“I never met Miss Dolly.”
Honoree removed her makeup pouch from her shopping bag. “Then who taught you the dance numbers?”
“I—I been rehearsing by myself.”
“Alone? How?”
“Don’t worry.” Bessie’s tone hardened. “I can dance.”
Honoree faced her, intrigued. The girl’s brown eyes were angry slits. “Miss Orphan Annie, you have a claw.”
“Why you wanna go and call me a name?”
Honoree arched an eyebrow, grudgingly impressed with her sass. “If Miss Dolly didn’t teach you, who did?”
Bessie opened her mouth, but Honoree interrupted before she could say a word. “Forget I asked.”
This was likely Honoree’s last night at Miss Hattie’s. What was the point of listening to a new girl’s story?
“I need a costume,” Bessie said, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Again, she was standing too close, right behind Honoree.
“Lord, stop sneaking up on me.”
“I don’t sneak.” Bessie pulled a piece of string hanging from her sleeve. “Been standing right here. Not moving since the first time.”
Honoree sighed. “Okay, then.”
She reached into her shopping bag and handed Bessie a pair of ruffled bloomers and a rhinestone-covered muslin bodice. “Now, stop pestering me.”
Bessie’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Thank you!”
“It’s a hand-me-down and won’t fit. So don’t get too excited. I’m quite a bit taller than you.”
Bessie’s large eyes blinked back tears as her lips quivered.
“Don’t have a conniption.” Honoree eyed her up and down. “I’m taller than you, but we’re about the same size in the hips and bubs.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“After you’re done with the outfit, you give it back washed and ironed. You understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bessie hugged the clothes to her chest, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Honoree squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. She felt sorry for the child but also wanted to strangle her. She reminded Honoree of hard times. Plus, the bruises on her face turned Honoree’s stomach.
“Come here,” Honoree said gruffly. “I don’t like seeing anyone onstage, even at a brawling speakeasy like Miss Hattie’s, looking like they just took a doozy of a beating.” Honoree rummaged through her makeup. “We need to cover up those black-and-blue marks.”
“How would I do that?”
Honoree organized her makeup: face powder, black pencil, a small black brush, lipstick, and cake mascara. “Have a seat.”
Bessie grabbed a nearby crate and sat, fidgeting like her rump had landed in the electric chair with the warden’s finger on the switch.
“Sit still and pay attention to me.” Honoree dipped the pink puff into a powder tin and patted her cheeks. “Now, you do the same over your bruise.”
Bessie put more face powder in her lap than on her face.
“I swear, you gonna give me apoplexy.” Honoree picked up a cloth and dabbed it in a jar of hand cream. “Turn toward me.”
