2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

1:45 A.M

The band goes on break.

Lookie loo and how do you do, Principal Randles is on a roll. She sits at a back table at The Cat’s Pajamas, one shoulder thrust out of her one-shouldered dress toward heaven, with the tax attorney, who has a pointed Main Line nose and hulking arms. Arms that make a girl feel slender. This man has been chortling at her school stories all night — and she always thought they were boring! He would be happy to do her taxes, he said. My taxes? she had breathed, allowing her inflection to reach its most sultry hilt so that he’d get that she was not talking about taxes. Yes, he said, so no-nonsense, so pointy-nosey, submitting them early is money in your pocket. Take that, glue-covered, poop-tongued children! Take that, female pattern baldness! She angles her neck to reveal more of what was once described as ivory skin. By her grandmother, to the family doctor. She says, “When the band comes back, let’s dance!” “What?” he says and she insists, “dance!” “Did you say something, it’s so loud in here!” “Dance!” she says. “Dance!”

The tax attorney panics. “Dance?”