The Cop and the Chorus Girl by Nancy Martin

packed up his equipment.
    When Dixie disappeared into the shower, Flynn ventured to use his voice. “How often do you come here, Sven?”
    â€œI do Dixie before every performance,” Sven answered. Apparently, Flynn had passed some kind of test, because the masseur began to talk in a friendly fashion. “Every actor needs to prepare before a show, and this is her way. There are a couple of actors I do after the performances, too.”
    â€œNice work if you can get it.”
    â€œOh, yes, I love my job. I work at all the theaters on Broadway.”
    â€œYou must get to meet a lot of, er, interesting people.”
    â€œLots of stars, yes. Dixie’s the best, though. She’s got a great body and a big heart.” Leaning forward as if to share a secret, Sven said, “She’s got the best butt in town, too, but she hasn’t let it go to her head.”
    Flynn laughed, but wasn’t sure if Sven was serious or not.
    Dixie emerged from the shower then, quickly rubbing her skin dry and singing happily to herself. “Are you bragging about my behind again, Sven?”
    â€œI tell everybody about your butt, honey. Your garbanzos can’t get all the attention.”
    â€œWell, they say any publicity is good publicity,” she retorted, laughing. “Thanks, Sven. You’re just what I needed after a day like today!”
    â€œShall I come back later?”
    â€œNo, I’ll find another way to wind down after the show.”
    Sven winked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
    With more laughter, they said their goodbyes and Sven departed with his table.
    Dixie turned her amused gaze on Flynn. “Well, that’s the best mood I’ve ever seen him in! Sven certainly took a shine to you!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe thought you were pretty sexy.”
    Baffled, Flynn said, “I don’t—what do you mean?”
    â€œHe’s gay, of course. Couldn’t you tell?”
    â€œHell, no! How am I supposed to know?”
    â€œDon’t get flustered. It’s a compliment.”
    â€œI’m not flustered!”
    From the hallway someone shouted, “Thirty minutes till curtain!”
    The message galvanized Dixie, and she forgot about Sven. “I’ve got to warm up now.”
    Flynn’s head spun. Being with Dixie Davis was like keeping company with a tornado, all right. “Do you want me to wait outside?”
    â€œNo need for that.”
    In her towel, she began to hustle around the dressing room, arranging clothing, choosing another cassette tape, organizing her makeup. She plugged in a new tape and started to vocalize along with the recorded music. Through the half-open door, Flynn could hear other actors doing the same thing up and down the hall.
    Dixie sat down at her dressing table, the towel slipping precariously around her otherwise naked body. She examined her face in the mirror. While exercising her voice, she began to apply her makeup. Her hands moved in quick, sure motions and she turned her face back and forth to catch the light after each layer of color went on.
    Her voice grew stronger with every scale she sang, and Flynn liked listening to her. She had a good but not overpowering voice. There was an appealing sweetness to her singing. Other voices rose in similar patterns from the rest of the dressing rooms, causing the air to swell with cacophonous song.
    Her face was quickly transformed into a vibrant mask of color. She applied her lip pencil last, then rubbed a bright red color onto her lips as a finishing touch.
    â€œFifteen minutes!” shouted the stage manager from the hall.
    â€œCostume,” Dixie said decisively. “Could you hand me that red thing, Flynn?”
    â€œRed thing?”
    â€œRight there.” She pointed.
    â€œThis?” Flynn picked up a thin strip of elastic from which dangled a few rows of silk tassels. “It’s not really a costume, is