"Get yourselves some fancy costumes. How about gold lurex? Or crimson velvet, or black lace? All three! Something like that, with the hems round your hips and the neckline to the waist. People want to see lots of leg, you!" He turned to Annette. "You'd look a million dollars if you weren't wearing those woolly things.""I'd also freeze to death.""Who cares? You'd make a lovely corpse, ha ha. And lose that trumpet. You can sing, can't you? Close harmony group, blonde, redhead and..." He turned to Jo, "You can sing too while you play. You're the brunette. All three of you should have guitars. Don't worry. You don't have to learn to play them. That part of the sound can be added on tape."He stood back and surveyed them, his head on one side, cigar held in the air. Like an impresario from an American movie. "Yeah". He nodded. "I think we may have something here.""My legs are awful," Sally told him firmly. "My Dad worked for Steinways".