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Page 25.
 While they waited, Emma chewed a wad of bubble gum pink as her tongue. Her lipstick was now candy-apple red. Where had that come from?
Her arm linked into his, and her hip pressed against his hip. He didn’t need to force it. She was giving herself to him if he would take her. He took her by the waist and pulled her close, claiming her. Her waist was slender, her figure fluid, her skin sinuous in his hand.
Animal love. Give me everything.
She whispered in his ear, “Our first date. Oh god you drive me crazy. I want you.”
He pulled her close, filled with wonder at how her body molded into any shape he needed her to assume to please him, and she could not give him enough of her gyrations. Good vibrations. He had a rod on, torch flaming at the muzzle already. No woman had made him feel this way in years or ever.
Where was the food? Past the crowd, he stared hungrily toward the counter. The cash register rattled and chained continuously, and blue-aproned figures darted about behind the plate glass, scooping Frisco fries, bagging burgers, tapping colas and beers, squirreling out spiral deposits of ice cream. White paper hats rode jauntily askew over teenage eyebrows.
…First gear I’M ALRIGHT, second gear UPTIGHT, third gear, HANG ON TIGHT, faster, faster, faster, FAAAASSSTTTEEEERRRR… echoed a timeless carollade by the Beach Boys—or was it the Hondells?
A line snaked in to the counter through a side entrance. “Popular place,” Emma said.
“Must mean the food is good.”
Spring air was mild. Rain had stopped. The line moved slowly. Children bawled. A ruddy pot-bellied duck pin bowler in a red nylon jacket stared at Emma. A tall, skinny high school boy with spider legs and pimply face arced high to drop-shoot a plastic bag of trash into a ditzy dumpster.
“Plebeian,” Marc murmured of those in line, into her blonde hair, which smelled of bubble gum and shampoo and car exhaust and Parisian perfume.
She avidly chewed, like une américaine. He found it quite sexy and provocative. “Not much different from the patricians in Chaillot or elsewhere. What’s missing is the air of everyone being hipper than everyone else.” She blew a bubble, and popped it with a smacking sound. “Maybe even hipper than hip.”
“Hipper about what?”
“The big cigar, of course,” she said. She rolled her eyes up and smacked her gum loudly. The tip of her tongue flicked out to lick pink off of her lips. He silenced her gnashing with his mouth. She succumbed breathlessly; their teeth touched. Their lips worked frantically and savoringly together.
The waitress brought a tray of steaming Friscos, with beer and condiments. “Voilà.”
Emma and Marc ate heartily. She nudged him with her elbow, rollicking with puffed cheeks and spread mouth as she happily mauled her meal and the beach boys sang SURFERRRR GURRRRLLLL…
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