The Eighth Dwarf by Ross Thomas Page A

why?”
    â€œHe said it’s because they want to hire him. He also said to tell you that.”
    â€œYes,” Ploscaru said as, without thinking, he clasped the glass between his knees so that he could slowly dust his hands off. “Yes, I’m very glad that you did.”
    Two days later, at six o’clock in the morning of the day that he and the dwarf were to leave for Washington, Jackson finally met Winona Wilson. There had been a farewell party somewhere the night before, and Jackson awoke with a mild hangover and the slightly blurred vision of a tall blond woman of about twenty-six who stood looking down at him, her hands on her hips.
    Jackson blinked his eyes rapidly to clear his vision and said, “Good morning.”
    â€œSomebody’s been sleeping in my bed,” she said. “I think that’s what I’m supposed to say, according to the book.”
    â€œI think I’ve read that one.”
    â€œYour name’s not Goldilocks, though, is it?” she said. “No, not with that hair. I actually used to know a Goldilocks, although he spelled it with an x. Old Sam Goldilox over in Pasadena.”
    â€œYou must be Winona Wilson,” Jackson said. “How’s your mother, Winona?”
    â€œStingy. Tightfisted. Parsimonious. Who’re you, a friend of Nick’s?”
    â€œUh-huh. One Minor Jackson. Where is he, Nick?”
    She nodded toward the bedroom door. “Asleep. I’ve just made a quick tour—counting the spoons, stuff like that. You’ve kept it very neat. I’m surprised.”
    â€œWe had a maid in yesterday.”
    â€œWhen’re you leaving?”
    â€œWhat time is it now?”
    She looked at her watch. “Six. A little after.”
    â€œChrist. About nine. Okay?”
    â€œNo rush,” she said, and sat down on the edge of the bed and started unbuttoning her blouse. When she had it off, she turned toward him and said, “When I first saw you lying there, I thought you were about sixty. The hair.”
    â€œIt’s gray.”
    â€œI know,” she said as she removed her skirt and tossed it on a chair. “I bet it turned that way overnight.”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, it did,” Jackson said as he watched her shed the rest of her clothes. She had unusually fine breasts and long, lean legs that some might have thought too thin, although Jackson thought they were fine. She turned and paused as though to give him a full view, and Jackson noticed that her eyes were blue. Periwinkle blue, he thought, but realized that he wasn’t really quite sure whether a periwinkle was a fish or a flower or both. He resolved to look it up.
    â€œTell me about it,” she said as she slipped underneath the covers next to him. “Tell me about how your hair turned gray overnight.”
    â€œAll right,” Jackson said.
    It was about eight when Ploscaru wandered into the bedroom holding a saucer and a cup of coffee. He took a sip, nodded pleasantly at Jackson and Winona Wilson, said, “I see you two have met,” and wandered out. Winona Wilson giggled.
    Their departure from the house in the Hollywood hills was delayed nearly an hour because of the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, and New Orleans. Ploscaru wanted to visit all of them on the way to Washington. It was only after a bitter debate, with Winona Wilson siding with the dwarf, that a compromise of sorts was reached. Yellowstone was out, but both the Grand Canyon and New Orleans were in.
    â€œIt’s still about a thousand miles out of the way,” Jackson said grumpily as he studied the oil-company map that he had spread on the hood of the Plymouth.
    â€œBut well worth both the time and expense,” Ploscaru said. He jumped up on the convertible’s running board, took Winona Wilson’s hand, and brushed his lips against it with a bit of a flourish. “Winona, you have, as always, been more than