"A nice guy?" he said. "I wouldn't know, Miss Forzane."
"Oh, come on, now," she said. "The name is Greta. And you're Johnny—right?"
" ... Right."
"You know," Greta said, "you're cute."
Behind her the party was still going on, but its volume seemed to have diminished a little. Or maybe, Johnny thought, he was getting used to it. "You're cute too," he said awkwardly, not knowing any more what he did want to do, or where he wanted to be. Her grasp on his arm was the main fact in the world.
"Thanks," she said. "Here."
And as suddenly as that she was in his arms, plastered up against him, pressed to him as tightly as he could imagine, her mouth on his, her hands locked behind his neck: he was choking, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move....
The door behind him opened and shoved him gently across his back.
He fell, and he fell on top of her.
It seemed as if the entire party had stopped to watch him. There was no noise. There was no sound at all. He climbed to his feet to face the eyes and found they were not on him, but behind him.