Report until it was time to go in. Though he’d upgraded his audio and video equipment since then, the apartment was still decorated primarily in variations of red.
Malone wore a silk kimono over pressed jeans and soft leather slippers. His date, who had changed her hairstyle since the afternoon, was standing by the kitchen door and staring in disbelief. McGinnes was already by the stereo, moving the dial off WDCU and undoubtedly searching for something more offensive.
“Just make yourself at home, Mick,” Malone said sarcastically, and McGinnes thanked him.
Carmelita was trying to talk to Malone’s date, who was answering in Spanish but not encouraging the conversation. Malone had a cognac in one hand and now a beer in the other. He shrugged, tapped my bottle with his, and drank.
“Thank you so much for dropping by tonight,” he said. “Will you be staying long?”
“We weren’t interrupting anything,” I said, “were we?”
“Bitch has some big red titties,” he whispered, then looked at me more closely. “Looks like you motherfuckers got into some shit tonight, boy.”
I rolled my eyes, took a swig, and stumbled backwards. Lee stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. McGinnes had lost patience locating a radio station and was rifling through Carmelita’s purse, finally finding a cassette and slipping it into Malone’s deck.
Latin music blared out of the speakers. Carmelita broke away from Malone’s date, excitedly crossing the room to McGinnes, who was dragging the center table away from the couch and moving it to a corner of the room. Malone mumbled something and followed his date, who now appeared to be spitting mad, into the kitchen.
The four of us began to dance. McGinnes was spinning and dipping Carmelita. Lee touched my cheek, and we kissed as we moved. Malone raised his voice in the kitchen. McGinnes cackled and turned up the volume.
Malone walked back into the room, moving to the beat, and started dancing with Lee and me, a fresh bottle of beer in his hand.
“Where’s your friend?” I shouted.
“She says I ‘did her dog’ by lettin’ you in,” he said, and continued dancing.
Another song began that was harder, faster, and, courtesy of McGinnes, louder. This was one of those horn-driven salsa numbers that stop periodically on the beat for two seconds of silence, then begin again. The repetition was hypnotic.
Carmelita had one palm on her stomach, the other upraised, shaking her shoulders, sliding her feet four steps, then turning ninety degrees and repeating. We all followed, freezing when the music stopped, then yelling out and continuing our line dance as it began again.
Malone’s tongue was out the side of his mouth, concentrating on getting the steps down, then smiling broadly when he had it, yelling, “No wonder you Latins are so happy. The music be so festive and shit!” Carmelita slapped him on the shoulder. Malone explained to McGinnes, “Carmelita be sayin’, ‘Right on time,’” and he rolled his r in imitation of her accent.
The music ended. McGinnes yanked the cassette from the deck, put it in his pocket, and said, “Let’s go.” We gathered our things and stood by the door.
Malone’s date was staring contemptuously from the safety of the kitchen doorway. Malone, who looked genuinely disappointed, said, “Where you goin’? We just beginnin’ to throw down!”
McGinnes and I walked over to Malone and poured the remainders of our beers over the top of his head. His date spun furiously and strode back into the kitchen.
I caught one last look at him before we booked. Beer streamed down the front of his face, falling onto his silk kimono. He still had a bottle in his hand, and he wasn’t moving, just staring at us and trying to look hard. But he was fighting a smile, the deep dimples of his smooth face betraying him, threatening to implode. The four of us left him just like that, and fell like sailors out Malone’s front door.
WE DROPPED MCGINNES AND CARMELITA a couple of blocks from Malone’s, on Seventeenth Street. I watched them walk away beneath the light of a streetlamp, his arm around her shoulder, hers around his waist, until they faded into early morning fog.
That is the last I remember of being in my car. Lee drove us to her place, where she undressed me and got me into her shower, then followed me in.
She washed my back, then reached around and soaped beneath my balls. I took the bar from her and noticed with some relief that I was getting a strong hard-on. I began