than the streets. At least that’s how my reasoning went, but I suspect the main factor was inertia. I had a bloodstream full of last night’s lousy Scotch and a head full of rusty hardware and it was easier to sit than to run.
I could drag this out, but why? I didn’t have to wait for the door to open to know she’d come back alone. I heard her steps on the stairs, and there is just no way that a herd of cops can ascend a staircase and sound in the process like a diminutive young lady. So I was relaxed and at ease long before the door opened, but when it did in fact open and her pert and pretty face appeared, I must confess it pleased me. Lots.
She had bought real coffee, astonishingly enough, and she now proceeded to make a pot of it. While she did this we chatted idly and easily. I’d had a chance to practice my lies during her absence, so when she told me her name was Ruth Hightower I was quick to reply that I was Roger Armitage. From that point on we ruthed and rogered one another relentlessly.
I said something about the airlines having lost my luggage, tossing the line in before it couldoccur to her to wonder at my lack of possessions. She said the airlines were always doing that and we both agreed that a civilization that could put a man on the moon ought to be able to keep track of a couple of suitcases. We pulled up chairs on either side of a table and we drank our coffee out of Rod’s chipped and unmatched cups. It was good coffee.
We talked and talked and talked, and I fell into the role so completely that I became quite comfortable in it. Perhaps it was the influence of the environment, perhaps the apartment was making an actor out of me. Rod had said the landlord liked actors. Perhaps the whole building swarmed with them, perhaps it was something in the walls and woodwork….
At any rate I was a perfect Roger Armitage, the new boy in town, and she was the lady I’d met under cute if clumsy circumstances, and before too long I found myself trying to figure out an offhand way to ask her just how well she knew Rod, and just what sort of part he played in her life, and, uh, shucks Ma’am—
But what the hell did it matter? Whatever future our relationship had was largely in the past. As soon as she left I’d have to think about clearing out myself. This was not a stupid lady, and sooner or later she would figure out just who I was, and when that happened it would behoove me to be somewhere else.
And then she was saying, “You know, I was trying so hard to take care of those plants and get out before I woke you, and actually what I should have done was just leave right away because you would have taken care of the plants yourself, but I didn’t think of that, and you know something? I’m glad I didn’t. I’m really enjoying this conversation.”
“So am I, Ruth.”
“You’re easy to talk to. Usually I have trouble talking to people. Especially to men.”
“It’s hard to believe you’re not at ease with everyone.”
“What a nice thing to say!” Her eyes—I’d learned by now that they ranged from blue to green, varying either with her mood or with the way the light hit them—her eyes, as I was saying way back at the beginning of this sentence, gazed shyly up at me from beneath lowered lashes. “It’s turned into a nice day, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has.”
“It’s a little chilly out but the sky is clear. I thought about picking up some sweet rolls but I didn’t know whether you’d want anything besides just coffee.”
“Just coffee is fine. And this is good coffee.”
“Another cup? Here, I’ll get it for you.”
“Thanks.”
“What should I call you, Bernie or Bernard?”
“Whichever you like.”
“I think I’ll call you Bernie.”
“Most people do,” I said. “Oh, sweet suffering Jesus,” I said.
“It’s all right, Bernie.”
“God in Heaven.”
“It’s all right.” She leaned across the table toward me, a smile flickering at the corners of her
I could drag this out, but why? I didn’t have to wait for the door to open to know she’d come back alone. I heard her steps on the stairs, and there is just no way that a herd of cops can ascend a staircase and sound in the process like a diminutive young lady. So I was relaxed and at ease long before the door opened, but when it did in fact open and her pert and pretty face appeared, I must confess it pleased me. Lots.
She had bought real coffee, astonishingly enough, and she now proceeded to make a pot of it. While she did this we chatted idly and easily. I’d had a chance to practice my lies during her absence, so when she told me her name was Ruth Hightower I was quick to reply that I was Roger Armitage. From that point on we ruthed and rogered one another relentlessly.
I said something about the airlines having lost my luggage, tossing the line in before it couldoccur to her to wonder at my lack of possessions. She said the airlines were always doing that and we both agreed that a civilization that could put a man on the moon ought to be able to keep track of a couple of suitcases. We pulled up chairs on either side of a table and we drank our coffee out of Rod’s chipped and unmatched cups. It was good coffee.
We talked and talked and talked, and I fell into the role so completely that I became quite comfortable in it. Perhaps it was the influence of the environment, perhaps the apartment was making an actor out of me. Rod had said the landlord liked actors. Perhaps the whole building swarmed with them, perhaps it was something in the walls and woodwork….
At any rate I was a perfect Roger Armitage, the new boy in town, and she was the lady I’d met under cute if clumsy circumstances, and before too long I found myself trying to figure out an offhand way to ask her just how well she knew Rod, and just what sort of part he played in her life, and, uh, shucks Ma’am—
But what the hell did it matter? Whatever future our relationship had was largely in the past. As soon as she left I’d have to think about clearing out myself. This was not a stupid lady, and sooner or later she would figure out just who I was, and when that happened it would behoove me to be somewhere else.
And then she was saying, “You know, I was trying so hard to take care of those plants and get out before I woke you, and actually what I should have done was just leave right away because you would have taken care of the plants yourself, but I didn’t think of that, and you know something? I’m glad I didn’t. I’m really enjoying this conversation.”
“So am I, Ruth.”
“You’re easy to talk to. Usually I have trouble talking to people. Especially to men.”
“It’s hard to believe you’re not at ease with everyone.”
“What a nice thing to say!” Her eyes—I’d learned by now that they ranged from blue to green, varying either with her mood or with the way the light hit them—her eyes, as I was saying way back at the beginning of this sentence, gazed shyly up at me from beneath lowered lashes. “It’s turned into a nice day, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has.”
“It’s a little chilly out but the sky is clear. I thought about picking up some sweet rolls but I didn’t know whether you’d want anything besides just coffee.”
“Just coffee is fine. And this is good coffee.”
“Another cup? Here, I’ll get it for you.”
“Thanks.”
“What should I call you, Bernie or Bernard?”
“Whichever you like.”
“I think I’ll call you Bernie.”
“Most people do,” I said. “Oh, sweet suffering Jesus,” I said.
“It’s all right, Bernie.”
“God in Heaven.”
“It’s all right.” She leaned across the table toward me, a smile flickering at the corners of her
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