"Oh my fucking God," said Miss Blackbourne, "will you look at that kid go."
They were all looking at Milford, apparently dancing the Black Bottom.
"Unbelievable," said Jelly Roll.
"He certainly looks as if he's having a good time," said Walt.
Milford had divested himself of his peacoat and his thick ribbed fisherman's sweater, and was down to his workman's chambray shirt and dungarees. He still wore his floppy newsboy's cap. He danced with the stub of Jelly Roll's "special" reefer smoking in his lips, and Miss Alcott danced with him, albeit less energetically.
Milford had never known such ecstasy.
"Of course you haven't," said the voice of Stoney, his alter ego, in the caverns of his head. "You've never known any sort of ecstasy."
"But you forget masturbation," replied Milford, silently.
"Good point," said Stoney, "but, let's face it, la petite mort of masturbatory orgasm is all-too-brief, whereas you have been in this current state of – shall we say – jouissance, for a good ten minutes now."
"I want it never to end," said Milford to his invisible self.
"Well, let's not get carried away now," said Stoney.
Milford became aware that Miss Alcott had shouted something to him through the music.
"What?" he shouted back.
"I said what are you thinking about!" she shouted.
"Oh!" shouted Milford in return. "I was thinking that I am in a state of ecstasy and I want it never to end!"
She shouted something, but he couldn't catch it.
"Pardon me?" he shouted.
"I said you're an idiot!" she shouted back.
John Henry had guided Addison to a small table where Mistress Bradstreet and Mrs. Stowe sat with another lady.
"Well," said Mistress Bradstreet to Addison, "you finally found us."
"Oh, I think you'll find I can be quite persistent," said Addison.
"Oh, I'm sure you can be," said Mistress Bradstreet.
"Hey, Emily," said Mrs. Stowe to the other lady at the table, "meet our new friend Hardiman."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harpyman," said Emily, putting down a cigarette and extending her hand over the table.
Addison took her lily white hand in his, bending forward slightly.
"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Emily," he said.
"Harkerman is a passing unusual name," said Emily.
"Alas, it is not in point of fact my name," said Addison, still lightly touching her fingers. "Not to be pedantic, but my friends call me Addison."
"Whatever your name is," said Mistress Bradstreet, "if you're going to join us, then let go of Emily's delicate little paw and sit the hell down and stop hovering over the table."
There was an empty fourth chair, opposite Miss Emily's chair, and in between Mistress Bradstreet on the left and Mrs. Stowe on the right, and Addison sat down in it.
"Well," said John Henry, who was still standing there, and who had just lighted up an enormous cigar, "now that we got all that straightened out, you want a drink, man?"
"Ah, yes, a drink," said Addison, "it's funny you should mention that, because I just left a strange little chap who gave me a certain large pill, and when I swallowed it all the alcohol disappeared from my corporeal host, and so, for the first time in almost two decades I am completely sober, except I had just smoked a rather large marijuana cigarette that Mistress Bradstreet gave me, and so I am indeed still rather what the 'hepcats' I believe call 'high'."
"Hey, look, daddy-o," said John Henry, "I didn't ask you for your unabridged autobiography, all I asked you was do you want a drink. It's a yes or no question, and then we can proceed from there."
"I wonder do you carry Rheingold beer?" said Addison.
"We do indeed," said John Henry. "Draft or bottle, we got both."
"I shall have a draft then," said Addison, "in the largest receptacle available, if you please."
"I'll bring you a pitcher and an empty glass."
"You are too kind, Mr. Henry. Also, bring the ladies a round of whatever they're drinking. Oh, wait. I only have ten dollars. Will that cover a round?"
"A pitcher's only a dollar," said John Henry, "and the cocktails the ladies are drinking only cost two bits apiece. I'll send Polly Ann over with the beverages, and she can run down our food specials for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Henry," said Addison, but the big man had already turned away, his enormous legs devouring a yard of space with each manly stride.
It occurred to Addison that perhaps he had landed in heaven, or in some place very much like heaven, and, indeed, perhaps better.
He took a drag of his Chesterfield. Off to his left dancers danced to a small but loud combo, and among them who should he see but his friend, or should he say "friend", Milford, the supposedly reformed young alcoholic. The fellow danced frenetically, even spastically, his face gleaming with sweat, and dancing with him, or at any rate near him, was a woman in 19th century garb. Milford looked like a jackass dancing that way, but, it occurred to Addison, the fellow looked like a jackass normally, and who was such a one as he to be judgmental anyway?
"Pray, Mr. Appletree," said the woman who had been introduced as Emily, "are you by chance a member of the noble fraternity of poets?"
"Alas, no," said Addison, not bothering to inform her that his name was not Appletree, "I am rather a member of the perhaps not so noble fraternity of scribes of epic novels of the old west."
"Oh, how fascinating," said Emily, and Addison thought, well, if things didn't work out with either Mistress Broadstreet or Mrs. Stowe, perhaps they would with this Emily.
"And may I ask," he said, "are you a member of that noble, and, yes, sacred fraternity, or, I should say, sorority, of poetesses?"
"In my humble way, I like to think so," she said.
"I should love to read some samples of your work," said Addison.
"That would be very kind of you, sir," said Emily, "and perhaps you could tell me if my verses breathe."
"Oh, I'm sure they do," said Addison.
"Oh my God," said Mistress Bradstreet.
"In heaven," said Mrs. Stowe, "or, as the case may be, in hell."
The music swelled and roared, the dancers stomped and whirled, and among them, in his euphoria, Milford caught a glimpse of his friend, or "friend", Addison, sitting at a table with three women. Strangely, his heart went out to the man, he knew not why.
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