Around the World With Auntie Mame Read Online Free PDF

lunch. “Besides there
aren’t
any lines. All you have to say is ‘
Oh,
mon amour!
’ from time to time. This French fag does all the rest of the talking. You don’t even go on until eleven o’clock. That gives us five—almost six—hours to rehearse. Why, I could teach . . .”
    â€œN-no, Vera,” Auntie Mame whimpered.
    â€œ
Now,
” Vera said, “the thing opens at a gala masquerade in the Winter Palace. The courtiers are all dancing this gay minuet when Catherine the Great comes down the stairs, heavily disguised. Now pretend that’s the staircase, over there by the door.”
    â€œOh, Ve-ra,” Auntie Mame moaned.
    THE DOORKEEPER AT THE FOLIES-BERGÈRE ALL BUT genuflected when Vera swept in, swathed in her veiling, and imperiously signed the artistes’ register. A star was, after all, a star. But the backstage space in the theater was so cramped what with its mountains of scenery, its stagehands, its dressers, its dancing girls and dancing boys, its mannequins, its featured performers, its stars and its stars’ retinues that visitors were discouraged from adding to the general mob scene.
    Auntie Mame was stopped and the doorkeeper gave Vera a questioning look.
    â€œ
Ma femme
,” Vera said, indicating the hastily got-up maid’s uniform Auntie Mame was wearing.
    The doorman raised his eyebrows but a star was, after all, a star and the theater staff was accustomed to the odd little quirks of personality that sometimes accompany celebrity. Then the doorkeeper nabbed me and shot another questioning glance.
    â€œ
Mon
amour
,” Auntie Mame said, almost to herself. The doorman scratched his head, shrugged Gallically, and let us pass.
    Backstage all was pandemonium. I could hear the orchestra blaring out front and a shrill Greek tenor singing something about loving Paree both
midi
and
minuit
something-something
avec
his
chérie
something-something
c’est la vie
. Some Balkan tumblers wearing nothing but gold paint, gold jock straps, and gold teeth were having a big discussion in a tongue I took to be Croatian. A flamenco dancer was laying out her partner in a brand of Spanish that was never heard in Castille. And a statuesque woman, somewhat sketchily dressed in three rhinestone stars, was rocking a baby and crooning to it in German.
    â€œMy dressing room is this way,” Vera said, elbowing her way through a throng of chorus boys got up as Princess of the Church for what I supposed would be a big Religious Number. They were mad for singing “Ave Maria” at the Folies-Bergère. Vera tripped over a performing seal, gave it a vicious kick, and dragged Auntie Mame up the stairs. You had to be a mountain goat to get to and from the dressing rooms, and the stairway made me think of the subway at rush hour except that practically everyone was naked. However, nobody paid much attention except me.
    â€œIt’s this one,” Vera panted, pushing Auntie Mame toward a door.
    Auntie Mame opened the door and was immediately knocked flat by six enormous Russian wolfhounds that kept barking and wagging their tails and licking her face until I could get them off and help her.
    â€œVera,” Auntie Mame gasped, “what
is
this? An
animal
act?”
    â€œNo, Mame,” Vera said apologetically, “they’re part of your props. You go on with them in the big love scene.”
    â€œVera! That’s
sodomy
! I won’t . . .”
    â€œOh, nothing like that, de-ah. See, they
like
you.”
    â€œWell,
I
don’t like
them
.”
    â€œNever mind, de-ah, Patrick will look after them. Won’t you, Patrick? That’s Sascha, that’s Jascha, there’s Vanya, that’s Pavel, and Boris and Morris.”
    â€œ
Morris?
” I said.
    â€œWell, I can’t remember,” Vera said nervously. “They all sound like Santa Claus’s reindeer. Now sit down, Mame, and I’ll make you up to look just