They had been informally introduced during floor hockey, when Katy had sent a puck flying into Lucy’s face. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. “Look here,” he said, “I brought you here to make love to you. Have you been inhaling the fumes inside Missy’s car?” She had pushed the exact right button. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. White.
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