“Who are you talkin’ to?” asked Tom, pretending to look around for the source of the voice.

The girl laughed, too loudly, and looked at Charlie. “Who’s that?” she asked. “Your mother?” She laughed again, and Tom laughed with her.

“Yeah,” he said, “that’s my old dear mother.” He pinched Charlie’s cheek. “Ain’t that right, Ma?”

“We oughta be going,” Charlie said again. He didn’t look at Tom or the girl.

“In a while,” said Tom. “I’m havin’ myself a nice chat with Myrna here.”

“My name’s Rita,” said the girl. “Why do you keep calling me Myrna?”

“Cause you look like Myrna Loy,” Tom told her. He kissed her mouth. “Just like a movie star,” he added as the girl blushed.

Charlie took a cigarette from his pocket and struck a match on his thumbnail. He inhaled and let the smoke burn his lungs until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Then he let it go, watching it float away from him.

“Hey,” the girl said, “You got another one a those?”

Charlie looked at her. “No,” he said. “Just this one.”

“Give it to Myrna here,” Tom told him.

“No,” Charlie said.

Tom turned to him. “What’s the matter with you tonight?” he asked. “You been mean ever since we got here.”

Charlie didn’t answer him. He kept smoking, looking at his glass of beer and pretending he wasn’t there. Tom punched him in the arm. “Hey,” he said.

“It’s all right,” the girl said. “Let him alone.”

“I want to know how come he’s bein’ so mean,” said Tom angrily. “And he’s gonna tell me.”

Charlie continued to ignore him. He thought about the dog. He’d named it Lucky. Mrs. Ring had let him keep it, and now the dog slept with him every night and waited for him at the window every afternoon. Charlie had given him a bath, and now his fur was soft and smelled like soap. At night, Charlie liked to put his face in the soft fur and go to sleep with his arm around the dog.

Something hit him in the side of the head, and he forgot about the dog. Tom was looking at him. It was his hand that had knocked Charlie in the head. Charlie narrowed his eyes and tightened his hand around the glass of beer.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Tom demanded of him. “You gone dumb or somethin’?”

“No,” Charlie said. “Just don’t want to give that whore my cigarette.”

The girl, incensed, gave a little shriek of disbelief. “What did he call me?” she said, her voice high and tight.

“You apologize,” Tom ordered Charlie. “You tell her yer sorry.”

“I ain’t telling her nothin’.” Charlie said. “Goddamn whore.”