“Sorry, ladies,” said Black, “But I haven’t seen real cackleberries for a while.”

“Don’t sweat it, sweetie,” said Julia. “You need to keep up your strength—”

The comment dropped into one of those unfortunate, unforeseen holes that sometimes develop in conversations and background noise.

Duffy, completely unfazed, simply deadpanned, “—for the war effort.”

Blushing lightly, Dan settled himself as the background buzz cycled up to a normal level again.

Music started up from somewhere behind them. The Stones. “Sympathy for the Devil.” The bongos that opened the track were a perfect fit with the tropical setting. Julia and Rosanna hardly noticed. They lived in a world where no item of pop culture was allowed to die. Every song, every movie, every cartoon or TV show ever made was important to somebody, which meant that it had to be instantly available, 24/7, virtually anywhere in the world.

Dan Black had not.

Both women noticed the perplexed expression across the table before they noticed the music.

“Is he really singing about the Devil?” asked Dan. “I think he just sung something about the Devil being a German tank driver. Did you hear that? Where’s it coming from?”

“A ghetto blaster,” said Julia. “Why? You don’t like it? That’s very disappointing, Dan. You’re aren’t supposed to come over all Archie Bunker for another twenty years yet.”

“It just sounds strange, is all.”

“It’s the Stones, baby,” said Julia. “It’s great to fuck to.”

Dan nearly choked on a mouthful of egg.

Julia was about to tease him some more when she felt a tap on her shoulder. A long, thin streak of misery in the form of the hotel’s assistant manager, Mr. Windshuttle, loomed ever her. He wore a tired expression, which perfectly matched the wilted flower in his jacket lapel. Ignoring the two women, he spoke directly to Black.

“I’m afraid we’ve had complaints, sir. About the ladies’ language and deportment.”

Before Black could speak, Julia opened fire.

“Hey, cabana boy, if those old fossils who just shuffled out of here on their way to extinction have a problem, you can send them back in to talk to us.”

“I do not imagine that will be happening, Miss Duffy. They are valued guests of the hotel.”

Somebody turned up the volume on the Stones. It was like they’d pushed a hot wire up Windshuttle’s butt. He winced noticeably.