Free Love of Seven Dolls by Paul Gallico Page B

to be there. The front rows sparkled with jewels and décolletage and white shirt fronts. The playboys and playgirls of the gold coast had a wonderful nose for the unusual, the slightly amer, the bitter-sweet in entertainment, the story behind the story, the broken heart palpitating onstage for all to see. The gossip had gone around the cocktail circuit, “My dear, it’s frightfully amusing. She talks with all these little dolls, but there’s supposed to be the most fantastic man behind them. No one has ever seen him. He’s supposed to be madly in love with her. Philippe has four tickets. We’re all driving over and dining at the Casino first.”
    It began as usual with the strains of “Va t’en, va t’en” dying away in the orchestra pit, followed by curtain rise showing a corner of the village square with the puppet booth set up, and Golo, the white patch gleaming over his vacant eye socket, strumming his guitar in front of it in a little song dedicated to calling the village folk together to see their show.
    The spotlight on Golo would dim; the light pools by the booth would narrow. One of the puppets would appear with startling suddenness in the limelight and claim the attention of all. Mouche was never on stage as the curtain went up.
    This night it began with Mr. Reynardo making a furtive appearance on the counter of the booth, looking carefully to the right and left and behind him as well. Then he called: “Pssssst! Golo!” And when Golo appeared from behind the booth, “Where’s Mouche?”
    “I don’t know, Mr. Reynardo. You want me to call her?”
    “In a minute. I’ve got something for her.” He ducked down and appeared with a handsome red fox fur scarf, tipped with a bushy tail at one end and a small fox mask at the other. He stretched it along the counter and for a moment snuffled up and down its length. “It’s for her,” he told Golo.
    “Dieu!” remarked Golo, “but that’s rich. I’ll go fetch Mouche, Mr. Reynardo.”
    While Golo went off into the wings, Mr. Reynardo scrutinised the scarf closely. “Eeeeeh!” he said with some slight distaste. “Awfully familiar. Say, she was a nice-looking babe . . . I seem to remember her from somewhere.” He moved up to the head of the scarf and bestowed a surprisingly gentle kiss onto the muzzle of the foxmask. “Requiescat in pace, kid,” he said. “And keep Mouche warm.”
    Mouche walked onstage into a storm of applause that lasted for several minutes and brought the ache back to her throat. Whenever she was shown kindness or approval it brought her close to tears.
    At last she was able to proceed. She began, “Golo said you were looking for me, Rey . . .”
    “Uhuh. Glad you got here before the others. Er . . . ah . . .” The fox was looking not entirely comfortable. He reached and taking the scarf in his jaws he held it out to the girl. “This is for you. It’s a wed . . .” he seemed to gag over the word and switched, “. . . a going-away present for you.”
    Mouche’s hand flew to her heart. “Oh Rey! How beautiful. Oh, you shouldn’t have . . .You know you shouldn’t have spent so much . . .”
    Her expression altered suddenly to the wise, tender and slightly admonishing, “Mother-knows-all-what-have-you-done-now” look that her audiences knew so well. “Rey! Come over here to me at once and tell me where you got that beautiful and expensive scarf . . .”
    The fox squirmed slightly, “Must I, Mouche?”
    “Reynardo! You know what I have always told you about being honest . . .”
    By a twist of his neck Mr. Reynardo managed to achieve a look of injured innocence. “Well, if you must know, I bought it on the hire purchase instalment plan.”
    “Indeed. And what happens if you fail to keep up the payments. Oh Rey! I suppose they’ll come to my home and take it away from me . . .”
    The fox slowly shook his head. “Oh no . . . You see, I made a kind of a deal.”
    Mouche was mock serious now and once more lost in