months of it.”
“Turn anyway. I’m hungry.”
She turned. Past the campus to our right and left, past the first of the small shops, and here was a parking-space. She parked and looked around.
“It’s changed.”
“You, too,” I said. I got out and put a nickel in the parking-meter. I waited for her on the sidewalk.
She came over to walk along with me. “Wasn’t that a ridiculous bed, so big and — Hollywoodish?”
“It’s what I’d like.”
“Well, you should know. You probably — ”
“Shut up,” I said. “You’re working yourself into a state again.”
“All right. Doesn’t the thought of George bother you, what he was, and — ”
“No,” I said.
“It would kill me,” she said, “if you’d been married. I’m not very mature, I guess.” She reached over and took my hand.
I said, “What I like about you is your steady, unemotional mind. You’re so reasonable.”
“You shut up.” Her hand tightened on mine. “We don’t want to fight, not today. It’s such a beautiful day.”
Quite a change from breakfast.
“George is back in this town,” she said. “He has a big job with Sears now. Maybe I should look him up.”
“Maybe you should,” I agreed. “I don’t see any place to get a drink. Let’s eat something.”
“I’m not hungry. Isn’t this wonderful, for February I never should have moved to Chicago.”
“You should have seen it a week ago, thirteen inches of rain.”
“You should have seen Chicago, five inches of snow and seven inches of soot. And twelve below zero. And you out of town.” She stopped. “Look at that dress! Isn’t it terrific?”
There were two dresses in the window. One was blue silk.
“That blue silk taffeta,” Sally went on. “I’m going in. C’mon, I want to see how I look in it.” She was back to normal.
The dress wasn’t for her, nor half a dozen others the salesgirl showed her. I got her safely past the next shop and into a restaurant.
We had steak sandwiches and malts. It was near the lunch hour and the place was full of UCLA guys and gals. Chatter, chatter, chatter, yak, yak, yak. Sweater men and sweater girls.
“They’ll never again have it so good,” I said. “I wish I’d gone to college.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Background.”
“I went. Is my background showing?”
“It shows. You know it shows. You can mix anywhere.”
“Light?” she asked, a cigarette in her hand.
I held a light for her, and then she was smiling at me. “You’re all right the way you are, Champ. I wouldn’t want you any way but the way you are.”
“There’s been a change in the last couple hours, hasn’t there? Even if maybe I am a — ”
“Don’t,” she interrupted quickly. “Don’t say it, now.”
We went back to the car and she climbed behind the Wheel again. Past Wilshire, just idly driving and here was another supermarket and another of those revolving Dutch windmills and for a part of a second, something seemed to break through the surface of my mind and then it went away as quickly.
“Damn it,” I said.
“Now what?”
“I thought something was going to come back, for a second. But it went away.”
“The windmill again?”
“I suppose. Yes.”
“Maybe that’s where she dropped you, on the way out. Maybe you got fresh and she got indignant. No, that wouldn’t be it.”
“Stop being nasty,” I said. “You were doing fine, up to that crack.”
“All right. Luke, I don’t want to go back to the hotel, do you?”
“I don’t care.”
“Luke, do you know what I’m saying?”
I looked at her and knew. “But where?” I asked. “No luggage, the middle of the day. What the hell would a motel think?”
“Motels don’t think. And the manager can think what he damn pleases. Luke, it’s been a long time.”
It had been two weeks. I said, “Turn back to Wilshire. Wilshire’s loaded with motels.”
Fine. A girl with no inhibitions, with the body and the mind for it, with the
“Turn anyway. I’m hungry.”
She turned. Past the campus to our right and left, past the first of the small shops, and here was a parking-space. She parked and looked around.
“It’s changed.”
“You, too,” I said. I got out and put a nickel in the parking-meter. I waited for her on the sidewalk.
She came over to walk along with me. “Wasn’t that a ridiculous bed, so big and — Hollywoodish?”
“It’s what I’d like.”
“Well, you should know. You probably — ”
“Shut up,” I said. “You’re working yourself into a state again.”
“All right. Doesn’t the thought of George bother you, what he was, and — ”
“No,” I said.
“It would kill me,” she said, “if you’d been married. I’m not very mature, I guess.” She reached over and took my hand.
I said, “What I like about you is your steady, unemotional mind. You’re so reasonable.”
“You shut up.” Her hand tightened on mine. “We don’t want to fight, not today. It’s such a beautiful day.”
Quite a change from breakfast.
“George is back in this town,” she said. “He has a big job with Sears now. Maybe I should look him up.”
“Maybe you should,” I agreed. “I don’t see any place to get a drink. Let’s eat something.”
“I’m not hungry. Isn’t this wonderful, for February I never should have moved to Chicago.”
“You should have seen it a week ago, thirteen inches of rain.”
“You should have seen Chicago, five inches of snow and seven inches of soot. And twelve below zero. And you out of town.” She stopped. “Look at that dress! Isn’t it terrific?”
There were two dresses in the window. One was blue silk.
“That blue silk taffeta,” Sally went on. “I’m going in. C’mon, I want to see how I look in it.” She was back to normal.
The dress wasn’t for her, nor half a dozen others the salesgirl showed her. I got her safely past the next shop and into a restaurant.
We had steak sandwiches and malts. It was near the lunch hour and the place was full of UCLA guys and gals. Chatter, chatter, chatter, yak, yak, yak. Sweater men and sweater girls.
“They’ll never again have it so good,” I said. “I wish I’d gone to college.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Background.”
“I went. Is my background showing?”
“It shows. You know it shows. You can mix anywhere.”
“Light?” she asked, a cigarette in her hand.
I held a light for her, and then she was smiling at me. “You’re all right the way you are, Champ. I wouldn’t want you any way but the way you are.”
“There’s been a change in the last couple hours, hasn’t there? Even if maybe I am a — ”
“Don’t,” she interrupted quickly. “Don’t say it, now.”
We went back to the car and she climbed behind the Wheel again. Past Wilshire, just idly driving and here was another supermarket and another of those revolving Dutch windmills and for a part of a second, something seemed to break through the surface of my mind and then it went away as quickly.
“Damn it,” I said.
“Now what?”
“I thought something was going to come back, for a second. But it went away.”
“The windmill again?”
“I suppose. Yes.”
“Maybe that’s where she dropped you, on the way out. Maybe you got fresh and she got indignant. No, that wouldn’t be it.”
“Stop being nasty,” I said. “You were doing fine, up to that crack.”
“All right. Luke, I don’t want to go back to the hotel, do you?”
“I don’t care.”
“Luke, do you know what I’m saying?”
I looked at her and knew. “But where?” I asked. “No luggage, the middle of the day. What the hell would a motel think?”
“Motels don’t think. And the manager can think what he damn pleases. Luke, it’s been a long time.”
It had been two weeks. I said, “Turn back to Wilshire. Wilshire’s loaded with motels.”
Fine. A girl with no inhibitions, with the body and the mind for it, with the
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