“Alix, would you like to dance?” Tom offered.

“Oh, yes!” She shot to her feet.

Tille appraised her outfit. “You should have worn the black. You look like a Catholic school girl about to take her first communion.”

The hurt that passed over Alix’s face prompted Tom to say, “I think you look like a bride.”

“That’s what I thought—sort of bridish. Let’s dance.”

The music had turned frenetic, so not a chance of him holding her close. Tom went into what Dean called his war dance, among many other choice expressions. He jerked his arms over his flaming red head and lifted his long legs almost in time with the music. Dancing, not his greatest skill. Alix did the same. They circled the dance floor. Were people staring?

He noticed Vince Barbaro come out of the shadows and ask Tille to dance. Alix’s sister had worn short black spandex that clung to her rear and cupped each braless breast held up by straps that crossed behind her neck. Vince watched her boobs jiggle as he did a few Saturday Night Fever moves designed to impress. She’d worn heels high enough to increase her mammary motion. Both seemed happy with their choice of partners.

The door to Mariah’s Place opened letting in a shaft of low, long-lasting summer sunshine. As usual, the couple who entered stood there for a moment waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dark. The sunbeam illuminated them from the back as if they were surrounded by holy light, an anointed pair—Dean and Stacy…