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Show The White Suit 63 her legs and pretended that she was Grace Kelly, the ultimate lady, and that some producer would see her legs and want to produce. On the way back to the dining room, on the circular staircase, Sara stopped and struck a pose, one leg bent at the knee. Her leg flipped into an overhead kick and hung in the air suspended, toe pointed at the crystals on the chandelier. "Madame, is there anything I can get for you?" the maitre d' asked. "No, thank you," she said. The leg started to circle, brushing the ground, arcing back to tickle the faceted crystal. Her leg: a propeller whose circumference swept the width of the staircase. No one could pass, but no one wanted to. They' never seen a leg like that one. "Who can can-can?" she asked the gathering crowd. "I can." Bent knee, high kick, bent knee, high kick. Circle kick, turn, bounce. Ruffles up, derriere, ruffles down, back kick. Ta-ra-ra kick. Boom-de-a kick. The lady in the white suit covered the circular stairs, circling and whirling. All with one leg while the other stood staid, s t i l l and serene. Sara's mother bought her a white piano, had all of the black keys removed and the empty spaces f i l l e d with natural sponge. "For you, Sara. C major forever. Tonic, tonic, diatonic. No accidentals, sharps or f l a t s ." |