OCR Text |
Show 28 dark glasses. Lorin wished he could play in a dance band, but hardly anyone knew he played the piano at all, and anyway he couldn't work from chords and he was pretty sure piano players in dance bands had to work from chords. The trombonist, he noticed, had brought his girl friend, but Lorin wouldn't have done that; it wasn't fair to her. Twice since Lorin had been watching he had laid his trombone across his music stand after exchanging a look with the piano player and stepped down off the bandstand, grinning, and his girl friend had hurried across the floor to him in a rustle of pink chiffon, and he had held her head against his chest as they turned slowly on the dance floor for a minute or two, but that was hardly enough to justify bringing her and making her sit the rest of the time with some girl friends and gaze lovingly up at him during his solos. Lorin glanced at Donna to see if she was finished with her punch. He had crumpled his own cup and was scoring the edges with both thumbnails. She still seemed to have something in hers, so he didn't say anything. He suspected the best way to bring up his testimony was during a quiet talk after the dance. He wouldn't say anything but when they left he would drive through Memory Grove, at the mouth of City Creek Canyon, as though he were just taking her home a roundabout way, and would find a spot to pull off the road. He would set the brake and douse the lights, and turn to look at her startled face as he leaned back against the door and draped an arm across the seat back. So she did not get the wrong idea he could begin with a frank apology about swearing, and if he made it clear that he wasn't usually like that around girls unless he trusted them, then he could work around to his ward teaching story. He was a little concerned that the suddenness of stopping and turning off the lights might make her angry instead of alarming her, and he was considering ways of approaching it more gradually |