The building was pink stucco, big and new and ugly. It had a side entrance with “Romp Room” lettered above it in red neon…[I heard] The high titter of drunk and flattered women, the animal sounds of drunk and eager men. Babel with a wild jazz obbligato.
A big henna redhead in a shotsilk blouse was making drinks at a service bar near the door. Her torso jiggled in the blouse like a giant soft-boiled egg with the shell removed.*
The scent wafting off this dame was unmistakable: Coty Emeraude…