Read Online Matheson, Richard - ss by Dance of the Dead - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dance of the Dead
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twitched and bumped against a hard knee across the narrow aisle. As she stumbled and lurched through the hot and smoky, thick-aired room, she felt a dozen eyes disrobing her, abusing her. Bud jerked her along and she felt her lips trembling.
"Hey, how about that!" Bud exulted as they sat. "Right by the stage!"
From cigarette mists, the waiter plunged and hovered, pencil poised, beside their table.
"What'll it be!" His questioning shout cut through cacophony.
"Whiskey-water!" Bud and Len paralleled orders, then turned to their dates. "What'll it be!" the waiter's request echoed from their lips.
"Green Swamp!" Barbara said and, "Green Swamp here!" Len passed it along. Gin, Invasion Blood (1987 Rum), lime juice, sugar, mint spray, splintered ice—a popular college girl drink.
"What about you, honey?" Bud asked his date.
Peggy smiled. "Just some ginger ale," she said, her voice a fluttering frailty in the massive clash and fog of smoke.
"What?" asked Bud and, "What's that, didn't hear!" the waiter shouted.
"Ginger ale."
"What?"
"Ginger ale!"
"GINGER ALE!" Len screamed it out and the drummer, behind the raging curtain of noise that was the band's music, almost heard it. Len banged down his fist. One—Two—Three!
CHORUS: Ginger Ale was only twelve years old! Went to church and was as good as gold. Till that day when—
"Come on, come on!" the waiter squalled. "Let's have that order, kids! I'm busy!"
"Two whisky-waters and two Green Swamps!" Len sang out and the waiter was gone into the swirling maniac mist.
Peggy felt her young heart flutter helplessly. Above all, don't drink when you're out on a date. Promise us that, darling, you must promise us that. She tried to push away instructions etched in brain.
"How you like this place, honey? Loopy, ain't it?" Bud fired the question at her; a red-faced, happy-faced Bud.
loopy (loo pi), adj., common alter. of L.U.P. (Lifeless Undeath Phenomenon).
She smiled at Bud, a smile of nervous politeness. Her eyes moved around, her face inclined and she was looking up at the stage. Loopy. The word scalpeled at her mind. Loopy, loopy.
The stage was five yards deep at the radius of its wooden semicircle. A waist-high rail girdled the circumference, two pale purple spotlights, unlit, hung at each rail end. Purple on white—the thought came. Darling, isn't Sykesville Business College good enough? No! I don't want to take a business course, I want to major in art at the University!
The drinks were brought and Peggy watched the disembodied waiter's arm thud down a high, green-looking glass before her. Presto! —the arm was gone. She looked into the murky Green Swamp depths and saw chipped ice bobbing.
"A toast! Pick up your glass, Peg!" Bud clarioned.
They all clinked glasses:
"To lust primordial!" Bud toasted.
"To beds inviolate!" Len added.
"To flesh insensate!" Barbara added a third link.
Their eyes zeroed in on Peggy's face, demanding. She didn't understand.
"Finish it!" Bud told her, plagued by freshman sluggishness.
"To … u- us," she faltered.
"How o- rig -inal," stabbed Barbara and Peggy felt heat licking up her smooth cheeks. It passed unnoticed as three Youths of America with Whom the Future Rested gurgled down their liquor thirstily. Peggy fingered at her glass, a smile printed to lips that would not smile unaided.
"Come on, drink, girl!" Bud shouted to her across the vast distance of one foot. "Chuggalug!"
"Live it, girl," Len suggested abstractedly, fingers searching once more for soft leg. And finding, under table, soft leg waiting.
Peggy didn't want to drink, she was afraid to drink. Mother words kept pounding— never on a date, honey, never. She raised the glass a little.
"Uncle Buddy will help, will help!"
Uncle Buddy leaning close, vapor of whisky haloing his head. Uncle Buddy pushing cold glass to shaking young lips. "Come on, Olive Oyl, old goil! Down the hatch!"
Choking sprayed the bosom of her dress with Green Swamp droplets. Flaming liquid
"Hey, how about that!" Bud exulted as they sat. "Right by the stage!"
From cigarette mists, the waiter plunged and hovered, pencil poised, beside their table.
"What'll it be!" His questioning shout cut through cacophony.
"Whiskey-water!" Bud and Len paralleled orders, then turned to their dates. "What'll it be!" the waiter's request echoed from their lips.
"Green Swamp!" Barbara said and, "Green Swamp here!" Len passed it along. Gin, Invasion Blood (1987 Rum), lime juice, sugar, mint spray, splintered ice—a popular college girl drink.
"What about you, honey?" Bud asked his date.
Peggy smiled. "Just some ginger ale," she said, her voice a fluttering frailty in the massive clash and fog of smoke.
"What?" asked Bud and, "What's that, didn't hear!" the waiter shouted.
"Ginger ale."
"What?"
"Ginger ale!"
"GINGER ALE!" Len screamed it out and the drummer, behind the raging curtain of noise that was the band's music, almost heard it. Len banged down his fist. One—Two—Three!
CHORUS: Ginger Ale was only twelve years old! Went to church and was as good as gold. Till that day when—
"Come on, come on!" the waiter squalled. "Let's have that order, kids! I'm busy!"
"Two whisky-waters and two Green Swamps!" Len sang out and the waiter was gone into the swirling maniac mist.
Peggy felt her young heart flutter helplessly. Above all, don't drink when you're out on a date. Promise us that, darling, you must promise us that. She tried to push away instructions etched in brain.
"How you like this place, honey? Loopy, ain't it?" Bud fired the question at her; a red-faced, happy-faced Bud.
loopy (loo pi), adj., common alter. of L.U.P. (Lifeless Undeath Phenomenon).
She smiled at Bud, a smile of nervous politeness. Her eyes moved around, her face inclined and she was looking up at the stage. Loopy. The word scalpeled at her mind. Loopy, loopy.
The stage was five yards deep at the radius of its wooden semicircle. A waist-high rail girdled the circumference, two pale purple spotlights, unlit, hung at each rail end. Purple on white—the thought came. Darling, isn't Sykesville Business College good enough? No! I don't want to take a business course, I want to major in art at the University!
The drinks were brought and Peggy watched the disembodied waiter's arm thud down a high, green-looking glass before her. Presto! —the arm was gone. She looked into the murky Green Swamp depths and saw chipped ice bobbing.
"A toast! Pick up your glass, Peg!" Bud clarioned.
They all clinked glasses:
"To lust primordial!" Bud toasted.
"To beds inviolate!" Len added.
"To flesh insensate!" Barbara added a third link.
Their eyes zeroed in on Peggy's face, demanding. She didn't understand.
"Finish it!" Bud told her, plagued by freshman sluggishness.
"To … u- us," she faltered.
"How o- rig -inal," stabbed Barbara and Peggy felt heat licking up her smooth cheeks. It passed unnoticed as three Youths of America with Whom the Future Rested gurgled down their liquor thirstily. Peggy fingered at her glass, a smile printed to lips that would not smile unaided.
"Come on, drink, girl!" Bud shouted to her across the vast distance of one foot. "Chuggalug!"
"Live it, girl," Len suggested abstractedly, fingers searching once more for soft leg. And finding, under table, soft leg waiting.
Peggy didn't want to drink, she was afraid to drink. Mother words kept pounding— never on a date, honey, never. She raised the glass a little.
"Uncle Buddy will help, will help!"
Uncle Buddy leaning close, vapor of whisky haloing his head. Uncle Buddy pushing cold glass to shaking young lips. "Come on, Olive Oyl, old goil! Down the hatch!"
Choking sprayed the bosom of her dress with Green Swamp droplets. Flaming liquid
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