'That's not the point, baby.' He put the soggy napkin to one side. 'I saw Hermy just before I called you. He gave me the right pills, the ones we should have had last time.'
Her face sagged. 'No...'
'Well there's nothing tragic. We're right where we were Monday, that's all. It's a second chance. If they work, everything's rosy. If not, we can still get married tomorrow.' He stirred his coffee slowly, watching it swirl. 'I've got them with me. You can take them tonight.'
'But...'
'But what?'
'I don't want a second chance. I don't want any more pills...' She leaned forward, hands knotted white on the table. 'All I've been thinking about is tomorrow, how wonderful, how happy...' She closed her eyes, the lids pressing out tears.
Her voice had risen. He glanced across the room to where the chess players sat with Gideon watching. Fishing a nickel from his pocket, he pushed it into the jukebox selector and jabbed one of the buttons. Then he clasped her clenched hands, forced them open, held them. 'Baby, baby,' he soothed, 'do we have to go through it all again? It's you I'm thinking of. You, not me.'
'No.' She opened her eyes, staring at him. 'If you were thinking of me you'd want what I want.' Music blared up, loud brassy jazz.
'What do you want, baby? To starve? This is no movie; this is real.'
'We wouldn't starve. You're making it worse than it would be. You'd get a good job even if you didn't finish school. You're smart, you're-'
'You don't know,' he said flatly. 'You just don't know. You're a kid who's been rich all her life.'
Her hands tried to clench within his. 'Why must everyone always throw that at me? Why must you? Why do you think that's so important?'
'It is important, Dorrie, whether you like it or not. Look at you,-a pair of shoes to match every outfit, a handbag to match every pair of shoes. You were brought up that way. You can't-'
'Do you think that matters? Do you think I care?' She paused. Her hands relaxed, and when she spoke again the anger in her voice had softened to a straining earnestness. 'I know you smile at me sometimes, at the movies I like... at my being romantic... Maybe it's because you're five years older than I am, or because you were in the Army, or because you're a man,-I don't know... But I believe, I truly believe, that if two people really love each other... the way I love you... the way you say you love me... then nothing else matters very much... money, things like that, they just don't matter. I believe that... I really do...' Her hands pulled away from his and flew to her face. He drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and touched it to the back of her hand. She took it and held it against her eyes. 'Baby, I believe that too. You know I do,' he said gently. 'Do you know what I did today?' He paused. 'Two things. I bought a wedding ring for you, and I put a classified ad in the Sunday Clarion. An ad for a job. Night work.' She patted her eyes with the handkerchief. 'Maybe I did paint things too black. Sure, we'll manage to get along, and we'll be happy. But let's be just a little realistic, Dorrie. We'll be even happier if we can get married this summer with your father's approval.
You can't deny that. And all you have to do for us to have a chance at that extra happiness is just take these pills.' He reached into his inner pocket and brought out the envelope, pressing it to make sure it was the right one. 'There isn't one logical reason why you should refuse.'
She folded the handkerchief and turned it in her hands, looking at it 'Since Tuesday morning I've been dreaming about tomorrow. It changed everything... the whole world.' She pushed the handkerchief over to him. 'All my life I've been arranging things to suit my father.'
'I know you're disappointed, Dorrie. But you've got to think of the future.' He extended the envelope to her. Her hands, folded on the table, made no move to accept it. He put it on the table between them, a white rectangle slightly swollen by the capsules inside. 'I'm prepared to take a night job now, to quit school at the end of this term. All I'm asking you to do is to swallow a couple of pills.'
Her hands remained folded, her eyes on the sterile whiteness of the envelope.
He spoke with cool authority: 'If you refuse to take them, Dorothy, you're being stubborn, unrealistic, and unfair. Unfair more to yourself than to me.' The jazz record ended, the colored lights died, and there was silence.
They sat with the envelope between them. Across the room there was the whisper of a chessman being placed and an old man's voice said 'Check.' , Her hands parted slightly and he saw the glisten of sweat in her palms. His own hands were sweating too, he realized. He eyes lifted from the envelope to meet his.
'Please, baby.. '
She looked down again, her face rigid.
She took the envelope. She pushed it into the handbag on the bench beside her and then sat gazing at her hands on the table.
He reached across the table and touched her hand, caressed the back of it, clasped it. With his other hand he pushed his untouched coffee over to her. He watched her lift the cup and drink. He found another nickel in his pocket and, still holding her hand, dropped the coin into the selector and pressed the button opposite Some Enchanted Evening.
They walked the wet concrete paths in silence, divorced by the privacy of their thoughts, holding hands through habit. The rain had stopped, but face-tingling moisture filled the air, defining the scope of each streetlamp in shifting gray.
Across the street from the dorm, they kissed. Her lips under his were cool and compressed. When he tried to part them she shook her head. He held her for a few minutes, whispering persuasively, and then they exchanged goodnights. He watched as she crossed the street and passed into the yellow-lighted hall of the building.
He went to a nearby bar, where he drank two glasses of beer and tore a paper napkin into a delicate filigreed square of admirable detail. When half an hour had passed, he stepped into the telephone booth and dialed the number of the dorm. He asked the girl at the switchboard for Dorothy's room.
She answered after two rings. 'Hello?'
'Hello, Dome?' Silence at her end. 'Dorrie, did you do it?'
A pause. 'Yes.'
'When?'
'A few minutes ago.'
He drew a deep breath. 'Baby, does that girl on the switchboard ever listen in?'
'No. They fired the last girl for-'
'Well listen, I didn't want to tell you before, but... they might hurt a little.' She said nothing. He continued, 'Hermy said you'll probably throw up, like before. And you might get a sort of burning sensation in your throat and some pains in your stomach. Whatever happens, don't get frightened. It'll just mean that the pills are working. Don't call anyone.' He paused, waiting for her to say something, but she was silent. 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you before but, well, it won't hurt too much. And it'll be over before you know it.' A pause. 'You're not angry with me, are you, Dorrie?'
'No.'
'You'll see, it'll all be for the best'
'I know. I'm sorry I was stubborn.'
'That's all right, baby. Don't apologize.'
'I'll see you tomorrow.'
'Yes.'
There was a silence for a moment and then she said, 'Well, good night.'
'Good-by, Dorothy,' he said.
Striding into the classroom Friday morning he felt weightless and tall and wonderful. It was a beautiful day; sunlight poured into the room and bounced off the metal chairs to spangle the walls and ceiling.
Taking his seat in the back of the room, he stretched his legs all the way out and folded his hands across his chest, watching the other students crowd in. The morning's radiance had inflamed them all, and tomorrow was the first Varsity baseball game, with the Spring Dance in the evening; there was chattering, shouting, grinning and laughter.
Three girls stood off to the side and whispered excitedly. He wondered if they were dorm girls, if they could
