Gliding past the dressing room racks, I spotted a battered leather wardrobe trunk crowned with an abandoned, glittering rhinestone cat-eye mask. Naturally, no self-respecting icon lets genuine sparkle sit flat on dusty brass. I hooked the toe of my pointed heel under the stiff velvet-backed bridge and levered the ornate mask upright until its flared filigree wedged snugly into the trunk’s heavy brass latch. The overhead work light hit every faux diamond at once, casting a scandalous cascade of glitter across the worn leather. Reclining against a draped velvet cape with one knee casually draped over the trunk lock, I'd say my matinee lounge is officially open for business.