Chapter 2
SHE'S ONLY TWELVE YEARS OLD!
"She's only twelve years old!"
The two plump girls gnashed gum and glared five rows down in the dark theatre at the phosphorescent glow of a frizzy golden head. Its owner, her gaze never leaving the screen, lifted full child lips to receive by proxy from the boy bending over her the kiss Douglas Fairbanks was giving to Doris Kenyon.
I wish, she thought, I could feel like fainting.
The boy breathed deeply the intoxicating scent of Sweetheart Soap and Houbigant's Quelque Fleurs emanating from the mysterious being in his arms and brushed his lips sensuously on her cool cheek.
"Lucy," he murmured tremblingly, "oh Luce!"
Lucy moved her golden head up and down against his lips accommodatingly. After all, he had taken her to the movie and it was only polite to show appreciation.
My goodness, he certainly likes this, she observed to herself, regretting that she never experienced the shivering thrill he did, or the swooning trembling heroines in the movies showed when they were kissed. It was nice to be kissed by a boy you liked but not exciting. She was hungry and wanted a strawberry soda. Mother said sodas were nourishing and fruit was good for you. So, not to disappoint Frank, who was trembling, she too shivered delicately.
She was so soft she reminded Frank of a little bird he had killed with a slingshot and for a moment he wanted to see how hard he could squeeze her to him without killing her. The small boys around them pretended noisily not to see and punched each other and whistled to conceal embarrassment. Grownups had their own island in the center section to avoid the restless, noisy young ones.
The two plump girls sat close together, a bulwark of self-righteous feline jealousy.
