“Consider it slapped. We had each other a bit wrong.
Romanoff’s could wait a while, couldn’t it?”
“We could try West Los Angeles first.”
“Why not here?”
“I guess this will make you walk out on me. I had a dream here once, a year and a half ago. There’s still a shred of it left. I’d like it to stay in charge.”
She stood up quickly and grabbed her coat. I managed to help her on with it.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have told you before.” She swung around with her face close to mine, but I didn’t touch her.
“Sorry that you had a dream and kept it alive? I’ve had dreams too, but mine died. I didn’t have the courage to keep them alive.”
“It’s not quite like that. There was a woman. She was rich. She thought she wanted to marry me. It wouldn’t have worked. I’ll probably never see her again. But I remember.”
“Let’s go,” she said quietly. “And let’s leave the memory in charge. I only wish I had one worth remembering.”
On the way down to the Cadillac I didn’t touch her either. She drove beautifully. When a woman is a really good driver she is just about perfect.
13
The house was on a curving quiet street between San Vincente and Sunset Boulevard. It was set far back and had a long driveway and the entrance to the house was at the back with a small patio in front of it. She unlocked the door and switched on lights all over the house and then disappeared without a word. The living room had nicely mixed furniture and a feeling of comfort. I stood waiting until she came back with two tall glasses. She had taken her coat off.
“You’ve been married, of course,” I said.
“It didn’t take. I got this house and some money out of it, but I wasn’t gunning for anything. He was a nice guy, but we were wrong for each other. He’s dead now—plane crash—he was a jet pilot. Happens all the time. I know a place between here and San Diego that is full of girls who were married to jet pilots when they were alive.”
I took a single sip of my drink and put it down.
I lifted her glass out of her hand and put it down too.
“Remember yesterday morning when you told me to stop looking at your legs?”
“I seem to remember.”
“Try and stop me now.”
I took hold of her and she came into my arms without a word. I picked her up and carried her and somehow found the bedroom. I put her down on the bed. I peeled her skirt up until I could see the white thighs above her long beautiful nylon-clad legs. Suddenly she reached up and pulled my head down against her breast.
“Beast! Could we have a little less light?”
I went to the door and switched the light off in the room. There was still a glow from the hall. When I turned she was standing by the bed as naked as Aphrodite, fresh from the Aegean. She stood there proudly and without either shame or enticement.
“Damn it,” I said, “when I was young you could undress a girl slowly. Nowadays she’s in the bed while you’re struggling with your collar button.”
“Well, struggle with your goddamnn collar button.”
She pulled the bedcovers back and lay on the bed shamelessly nude. She was just a beautiful naked woman completely unashamed of being what she was.
“Satisfied with my legs?” she asked.
I didn’t answer.
“Yesterday morning,” she said, half dreamily, “I said there was something about you I liked—you didn’t paw— and something I didn’t like. Know what it was?”
“That you didn’t make me do this then.”
“Your manner hardly encouraged it.”
“You’re supposed to be a detective. Please put out all the lights now.”
Then very soon in the dark she was saying, “Darling, darling, darling” in that very special tone of voice a woman uses only in those special moments. Then a slow gentle relaxing, a peace, a quietness.
“Still satisfied with my legs?” she asked dreamily.
“No man ever would be. They would haunt him, no matter how many times he made love to you.”
“You bastard. You complete bastard. Come closer.”
She put her head on my shoulder and we were very close now.
“I don’t love you,” she said.
“Why would you? But let’s not be cynical about it. There are sublime moments—even if they are only moments.”
