and dipped it into the punch bowl, then tilted her head back and gulped the punch in one long swallow. Immediately she refilled the cup.
Four cups of punch in five minutes. Lord, she was being a pig! Betty thumped the empty cup on the table and stared at Max, who was bebopping with a woman who could have doubled for Grandma Moses. Betty let her gaze wander over him. She sighed in appreciation.
Suddenly all the blood in her body rushed to one area, throbbing, aching inside her veins. Why was she resisting him? She couldn’t remember. She wanted to ask Max to please,
please
dance with her. A slow dance. She wanted to rub against him and slide her hands down his long, tapering back to the tight mounds of his rump.
She chuckled hoarsely. She’d grab him! But thenshe’d apologize by gently rubbing circles on those hard, flexing muscles, while she nuzzled his neck. It was so warm in this place!
She fanned herself and continued indulging her fantasy. She’d stroke her hands over those big, lean thighs, too, holding him close to her, so close. She shut her eyes and imagined exactly how hard he’d feel and how good. Wouldn’t it be fun to turn this fantasy into reality? She’d get up right now and go to him.…
Betty jerked her eyes open in alarm. These thoughts were getting out of control. What was wrong with her? She had to start stacking her pans and trays. Yes. Whew! Her stomach felt a little strange.
No excuse, she told herself sternly. Work. Up and at ’em. Nobody was ever going to call her a pampered little fat girl again. Betty rubbed her forehead, confused. No one had called her that in years.
She planted her hands on the table and bounced to her feet. A strange thing happened. Her knees tried to kiss each other. Someone had stolen all of her bones.
Staring down into the bowl of purple punch, she dimly recalled feeling this way once or twice during college. At sorority parties. Betty gasped. “I’m
drunk
,” she said aloud. The horror of her situation sobered her a little. Her heart beating wildly, she looked around to see if anyone had heard. But everyone was dancing. It hurt her eyes to watch them, so she quickly looked away, blinking rapidly.
Reputation. Ruined. Not cool. Walk outside and hide in bus. Make straight line to door. Move slowly. Move … feet. Smile. Don’t stagger. Forget smile. Too much to coordinate.
She managed to leave the reception room without bumping into anything or anyone. In the foyer she went to the front door and squinted at the door knob, then put one hand on it experimentally. Damned complicated thing.
“Betty? You all right?”
Norma had come down the hall beside the weddingparlor. Now she stopped. Betty swayed. “What’s in that punch?”
Norma gasped softly. “Don’t you know?”
“Uh oh. Bad news. Can you … can you turn this doorknob for me?”
“Wait here. I’ll get Max.”
“Okay.”
Norma hurried away and Betty fumbled with the door knob until it turned. She found her way onto the veranda and down the steps to the lawn. The cool night air cleared her head a little. She wandered around the lawn, looking up at the night sky, enjoying the stars.
She heard heavy footsteps on the veranda. Then they softened. She turned toward them unsteadily. Max crossed the lawn to her and grasped her under the elbows. He was a large, dark, comforting shape. “Earth to celestial navigator,” he said solemnly. “Are you off course?”
She clutched his shirtfront. Abruptly she felt foolish and afraid. But it was all right to tell Max. She could tell Max anything. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“How many cups of punch did you have?”
Slowly she held up one hand. “Pick some fingers. Four, I think.” She grabbed his shoulders and tried to shake him. “I didn’t know, Maximilian! I didn’t know. It all happened so quick. Zoom! Boom!”
“You drank four cups of punch one right after the other?”
“It was good punch!”
“Oh, babe,” he said
Four cups of punch in five minutes. Lord, she was being a pig! Betty thumped the empty cup on the table and stared at Max, who was bebopping with a woman who could have doubled for Grandma Moses. Betty let her gaze wander over him. She sighed in appreciation.
Suddenly all the blood in her body rushed to one area, throbbing, aching inside her veins. Why was she resisting him? She couldn’t remember. She wanted to ask Max to please,
please
dance with her. A slow dance. She wanted to rub against him and slide her hands down his long, tapering back to the tight mounds of his rump.
She chuckled hoarsely. She’d grab him! But thenshe’d apologize by gently rubbing circles on those hard, flexing muscles, while she nuzzled his neck. It was so warm in this place!
She fanned herself and continued indulging her fantasy. She’d stroke her hands over those big, lean thighs, too, holding him close to her, so close. She shut her eyes and imagined exactly how hard he’d feel and how good. Wouldn’t it be fun to turn this fantasy into reality? She’d get up right now and go to him.…
Betty jerked her eyes open in alarm. These thoughts were getting out of control. What was wrong with her? She had to start stacking her pans and trays. Yes. Whew! Her stomach felt a little strange.
No excuse, she told herself sternly. Work. Up and at ’em. Nobody was ever going to call her a pampered little fat girl again. Betty rubbed her forehead, confused. No one had called her that in years.
She planted her hands on the table and bounced to her feet. A strange thing happened. Her knees tried to kiss each other. Someone had stolen all of her bones.
Staring down into the bowl of purple punch, she dimly recalled feeling this way once or twice during college. At sorority parties. Betty gasped. “I’m
drunk
,” she said aloud. The horror of her situation sobered her a little. Her heart beating wildly, she looked around to see if anyone had heard. But everyone was dancing. It hurt her eyes to watch them, so she quickly looked away, blinking rapidly.
Reputation. Ruined. Not cool. Walk outside and hide in bus. Make straight line to door. Move slowly. Move … feet. Smile. Don’t stagger. Forget smile. Too much to coordinate.
She managed to leave the reception room without bumping into anything or anyone. In the foyer she went to the front door and squinted at the door knob, then put one hand on it experimentally. Damned complicated thing.
“Betty? You all right?”
Norma had come down the hall beside the weddingparlor. Now she stopped. Betty swayed. “What’s in that punch?”
Norma gasped softly. “Don’t you know?”
“Uh oh. Bad news. Can you … can you turn this doorknob for me?”
“Wait here. I’ll get Max.”
“Okay.”
Norma hurried away and Betty fumbled with the door knob until it turned. She found her way onto the veranda and down the steps to the lawn. The cool night air cleared her head a little. She wandered around the lawn, looking up at the night sky, enjoying the stars.
She heard heavy footsteps on the veranda. Then they softened. She turned toward them unsteadily. Max crossed the lawn to her and grasped her under the elbows. He was a large, dark, comforting shape. “Earth to celestial navigator,” he said solemnly. “Are you off course?”
She clutched his shirtfront. Abruptly she felt foolish and afraid. But it was all right to tell Max. She could tell Max anything. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“How many cups of punch did you have?”
Slowly she held up one hand. “Pick some fingers. Four, I think.” She grabbed his shoulders and tried to shake him. “I didn’t know, Maximilian! I didn’t know. It all happened so quick. Zoom! Boom!”
“You drank four cups of punch one right after the other?”
“It was good punch!”
“Oh, babe,” he said
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