Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha can see Lucy pulling on her costume, the megaphone in her right hand.

‘Not tonight,’ Natasha says. ‘Tonight you’re doing things our way.’

The lights go down.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my great pleasure to introduce Lucy.’

Natasha disappears behind the curtain and pulls Lucy out on a chaise longue on wheels. Lucy is wearing a fluffy, see-through robe over a pink negligee. She is sprawled across the couch and is holding an old-style telephone in her hand. She rests on her left elbow, facing the audience.

‘Oh baby, I know, I know,’ Lucy says into the telephone. ‘Oh I know, it’s awful to be so in love. I will see what I’m doing on Saturday.’

She puts down the phone. It starts ringing again, urgently, a high, shrill sound. Lucy slips on a pair of pom-pom slippers and answers. ‘I will see what I’m doing Saturday,’ she says. ‘It’s hard to be so in love, but you will relax into it, you will get used to it. That’s my advice.’

She puts down the phone and pushes a lock of hair out of her face. ‘My phone never stops ringing,’ she says to the audience. ‘That’s just the way it is.’

The phone rings again. ‘I will see what I’m doing Saturday,’ she says, more briskly this time. She puts the phone down and stares into space. ‘My phone never stops ringing,’ she says, almost despairing.

The phone rings again. ‘I will see what I’m doing Saturday,’ she says, robotically. She places down the receiver. ‘I like the cocktails and the compliments.’

The phone rings again. Each ring is louder, angrier. ‘I will see what I’m doing Saturday,’ she screams and puts down the receiver. ‘I like the cocktails and the compliments, but after a while it all starts to turn my stomach.’ She twirls a piece of her hair in her finger. There is complete silence.

The phone rings again. ‘I will see what I’m doing Saturday,’ Lucy says. She re-adjusts her negligee, squeezes her breasts. She listens more carefully. She switches the phone to her other ear. She nods. She stands up and walks around with the phone in her hand. She giggles.

‘You earn how much a week? Without tax? So what’s your take-home pay? I don’t mean to be brash but a woman has to think about these things,’ Lucy says. ‘I have a right to ask. It’s an issue I get pretty heated about. A woman has to think about her place in society. She has to rise. You sound like an upstanding citizen with prospects.’ Lucy winks at the audience, a big, exaggerated batting of her right eye. ‘So I guess I will come right over.’