He was weaving slightly, and clearly drunk. When he saw me standing there, he stopped his singing and stared.
“Ken?” he said. He sounded confused, not surprisingly—and very drunk.
“Yeah,” I said, walking forward. I was nervous, feeling the imperative of keeping him out of the pool area.
“Oh,” he said, and looked me up and down. “You havin’ a dip?”
“Yeah. You know your parents said I should come by any time for swim.”
“My parents!” Bruce repeated, scornfully.
Oh, no! I thought. He’s in one of his I-hate-my-parents moods.
But now he was looking past me, over my shoulder.
“The pool lights are on,” he commented. “You havin’ a pool party or something?”
“Uh—no—I just—” I floundered for a second or two, then caught myself. “Well, I didn’t want to swim in the dark, Bruce!”
Bruce stared a
