"Raymond F. Nelson - Then Beggar's Could Ride" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nelson Raymond F)

It was indeed a good mimicry of a knee-length white satin flapper dress
from the late nineteen-twenties. Marge pirouetted coquettishly, showing
off the dress (and her silk stockings), then struck a pose, one slender hand
touching her short peroxide-blond hair, the other raising skyward a
cigarette in a long ivory cigarette holder. I had to admit my wife was very
much "in period," very authentic. The flapper style was perfect for her,
with her small boyish figure. (I did not look nearly so convincing in a
coonskin coat.) The final touch: she was vigorously chewing gum. Through
the gum she said, in a pleased voice, "Aren't I the bee's knees?"

"Yes."

"Say it, Newton!" she commanded me.

"You're the bee's knees, dear."

She stopped posing, fairly well satisfied, though I knew she would
rather I'd call her "Sweetie" or at least "Baby."

"Dear" wasn't the best possible mim for her period, though I'm sure
there were people in the twenties that called each other "dear."

"In fact," I added, hoping to please her."

"I might go so far as to say you're the cat's pajamas."

"Now you're talkin'!" She gave me a light kiss on the chin, then took me
by the hand and led me into the front room. The front room, of course,
was decorated in a rigorous Art Deco style, all metal, glass and simple
geometrical forms. The whole apartment was Art Deco. Indeed the whole
neighborhood was Art Deco. I had occasionally pointed out that no real
neighborhood in the twenties was completely Art Deco. To be a genuine
mim, our street would have had to have had at least one or two buildings
from some previous era. Whenever I pointed this out to Marge she would
reply, "Who would live in them?"
 Which was logical. If someone wanted to live in a house from some
non-deco period, they would not set up housekeeping here in the Chaplin
District.

"What'll ya have? The usual?" she demanded, stepping behind the
rectangular bright red bar.

"Nothing, thanks."

She raised a painted eyebrow. "Nothing? Say, are you turning
prohibitionist on me?" The Chaplin district played at prohibition, but was
not really dry, as were some more ruralist twenties neighborhoods.

"You can have something if you like," I said.