"I know," Gwen answered. "Don't tell us."
I carried my glass to the bathroom, rinsed it, and made a highball.
"We met yesterday," I said to Gwen. "She comes from Pasadena." I handed the drink to Yvonne. "Miss Taylor—is an old friend of an old friend of mine."
Gwen said, "She knows. She's been listening."
Yvonne wouldn't look at me, then. But she said, "I told her. Do you mind terribly much? It's your own fault—for unlocking the door."
I ignored that. "Lemme see, then. Just where the hell were we?"
"You were dancing. And I wish you'd go on."
"Not the heat—" I began—"but—"
Gwen came over to my chair. "Come on."
So we danced a little—not very well.