"I was just leaving." I stared back at Westy, trying to let him know I was not happy about this situation. "But I'm planning on coming back in about an hour," I said."An hour's plenty of time for us," said Westy, holding on to poor Eleanor. She probably thought he was being protective. I thought he was being possessive. I picked up the letter I was trying to write and left them alone, heading up to Spencer's room.When I got to the sixth floor, the music pumping out of rooms up and down the hall was nearly painful. Country was competing with blue- eyed soul, Southern rock was prominent, and there was a smattering of a new sound, a primarily spoken type of music called rap. I got to Spencer's door and heard good old Led Zeppelin pounding out the speakers. I poked my head in and saw Spencer at his desk, and his roommate, a soft-spoken baseball player named Arlen Jones, on his back on his lofted bed, his hands propping up his head and his feet moving in time with the music."Hey," I. They were dressed for the town with smart high-heeled court shoes,totally unsuited to a muddy footpath or even for getting down theslippery wharf steps to the boat which was, by this time, sitting about15 feet below the top of the mill wharf.The daughter, who looked to be about eighteen, was dressed veryfashionably for the time in a short-sleeved shirtwaister dress withseamed stockings. She seemed to have quite a respectable figure, hersmall waist accentuating the tight fit of the dress over her bust with agood bum and hip combination which did my imagination no harm at all. Shewas wearing the then obligatory silk Paisley headscarf and fitted nylonglovesHer mother, on the other hand, was dressed in a very fitting tweed suitwith a long-sleeved jacket closely buttoned above a knee-length pencilskirt and her own stilettos. She was also wearing a similar silk scarfand gloves. I would have guessed she was in her mid-forties.Both were also carrying handbags.Both needed help down the.
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