of a white apron. You know, that thing about the size of a pocket handkerchief with a lot of lace on it that you tie on."

"Tonight's the night?" Slim asked.

"Tonight we take him," George said.

"All of it?"

"Why stop halfway?"

"Now, he likes you," George went on to Ellen. "He can't take his eyes off you when you're in your working clothes. Every time after you finish a number, grab the tray and come on in. Always walk on the side of the table where he can see you and keep his attention distracted, except when I give you the signal."

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