Charmaine had had too much to drink. Radley had an arm around her neck, dangling over her shoulder. From time to time, he casually squeezed her breast. She didn’t look as though she minded it, despite what Chicklet had told us. You could see her nipples through her tank top.
The band took a break and music began to play over the PA system. Jack and Radley were talking about sailboat races. Charmaine looked at me, eyes half-closed. I asked her if she wanted to dance. Radley looked away from his conversation for a moment, the merest hint of hostility in his eyes. He wore a thick gold signet ring on the hand that hung over her breast.
Charmaine said, “Sure, why not?”
I helped her up. She leaned into me, a little unsteady. Her breath was hot, alcohol and tobacco. On the dance floor, I asked, “Charmaine, you think you should be here?”
“Hey, you sound like my mother. I thought these guys were your friends.”
“That’s not what I meant. What about your buddy over there, in the Tap Room?” I nodded toward the bikers, but she ignored me.
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