Then her hand darted to Raoul's bulging erection. His gasp could be heard over the music as she tugged him to her.
Several things happened at once.
The lights went out.
The music stopped.
Miss Swat had a loud and enthusiastic orgasm.
"Ach, I spilled ma' whusky!"
A champagne cork popped.
Mrs. Goldfinkel grabbed my crown jewels and stuck her tongue in my ear.
A thump came from the dance floor as of a falling body.
"Lights!" in the Captain's commanding voice.
The lights came on.
Miss Lawrence stood in a theatrical gesture, one palm outstretched where she had evidently thrust away the panting and now frustrated Raoul. Raoul lay motionless face down on the floor.
Miss Lawrence gestured imperiously to the drummer.
"You! Next!"
There was a stunned silence followed by a roar of rapturous applause!
"Bravo! Bravo!"
I looked around the large dining room of the Caribbean Conch and witnessed a veritable sea of enthusiastic faces. Some diners whistled and stamped, others clapped as if I were a Broadway star making a final, much hyped farewell performance. I felt just like Ann-Margret. Harry told me afterwards that my most vociferous fans were a group of senior citizens from Cleveland but no matter. It was sublime. The bongo player thumped out a long, dramatic drum roll and I took a deep bow, placing one stiletto-clad foot on my partner's back for effect. Raoul seemed determined to play his role to the hilt. He remained slumped across the parquet, a glazed expression in his one visible eye. Smiling glamorously, I gave him a little kick in the ribs and hissed:
"OK, Fred Astaire, take a bow. Don't even think about stealing the limelight!"
It was years since I'd performed and I realized just how much I'd missed that feeling. Then and there, I vowed to make a comeback. Titty Boomboom would ride again. There was, after all, quite a market for plump and mature.
The applause faded, my Latin lover didn't move an inch. My artistic temperament came into play. I inserted the sharp end of my high-heeled sandals between his tight little spandex painted buns. Not a flicker. I crouched down and muttered in his ear.
"Up, Raoul!"
Then, unfortunately, I started to laugh uncontrollably. Don't ask me why, but for many, many years, the name Raoul has given me the giggles. There's just something about it which taps my funny bone and it can't be uttered without me creasing my sides. I spluttered. I heaved. Finally, I looked up to find myself almost nose to nose with Dr. Dunnett, who was peering officiously at the limp Latino. The whisky vapors almost knocked me out cold. The Scotsman placed two fingers on my partner's neck then shook his head.
"Thir's nae pulse. The laddie's deid."
Mrs. Goldfinkel screamed like an express train entering a tunnel.
"Raooooooul!!!"
Unfortunately, this set me off again and I clutched my sides. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and they weren't ones of sorrow for the boy's demise. I was helpless.
"I've never actually killed one before!" was all I could gasp, before setting off on another session of mirth.
"Please return to your seat, Mrs. Neptune."
Captain Ahab had materialized, all gold braid and understated mastery. I looked up into his deep brown eyes and a sudden wave of nausea overcame me. Must have been the ratatouille. I swallowed.
"Oo-er, excuse me, I feel a bit Moby Dick."
Of course, when I realized what I'd just said, the hilarity started all over again. The Captain frowned.
"I must remind you that this is a very serious matter. There may be an inquest."
Dr. Dunnett looked up from examining the body, his thin face pinched and grim.
"Ah fear there will be. The laddie's been shot!"
There was a fresh banshee wail from Mrs. Goldfinkel, accompanied by various gasps, shrieks and squawks from the company. It was darned good entertainment, even if Raoul did get the fuzzy end of the lollipop. I rushed into Harry's manly embrace and pressed my face against his crisp white shirtfront. To the gathering ghouls, it would look as if I were weeping my little heart out in horror and fear. In truth, I was desperately attempting to staunch my hysterics. It wasn't easy, as the Goldmine kept crying her toy boy's name, while wringing her multi-carated hands in a credible performance of bereaved histrionics. One got the definite impression she'd perfected the act. I wondered how many husbands she'd buried and whether the Gigi curse extended to Latino playthings. Harry patted my bottom tenderly.
"There, there, darling. It wasn't your fault, really it wasn't. These hot-blooded Latin gigolos are always getting bumped off by jealous husbands, outraged fathers and incensed uncles! It's a fact of life, like fluff in your belly button. I'm just amazed the vengeful party didn't realize that Raoul was doing the male population a major favor, keeping the Black Widow at least partly amused."
I snorted into my husband's armpit. Once at Raoul, then again at his new name for Mrs. Goldfinkel. It suited her perfectly. She was calming down quite nicely, taking a strengthening gulp of Champagne and letting a steward fan her soothingly with a menu card. He'd better watch himself or he'd be the next victim. Tenderly, Harry brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face and I smelled the distinctive musky scent of rampant pussy on his fingers. That was it. The final straw. Several crew members carted off the draped and lifeless form of my dance partner as I thumped furiously on my spouse's chest.
"Adulterer!"
Effortlessly, Harry grasped my wrists and grinned down at me as I wriggled wildly.
"You're just put out because someone shot the poor bugger and you thought you'd sexed him to death!"
I pouted. Harry knows me so well. Nevertheless, we were officially man and wife. Frigging the Lush at our first formal dinner was below the belt. Waaay below the belt…
"And what about the irreproachable Mrs. Neptune?" Harry continued, increasing the vise-like grip on my wrists. "I've seen tamer dance routines at some pretty sordid strip joints! You were all over that grease ball like a nasty little rash. I've a good mind to pull your panties down and give you a damn good thrashing. Teach you who's boss and all that."
My tummy turned over again. This time, in a good way. I love being turned over a strong man's knees for a sound bare bottom spanking.
"Did someone mention spanking?"
Boner had acute hearing when it came to anything buttock related. Harry was spot on when he called my ex "Bummer." While H was a confirmed "tit man", B was an ass. I sighed deeply.
Harry grinned, reading my thoughts.
"Don't worry, dear. You'll get a thorough going over later. No stone will be left unturned, I promise you that much."
A piratical hand grappled its way up my garter belt and broached my drenched panties. I noticed that the other hand had recaptured Ms. Swat, who gave me a "howzabout it?" look. Well, I might and I might not. It depended on the mood of the moment.
A solemn Captain Ahab returned to his table.
"Mrs. Neptune, I'm afraid I must insist that you return to your cabin and do not vacate it until some questions have been answered. A mere formality, I assure you."
I fervently hoped the Captain himself would perform my debriefing. I certainly wouldn't mind going over his knees. I smiled sweetly at Harry.
"Right then, darling. Looks like I'm under house arrest. Time to find the handcuffs."
The Flyswat gasped, pretending to be shocked, while thrusting her tits out to "they're gonna blow!" dimensions. The tension was incredible but nothing broke loose so I guess she had the dress taped to her nipples.
"Why, hellzapoppin'!"
Harry feasted his eyes on the Grand Canyon.