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Show Bobbie's House of Furs 45 "Maybe you'd improve your bowling average in somethin' like that, Edith." "Hell, somebody might try to bowl my boobs." They hooted and hacked. Angela handed them cards and moved on to show Bobbie's styles to the next three tables. She maintained her professionalism by indicating the fur trim on the net jacket with a graceful f l i p of her hand and wondered when someone would give her the kind of reaction she had anticipated. She stroked the wisps of mink tail with her index finger for comfort. When Angela had peeked out of the dressing room curtain the week before at Bobbie's House of Furs, waiting for Bobbie to bring a selection of clothes for Angela's f i r s t fashion show (Bobbie had called the high school for girls with training in modeling), she had glimpsed a rack of furs behind a half-open door. The clothes rack sagged in the middle, weighted with deep luxurious browns, beiges, mahoganies and greys-beavers, raccoons, chinchillas, minks, and foxes. A year earlier, Angela would have been sympathetic to the animals that would never scurry through the woods again, but here she was-a model and newly appreciative of elegance. Her mother had always said that she would never wear furs even i f she did have the money-too ostentatious. S t i l l , Angela found herself wishing that she could model the full-length mink that hung at the end of the rack, the one pieced together in a chevron pattern. "Here, honey," said Bobbie, carrying a s i lk shirt dress, a jumpsuit, a velvet sheath trimmed with a taffeta r u f f l e , and an imitation leopard-skin b i k i n i . "Try these." Bobbie hung the clothes on a hook. "This customer |