“I was talking to Bona, thank you.”
“Well, its nothing to get spiffy about.”
“What? Oh, of course not. Please lets dont start some silly argument all over again.”
“Well.”
“Well.”
“Now thats enough. Say, waiter, whats the matter with our order? Make it snappy, will you?”
Crimson Gardens. Hurrah! So one feels. The drinks come. Four highballs. Art passes cigarettes. A girl dressed like a bare-back rider in flaming pink, makes her way through tables to the dance floor. All lights are dimmed till they seem a lush afterglow of crimson. Spotlights the girl. She sings. “Liza, Little Liza Jane.”
Paul is rosy before his window.
He moves, slightly, towards Bona.
With his own glow, he seeks to penetrate a dark pane.