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He gazed at me suspiciously and drank some more of his beer. Then he smiled with confidence again, as if he had concluded I was making it all up.

"If I get up and get me another beer, will you still be here when I get back?" he asked.

"I haven't finished eating yet," I replied, which satisfied him.

I was nearly finished by the time he returned. He had brought me a glass of beer, too.

"Just in case you change your mind," he said.

"I don't like beer."

"Oh? Whatcha like, wine?"

"Sometimes."

He nodded. "You look like a girl who has rich tastes. Betcha that's why you're still not married, huh? You're waiting for a rich catch?"

"No. Money has nothing to do with it."

He laughed, skeptically. I felt sparks of anger catch in my chest and send a heat through my body.

"I'd like to return to the dance hall," I said, rising. "Okay. I ain't the best dancer in the world, but I'm as good as most."

I froze for a moment. I hadn't meant I wanted to dance with him, but he obviously had taken it that way.

"You wanna dance, don'tcha?"

"Okay," I said. My tongue was so reluctant to form the word, I almost choked, but I got up and went on the dance floor with him. When I looked over toward Daddy and Jed Atkins, I saw them grinning from ear to ear. Mama, who was standing with some of her friends nearby, glared in their direction, the sparks flying out of her eyes. Daddy ignored her.

The truth was, Virgil wasn't a bad dancer, and I did enjoy the music. He took it as a sign I was comfortable with him and liked him.

"I play a mean washboard," he shouted into my ear, and laughed. "Me and some friends get together at the garage and fool around. We played for a fais dodo once."

"That's nice," I said. The music got louder and faster. Virgil started to sweat profusely. He unbuttoned his shirt and gulped some more beer.

"Let's get some air," he cried finally. I was going to excuse myself and join Mama, but she was into a heavy conversation with two of her friends and had her back to me, and I couldn't think of a good excuse. "Come on, let's have a smoke."

"I don't smoke," I said.

"So you'll watch me." He took my hand and I went out with him, looking back once to see Jed Atkins pat Daddy on the back and the two of them toast each other.

We went out the rear door into the parking lot. Virgil dug a pack of cigarettes out of his top pocket and pounded one out. He lit it quickly and threw the match into the air, laughing.

"Bombs away. So you like living here?"

"Yes," I said.

"I got my car right here. Wanna see it? I souped up the engine myself." He pointed to a customized automobile with a lightning streak painted in yellow across the driver's side. "It's a drag car, you know."

"I don't know much about cars."

"Whatcha think of it?"

"It's nice," I said with thick indifference.

"Nice? It's more than nice. It's a prizewinning vehicle. You know, I won five hundred dollars in races already this year?"

"I'm very happy for you," I said. "I think we better go back inside." I started to turn toward the door when he reached out to seize my wrist.