Twilight Girl. Della Martin

another voice cried, “Yeah, tell him what you were doing here, rich-bitch!”

      “Are you coming, Mave?” Sassy, halfway across the dance floor. Not bothering to turn her head.

      Mavis sighed. “Don’ make no never-minds to me, baby.”

      Rags wedged herself between Mavis and the narrow aisle. “We don’t hold anything against you. We don’t want you to think we aren’t—well, democratic.” Still wearing the unsmiling mask: “Don’t think you aren’t welcome here because you’re colored.”

      Lon nodded approval. The T.V. drama was going according to all the principles. Truth, honor and justice. These were great kids. Really great kids, and Violet had not been wrong. Lon found time to drain the second bottle.

      “Hot damn, you sho ‘nuff democratic! You so democratic, man, I overwhelmed!” Mavis having herself a ball. “Heah I thought you Republican.”

      “If you haven’t got a way home, I’ll drive you myself,” the poker-faced owner promised, the dusky sarcasm escaping her.

      And timidly, Betty piped, “Don’t mix in between them, Rags. If you were that other girl, I’d stick by you. Even if you were wrong, I’d walk out of here with you.”

      Rags considered the protocol of loyalty and stepped aside. “I just wanted her to know how I feel.”

      Lon missed the next few bits of by-play. Violet clutching her arm and whispering desperately, “Jesus, kid, what’ll I do? If I go out now, Rags won’t ever leave me in again. But I gotta see that Sassy again. Kid, I jest went ape over her!” The lavender-blue eyes following Sassy Gregg out of the room, miserable. “If you was me, would you make up some excuse that she fergot somethin’ an’ follow her to the parking lot? Or what, kid?”