So the room was quiet. Standing there in the darkness, Llona heard and saw nothing. Finally, with some wild, half-formed idea of perhaps finding a balcony by which she might get to Lansing’s room and retrieve her clothes, she decided to cross the room to the window. She guessed that it must be directly across from her and started walking that way.
“BA-ROO-OOM!”
“OUCH!” Cliff’s scream was like an echo to the sudden crashing sound. “What the hell are you trying to do, Richie? Emasculate me? How many times do I have to tell you not to bite? It’s notta clarinet, for God’s sake!”
“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” Richie raised his head and peeped coyly out from under the covers. “I was just so startled‘ that I clenched my teeth. Let me kiss it and make it better.”
“All right. Just be careful.” Cliff was mollified. “Hey,” he added as an afterthought, “just what the hell was that noise, anyway? It sounded like the roof was falling in.”
“Somebody upstairs must have dropped something.” Richie’s muffled tones floated up from under the blanket.
“The hell you say. I tell you it was right here in this room. Man, the quilt must have been stopping up your ears if you think it wasn’t. I’m going to turn on the light and see.”
“Right now?” Richie protested. “Right in the middle of —”
“It’ll keep, lover-boy.” Cliff switched on the light, and Richie’s head popped out from under the covers again.
It took a moment for both of them to adjust their eyes. When they did, Richie was the first to speak.
“It’s a woman!” he said in a tone marked by disgust;
“I’ll say!” Cliff was staring at Llona’s breasts.
“She’s stark naked!’ Richie’s voice went up three octaves.”
“I’ll say.”
“She’s fallen right through your base drum!”
“I’ll say.” Cliff thought about that a moment. “Hey, chick,” he said finally, “you know that’s a hundred-buck skin you busted?”
“I’m sorry,” Llona said.
“Well, the least you could do is get out of Cliff’s drum now,” Richie told her sternly, looking at her with a great deal of hostility mixed with jealousy.
“I would if I could,” Llona told him, “but I can’t. I’m stuck.” She was jackknifed in the drum, her rear end wedged firmly and her arms and legs flailing in an effort to free herself.
“Here, chick, let me help you.” Cliff started out of the bed. "
“Clifiord!”’ Richie screeched. “Don’t you touch her. You keep your hands off her, now!”
“Come on, man, I just want to help her get unstuck.”
“Don’t you snow me, Clifford! I know that look in your eyes. I’ve seen that look before. You stay away from her. She’s no good.”
“She looks pretty good to me,” Cliff murmured.
“I tell you she’s no good. I can tell just by looking at her. Just look at the way she’s looking at you.”
“Yeah, man!”
“Look,” Llona said, “I don’t want to make any trouble. I just want to get loose from this thing.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Richie asked as Cliff tried to pull Llona out of the drum.
“I’m just passing through.”
“Now, chick, that’s no way,” Cliff said, managing to grab a handful of breast in his efforts to help her extricate herself. “I mean, it’s a pretty valid question. What are you doing here?”
“I got into the wrong room,” Llona said desperately.
“You can say that again,” Richie told her
“Now let’s not be inhospitable, Richie,” Cliff told him, reaching under Llona and grasping her derriere under the pretext of trying to pry her loose from underneath. “Oops, sorry,” he said to Llona as his hand deliberately slipped and one outstretched, questing finger dipped into her nectar-coated femininity.
“Oh, that’s all right,” Llona replied demurely.
“That is not all right!” Richie yelled. “You keep your hands off him.”
“It’s the other way around,” Llona corrected him.
“Clifford!”
“In a minute, Richie. In a minute.” Cliff’s crooked finger was very busy indeed now. “All it takes is a little leverage, he murmured to Llona.
“To do what?”_ she asked sweetly.
“You’re quick.” Cliff chuckled.
“Clifford!”
Cliff was breathing very hard. Llona was struggling to help him pry her loose. “I think I’m coming,” she panted.
“Clifford!”
“A-ny . . . se-cond . . . now . . .” Cliff had both arms wrapped around her and was tugging mightily now.
There was a loud popping sound as Llona’s derriere was wrenched free of the drum. It was as if she’d been fired into Cliff’s arms, and her momentum carried them both to the floor with Llona on top. They lay that way for a moment, not moving. Then they moved.
“Clifford!”
Cliff and Llona rolled over so that now they were side by side, facing each other. As their movements took on a slow, hesitant, but umnistakable rhythm, Richie leaped from the bed and marched over to them. He grabbed Cliff by the shoulder and shook him hard.
“Cliff, you stop that now! I’m warning you! You stop it!”
“Did you say something, Richie? . . . Ahh, that’s real groovy, sugar. Real groovy!”
“You like it, do you?” Llona purred. She swung her body over his and started to straddle Cliff.
“Get way from him, you slut!” Richie grabbed Llona by the shoulders and shoved hard. She grabbed at his knees in an attempt to keep her balance. The two of them sprawled to the floor, rolling a distance away from Cliff in their struggles, their arms and legs inextricably tangled. There was a knock at the door, but none of them heard it. The door opened. Richie’s Mama and Poppa stood there, staring.
Mama was the first to react. Her mind registered the fact that her son was wearing pajamas. Her mind registered that the girl was naked and voluptuous. Her mind registered that Richie was on top of her, his pajama pants pulled halfway down by the struggle. Her mind accepted the inescapable conclusion, and her emotions took over. “Oh, Richie, how could you?” Mama burst into tears.
“Well, I certainly didn’t think he could,” Poppa mused.
“My baby!” Mama wailed dramatically. “In the clutches of a fallen woman!”
“And she sure fell just right!” Papa’s eyes stroked Llona’s bare, upthrust breasts.
“Say! Who the hell are you?” Cliff had found his tongue.
“We’re his parents.” Papa pointed at Richie. For the first time since Richie had been born there was a note of pride in Poppa’s voice as he acknowledged his son. “Who are you?” he asked Cliff.
“I’m his roommate.”
“Mama. Poppa.” Richie had managed to untangle himself from Llona, and now he got to his feet. “What are you doing here?” .
“That can wait, son,” Poppa told him kindly. “We don’t want to interrupt.”
“You already did,” Llona pointed out.
“Jezebel!” Mama cried. “What have you done to my son?”
“Mama, it’s not what it looks like. We were just—”
“Hush boy,” Poppa interrupted. “You don’t have to explain. It’s none of our business. Don’t mind your mother. Women don’t understand these things. Some women, that is he amended, smiling appreciatively at Llona. He wrenched his eyes away from her and back to Richie. The look he shot his son was both impressed and congratulatory. “Have a cigar, Richie,” he said, fumbling one from the case in his breast pocket. “Have a cigar, son.”