The tenor sax took over the melody line with lewd
growls while the baritone sax belched vulgar bass grunts and a flutter-tongued
trumpet trilled hoarse dirty-down valve-sucking suggestiveness. Then a rasping
trombone growled pure sex.
Tillie ripped at the demure black skirt until the
seam parted, then flung it behind her. Leaping toward the tables she bumped in vigorous to-and-fro invitations. She skipped round the circle,
crazily bumping drinks off the tables in turn with every heavily accented
bass-drum beat.
She's got their attention but good! Frank thought as
he watched her leap center floor and grind to a low open-thigh squat when all
the brass crescendoed toward the spirited Night Train anticlimax.
She turned in a spread-lap circle for all to get a
good see as she tugged the buttons off her formal dinner house blouse with a
wrench from neck to waist and rhythmically shrugged out of it. Frank heard the clatter of dropped silverware and the click of cups on
saucers above the concerted explosion of long gasps.
“My God!” a woman gasped.
Frank stared, popeyed, hoping for reasons of
legality that the ribbon-thin bikini bra-support would hold ... yet praying in
his drooling mind it would fail and spill them wherever the unleashed monsters
of beauty wished to go. “Boom—Boom!” he exclaimed aloud.
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