"You wish I really was Ginger, don't you?" Gloria says, as they're practising the Dancing Cheek to Cheek number.
"... come again?"
Gloria manages to jab Solly at the next available opportunity with a particularly bony elbow. He's all angles and corners. "I mean, you wish I was a real girl."
"Sunshine, Paderewski might wish we had the London Philharmonic here, and the Sergeant-Major might wish we'd all get posted up the jungle, and I might wish I was Fred Astaire, but none of 'em are very likely to happen."
"You're better looking than Fred," Gloria says, matter-of-factly.
Solly improvises the music, Gloria accompanying him with a slightly flat harmony. They've had to change some of the steps so they don't end up falling on the officers in the front row. The camp theatre stage isn't very big. The effect isn't bad, though. Not quite the Leicester Square Hippodrome, but getting there.
"D'you really want me to be a girl?" Gloria asks, sounding slightly peevish.
Solly considers it. "Nah. Not really."
Solly shrugs into the next turn. "I dunno. I always thought we danced together pretty well."
Against his shoulder, Gloria nods. "Yes," he says, "yes, we do."