Of Silly Girls and Smart Women

“Do you believe in love, Betty?” asks Dora, filling her lips with crimson so bright it would be vulgar anywhere but here. She is new, has only been at the cabaret a few weeks. All new ones are like that, filled with romantic delusions they read about in silly books for sillier girls.
“No,” I say. I know better. The first time a visitor breaks the polite ruse, treating you not like a star to be cherished but a whore to be had, you learn that lesson.
“Then what do you believe in?”
“What all women should believe in. Diamonds.”