Thayler looked uneasily at Fenner. “Cut it out, Glorie,” he said under his breath.
She went on. “He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen. Look at his arms Look at the size of them. Look at the set of his neck—the way he holds his head.”
Fenner took out his handkerchief and wiped off his hands. He finished his drink. The Cuban manager was watching him, a cold look of contempt on his face.
Thayler said savagely, “You don’t have to rave about his arms or his neck. I know what you’re raving about all right.”
“Ask him to have a drink. He’s cute. Do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Drinking alone is a vice.’” Glorie turned her head and smiled at Fenner.
Thayler said to Fenner, “Get out of here, you dope.”
Glorie giggled. “Be friendly. You’re making him embarrassed. That’s no way to talk to a lovely man like that.”
Fenner said, “Watch yourself, playboy! you’re a little too soft to talk big.”
Thayler made a move, but the Cuban manager slid between them. He said something to Thayler in a low voice. Thayler looked at Fenner over the top of the Cuban’s head, his face was flushed with suppressed rage; then he turned, took Glorie by the wrist and walked out of the room.
Fenner said to the Cuban, “Case of hot pants?”