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Ramona stopped scratching herself.
“Will you give me a little kiss, Ramona?” Mary Jane asked again.
“I don’t like to kiss people.”
Eloise snorted, and asked, “Where’s Jimmy?”
“He’s here.”
“Who’s Jimmy?” Mary Jane asked Eloise.
“Oh, God! Her beau. Goes where she goes. Does what she does. All very hoopla.”
“Really?” said Mary Jane enthusiastically. She leaned forward. “Do you have a beau, Ramona?”
Ramona’s eyes, behind thick, counter-myopia lenses, did not reflect even the smallest part of Mary Jane’s enthusiasm.
“Mary Jane asked you a question, Ramona,” Eloise said.
Ramona inserted a finger into her small, broad nose.
“Stop that,” Eloise said. “Mary Jane asked you if you have a beau.”
“Yes,” said Ramona, busy with her nose.
“Ramona,” Eloise said. “Cut that out. But immediately.”
Ramona put her hand down.
“Well, I think that’s just wonderful,” Mary Jane said. “What’s his name? Will you tell me his name, Ramona? Or is it a big secret?”
“Jimmy,” Ramona said.
“Jimmy? Oh, I love the name Jimmy! Jimmy what, Ramona?”
“Jimmy Jimmereeno,” said Ramona.
“Stand still,” said Eloise.
“Well! That’s quite a name. Where is Jimmy? Will you tell me, Ramona?”
“Here,” said Ramona.
Mary Jane looked around, then looked back at Ramona, smiling as provocatively as possible. “Here where, honey?”
“Here,” said Ramona. “I’m holding his hand.”
“I don’t get it,” Mary Jane said to Eloise, who was finishing her drink.
“Don’t look at me,” said Eloise.
Mary Jane looked back at Ramona. “Oh, I see. Jimmy’s just a make-believe little boy. Marvellous.” Mary Jane leaned forward cordially. “How do you do, Jimmy?” she said.
“He won’t talk to you,” said Eloise. “Ramona, tell Mary Jane about Jimmy.”
“Tell her what?”
“Stand up, please. . . . Tell Mary Jane how Jimmy looks.”
