We humored Chenault for a few hours, hoping she’d get tired of the dancing, but finally Yeamon had to drag her out of the mob. She pouted until we found ourselves in a club full of drunken Americans. A calypso band was hammering and the floor was full of dancers. By this time I was drunk. I fell into a chair and watched as Yeamon and Chenault tried to dance. The bouncer came over to me and said I owed fifteen dollars for the cover charge, and I gave it to him, rather than argue.
Yeamon came back to the table alone. He had left Chenault to dance with an American who looked like a nazi. You rotten butcher! I yelled, shaking my fist at him. But he didn’t see me, and the music was so loud that he couldn’t hear. Finally Chenault left him and came back to the table.
Yeamon led me through the crowd. People were screaming and grabbing at me and I didn’t know where I was being taken. My only thought was to lie down and sleep. When we got outside I slumped in a doorway while Yeamon and Chenault argued about what to do next.
Yeamon wanted to go to the beach, but Chenault was for more dancing. Don’t order me around, you goddamn puritan! she screamed. I’m having a good time and all you do is sulk!
He knocked her down with a quick whack to the head, and I heard her groaning somewhere near my feet as he shouted for a cab. I helped him lift her into the back seat and we explained to the driver that we wanted to go to Lindbergh Beach. He grinned widely and started off. I was tempted to reach over the seat and give him a rabbit punch. He thinks we’re going to rape her, I thought. He thinks we grabbed her off the street and now we’re taking her out to the beach to hump her like dogs. And the bastard was grinning about it; a criminal degenerate with no morals.
Lindbergh Beach was across the road from the airport. It was surrounded by a tall cyclone fence, but the driver took us to a place where we could climb over it by using a tree. Chenault refused to make any effort, so we shoved her over and let her fall in the sand. Then we found a good spot that was partly surrounded by trees. There was no moon, but I could hear the surf a few yards in front of us. I spread my filthy cord coat on the sand for a pillow, then fell down and went to sleep.
The sun woke me up the next morning. I sat up and groaned. My clothes were full of sand. Ten feet to my left Yeamon and Chenault were sleeping on their clothes. They were both naked and her arm was thrown over his back. I stared at her, thinking that no one could blame me if I lost my wits and pounced on her, after first crippling Yeamon with a blow on the back of his skull.
I considered trying to cover them with her raincoat, but I was afraid they’d wake up as I hovered over them. I didn’t want that, so I decided to go swimming and wake them up by shouting from the water.
I took off my clothes and tried to shake the sand out, then shuffled naked into the bay. The water was cool, and I rolled around like a porpoise, trying to get clean. Then I swam to a wooden raft about a hundred yards out. Yeamon and Chenault were still asleep. At the other end of the beach was a long white building that looked like a dance hall. An outrigger canoe was pulled up on the sand in front of it, and under the nearby trees I could see chairs and tables with thatched umbrellas. It was somewhere around nine o’clock, but there was no one in sight I lay there for a long time, trying not to think.
Fourteen
Chenault came awake with a shriek, snatching the raincoat around her as she peered up and down the beach.