righteous, and humourless. ‘Take your own cab,’ he said.
‘You’re wasting the taxpayers’ money,’ Grofield told him.
The Fed didn’t say anything. He turned his head and looked stonily out the other window. Up front the cabby was grinning and trying not to show it.
‘Have it your own way,’ Grofield said. ‘I’ll see you later.’ He straightened up and started away, then changed his mind and went back, saying, ‘Correction, I’m not going back to the motel. I’m going first to see the fair Crystal, and thenI’m going back to the motel.’
The Fed turned and looked at Grofield. ‘I have patience,’ he said. ‘I have patience and I can wait.’
Grofield grinned at him. ‘You remind me of Parker,’ he said. ‘The two of you, sparkling, scintillating, a million laughs.’ He waved, and went away again, and this time flagged a cab and rode it to Crystal’s apartment house.
He had an excuse for going, if not exactly a reason. Crystal was his contact with the Outfit, from whom all blessings flowed, including the money Grofield and Salsa were spending every night out on the island of Cockaigne, and it was more or less true they needed more cash. They had enough to last another couple of days, so he was rushing things a little going to see Crystal now, but he felt up, he felt tense and expectant, the little bit of horseplay with the Federal agents had only whetted his appetite for more.
The other cab trailed along like something attached by a string. Grofield looked back at it from time to time and laughed, picturing the Parker-like face of that Federal man back there. When he got out of the cab at Crystal’s place he paused long enough to wave at the Fed before going on into the building.
Grofield heard music, movie-type background music. He heard it all the time, in every part of his life. For the last half hour or so the music had all been of cops-and-robbers movie type, with a lot of drums and trumpets and syncopation, but now as he went up in the elevator to Crystal’s apartment the music changed, became light, frothy, semi-comic, the kind of music that backs Jack Lemmon or Cary Grant on their way to see Shirley MacLaine or Doris Day. Grofield strode out of the elevator whistling and did a little dance step in the middle of the hall.
At first, after he rang the bell, he thought she wasn’t home. He waited and waited by the closed door, while the music began to change again, and soon the air around his head was swollen with tear-stained violins; missing in action, erroneously reported dead, he was returning home at last, shattered in mind and body, five years after the war, not yet knowing his wife had remarried.
But then the door opened and she was standing there in a robe, not entirely awake. Sleepiness didn’t bloat Crystal, as it does to so many, it merely made her a bit fuzzy around the edges. She said, ‘Wha? What is it?’
‘It’s two P.M., my darling. Forgive my waking you so early, but I didn’t want you to miss the sunset.’
‘I was taking a nap. You want to come in?’
‘Sweetheart, you don’t know how I’ve longed to hear those words from your lips.’
She squinted, trying to bring his face and her mind both into focus. Her robe was half open, and underneath it she was wearing pale blue pyjamas. ‘You’re kidding around,’ she said.
‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘I am. Do you want to sleep some more? I’ll come back later.’
‘No, no, that’s all right. Come on in.’
She stepped out of the way and Grofield walked into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. They both went into the living room, and she said, ‘You want a cup of coffee or something?’
‘Coffee? I didn’t just get up, you did. I’ll take the something.’
She waved a hand vaguely. ‘Bar’s over there. Excuse me, I’ll be back in just a minute.’
‘Don’t get dressed,’ he said.
She squinted some more. She was one of the few women Grofield had ever met who could squint without ruining her looks. She said, ‘What was that?’
‘You look very sexy,’ he said. ‘Robe and pyjamas, very sexy. If you just had the robe on, half open like that, that would be just conventionally sexy, you know what I mean? But with the blue pyjamas, just the hint of an outline of breast, swell of hip, it adds a whole new dimension.’
She was waking up now. ‘Is that right?’ she said, and her tone said tell-me-more.
Grofield said, ‘I’ve noticed the same thing about my wife.’
‘You’re married?’
‘Yes.’
She nodded thoughtfully. ‘You start a pass,’ she said, ‘and then you tell me you’re married. Now you go back to throwing the pass, right?’
Grofield grinned and nodded. ‘Right.’
‘And if I take you up on it, it’s on your terms. I already know you’re married, so I can’t have any complaints later on.’
‘If it was a line I’d worked up, honey,’ he said, ‘I would have used it before I was married and today I might not bemarried.’
‘If you are.’
‘Oh, I am, all right.’
She seemed to consider, and then she said, ‘If I’m going to be catching passes, I ought to have something to drink. But I just woke up.’
‘Coffee royal.’
‘I was thinking the same thing. Wait here, I’ll go make the coffee.’
