'Hello, stranger,' she said with a bright smile.
'Connie,' I said, 'you look marv. May I have the first dance?'
'I'll be too busy getting the place closed up after dinner.'
'Then may I see you home, later?'
'I have my own car,' she said and looked at me speculatively.
I interpreted that look to be half-challenge, half-invitation. 'Suppose I tailgate you to make certain you arrive home safely,' I suggested.
'If you like,' she said. 'Now go eat before all the prawns are gone.'
I dined at a table for four with my parents and Mr. Griswold Forsythe II, a superannuated bore who had depleted his repertoire of anecdotes fifty years ago, which didn't prevent him from repeating them ad infinitum. The only things that saved me were that piscine buffet and the bottle of chilled sancerre on each table, replaced as needed.
After that yummy feast was demolished, dancing commenced on the pool verge and the cropped lawn. I watched affectionately as my parents waltzed to a fox-trot, and then I lured mother into joining me for a sedate lindy. We did beautifully, and it was a moment to treasure.
The night spun down, Mr. and Mrs. McNally departed, other guests shouted their farewells and were gone. The caterer cleared up, spurred on by Connie Garcia, and the trio packed up their instruments and left. The bar closed, lanterns were extinguished, and quiet took over. The hostess was nowhere to be seen and, knowing Lady Cynthia, I suspected she had retired to her chambers with the pick of the litter. And I assure you he would not be the runt.
Finally, only Connie and I remained. We met at our cars in the driveway and, giggling, she displayed her loot: two bottles of that sharp sancerre.
'Bless you, my child,' I said gratefully.
She drove back to her condo and I followed closely. We arrived without incident and within fifteen minutes were lounging on her miniature balcony, gazing down at a simmering Lake Worth and sipping sancerre. What more, I wondered, could life hold for a growing boy.
'Tell me, Archy,' Connie said lazily, 'what have you been up to?'
'Busy, busy, busy,' I said. 'Dinners, parties, dances, and licentiousness. And you?'
'More of the same,' she said, and we both burst out laughing.
'Actually,' I said, 'it's been sluggish.'
'A drag,' she said.
'Nothing,' I said.
'Zip,' she said.
We were contentedly together.
'Must you go?' she asked in a wispy voice.
'No,' I said, 'I must not.'
'Promise not to snore?'
'I never snore,' I said indignantly.
'Perhaps not but you do burble occasionally.'
'I'll promise not to burble if you promise not to kick.'
'I never kick,' she said firmly.
'Do so.'
'Do not.'
'Then you sometimes jerk in your sleep. You convulse.'
'Convulse?' she said. 'Is that fun?'
'It can be,' I said. 'Under the right circumstances.'
She refilled our glasses. 'I've missed you, Archy,' she said casually.
'And I've missed you, Connie,' I said, just as casually.
'It's been silly-time,' she added.
'Too true,' I concurred.
'Right now?' she asked.
' 'Barkis is willin',' I told her.
'Who's Barkis?'
'A close friend of mine.'
'I think I've had enough of your close friends,' she said.
I skinned down and had popped between the sheets before Connie finished locking up and dousing the lights. She left a single bulb burning in the bathroom and when she came out starkly naked I almost swooned with longing. What a delight she was! And no tattoos.
She climbed into bed and we moved close.
'Let's go for it,' she said.
I still refuse to believe romantic love is a myth. But an intimate friendship between a man and a woman is better.
I think.
