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Show Bobbie's House of Furs 45 Angela glanced over the customers at the counter and in the booths, trying to forget her second mistake with Bobbie. Only one older woman, alone in rouge, a turban and a squirrel coat, looked up from her menu. "Underneath this fur-trimmed see-through jacket that you'll find only at Bobbie's House of Furs," Bobbie's lips were too close to the microphone, "notice Angela's leopard swimsuit--the me-Jane-you-Tarzan swimsuit from Fantasy of California." Bobbie pronounced "Fantasy" with lots of air swishing around the vowels. "Go to the tables, now, Angie honey, and give the folks a closer look." Angela's f i r s t table was f i l l e d with a group of weathered cowboys, their eyes tired from years on the range. They surveyed Angela with half- 1 ids as she posed at their table. "Nice, honey," one said as he dropped his cigarette ash into the brandy-colored ashtray that said "Showboat" and resumed his talk about auctions. Angela expected more from cowboys. They were supposed to holler and yell "Whoopie-tie-yi-a," or something similar. Angela gave each man a business card from Bobbie's shop, but was too embarrassed to quote prices. The next booth was crowded with four ladies from the Sunrise Grocery Bowling Team. "Oh, h e l l , " one said, "look at them leopard spots, Edith." "Oh, Lord," Edith said. "I'd look like a jackass in one of them suits." She took a long draw on her cigarette and coughed out a hoarse laugh. |
