Roseland was a riot of
noise. On the stage in the center of the ballroom, Mad Monk and His Cats were
beating it out as the hot blonde in the flame-red velvet gown swayed before the
microphone and sang “Straighten Up and Fly Right.” The dancers were locked in a
tight swaying mass in front of the platform, while in the middle of the floor
wildly gyrating couples whirled as the beat of the music increased in
intensity. The revolving spotlights of sick green, red, and blue distorted and
twisted the dancing shadows on the floor and walls and ceilings, and a blue
pall of smoke drifted about the ballroom, fouling and contaminating the little
fresh air that was left. With sweat running down their cheeks and their eyes
and lips twisted in a rapt ecstatic grimace, the dancers spun through the
intricate maddening routine of the lindy, pausing only as the band slackened
its beat before passing the lead from the trumpet to the sax and then to Mad
Monk, who pounded on the drums with a fury that made the dancers in front of
the bandstand whistle and shriek. The sticks beat on the snare drum in two
seemingly solid arcs while he pounded the bass wildly with the foot hammer.
With a final rapid-driving tattoo, a whirring crash of the cymbals, and a
shrill insane note from the trumpet, the number was over. Monk signaled the
musicians to get ready for the next number. Betty clapped her hands as she swaggered
saucily toward Frank. With her buttocks thrust back and her breasts high and
jiggling as she moved her shoulders, she strutted toward Frank, and Frank felt
the blood rush to his face. As she came close to him he kissed her swiftly and
they whirled about rapidly, lost in the blue haze, the shifting lights, and the
insistent beat and rhythm of the band. “Beat it! Beat it out!” the crowd
milling around the bandstand shouted. “Beat it, Monk!” And Monk bared his teeth
and grinned. So fast that Frank knew it was only the marijuana that enabled him
to keep up with the music, he led Betty through the maze of swift shuffling
dance steps as his jacket began to soak through with perspiration. Betty danced
with eyes half shut and lips parted. With a last violent surge of notes Monk
smashed the cymbals and the dance was over, and from the milling mob on the
floor there arose a short sigh as the orgasm of frenetic music expended itself.
Frank and Betty swayed for a moment, and then Frank locked her in his arms and
stood rocking on the dance floor.
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