Word: caf
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Lena Horne, a café au lait beauty, was not the kind of a girl to come onstage the way Josephine Baker had, with only a string of bananas girdling her hips. Obviously nervous, dressed in a square-shouldered white gown, Lena flashed her magnificent teeth in the spotlight and curtsied demurely. Then, as the lights went down and the rhythm began to pad out softly behind her, she slithered cosily up to the mike and began to sway. First she gave them It's Just One of Those Things in a low and sultry voice. By the time...
...gallery reeked of perfume and rustled with silk and feathers. The extra-heavy cream of Manhattan café society eddied thickly between the walls, slowed to an occasional standstill by the 15 new Salvador Dali oils hanging there. The Flying Giant Demi-Tasse gave them pause; so did the Portrait of Pablo Picasso in the 21st Century - a creature with ram's horns and two tongues, one a foot long...
...most honest, interesting people I have met. I remember a Sunday afternoon in Cuernavaca when he took over a Mariachi band and gave us a concert of the lusty songs of Obregón's armies; an evening in the California bar when he hunched forward over a café table and practically mesmerized Orozco into sponsoring an exhibit of young Mexican artists; a night in my apartment where he kept a roomful of people silent until four-thirty in the morning, forgetting even their drinks, while he told how it was in Mexico during the Revolution; an evening...
Among the plain people, ripples of cold fear ran up & down Italy's long spine. TIME Correspondent Emmet Hughes cabled from Naples: "In a café on the Via Medina, I asked the sad, round-faced proprietor behind the marble counter how afraid he was. His stubbly chin trembled and the watery blue eyes seemed ready to gush tears as he said, 'Of course I'm afraid. How many Italians have to die? You Americans killed some. The Germans killed others. Now it seems we're going to kill each other. We've got poverty...
...program by a dowager who resented having to wait in a drafty doorway until Betty was photographed. . . ." The press heard that she had paid only $48.25 for her gown at S. Klein's. She even put a 71-year-old leg up on a table in the Opera café, and repeated the performance for photographers later. The Post's Saloon Editor Earl Wilson confronted her. The dialogue...