The elegant young man spilled his daiquiri on his bottle-green velvet jacket.

“Hey, bartender,” Mrs. Reilly called. “Get a rag. One of the customers just spilled they drink.”

“That’s quite all right, darling,” the young man said angrily. He arched an eyebrow at Ignatius and his mother. “I think I’m in the wrong bar anyway.”

“Don’t get upset, honey,” Mrs. Reilly counseled. “What’s that you drinking? It looks like a pineapple snowball.”

“Even if I described it to you, I doubt whether you’d understand what it is.”

“How dare you talk to my dear, beloved mother like that!”

“Oh, hush, you big thing,” the young man snapped. “Just look at my jacket.”

“It’s totally grotesque.”

“Okay, now. Let’s be friends,” Mrs. Reilly said through foamy lips. “We got enough bombs and things already.”

“And your son seems to delight in dropping them, I must say.”

“Okay, you two. This is the kinda place where everybody oughta have themselves some fun.” Mrs. Reilly smiled at the young man. “Let me buy you another drink, babe, for the one you spilled. And I think I’ll take me another Dixie.”

“I really must run,” the young man sighed. “Thanks anyway.”

“On a night like this?” Mrs. Reilly asked. “Aw, don’t pay no mind to what Ignatius says. Why don’t you stay and see the show?”

The young man rolled his eyes heavenward.

“Yeah.” The blonde broke her silence. “See some ass and tits.”

“Mother,” Ignatius said coldly. “I do believe that you are encouraging these preposterous people.”

“Well, you’re the one wanted to stay, Ignatius.”

“Yes, I did want to stay as an observer. I am not especially anxious to mingle.”

“Honey, to tell you the truth, I can’t listen to that story about that bus no more tonight. You already told it four times since we got here.”