Alcina Dimitrescu being an absolute womanizer in her jazz days. Just singing in cabarets, bars, speakeasies, making eyes

Alcina Dimitrescu being an absolute womanizer in her jazz days.

Just singing in cabarets, bars, speakeasies, making eyes at every single lady in the place from up on stage in some slinky flapper dress and pearls or neglegé and feather boa.

Later she takes them to her room, some one by one, others a few at a time and just.

It’s always a shock to the person who comes in to get her for her next performance, because the room is a mess and whatever young thing in there is just stuttering and flitting about the room making excuses, haphazardly getting dressed and Alcina’s just laying in bed, still naked and smoking a cigarette, watching her with the most amused look on her face.

Once the woman is gone and it’s just Alcina and whomever at the door, she’ll stand and stretch languidly, groaning as she does and another woman will stir in the bed from under the covers grasping for the warmth of the body that was just there.

The whole scene unfolds in seconds and the person at the door, now the color of a boiled lobster, just blinks, nods, reminds Alcina she’s on in 20 minutes, leaves and shuts the door.