"We necked, I said. Back in the old days—last week—I could neck with a boy from the time he cut me out at the prom until bacon and eggs at Child's—and never feel a thing I didn't want to feel. Tonight—though—I lost ground so fast you'd think I was a juvenile delinquent trying her first reefer."
"Poor premise—but I get the idea."
"And what?"
She turned and smiled with excess brightness at George, when he carried in the round, silver tray.
"And what—?" She revived the question. "Just as your cute little Paulie-pie was getting interesting—and I thought, interested—he talked himself right into going on the hunt for his Marcia again!"
"That's too bad."
"It's too bad—and what are you going to do about it?"
"Remember what I said concerning how I don't like girls when they drink too much? Even a little bit too much?"
Yvonne gulped explosively. "All right, then! So I call up Gwen! And that's your fault!"