'Had it rough?'
'Rough enough.'
'You leave it to me. I'll find you a place. I know the City like the back of my hand. Where are you from?'
'Miami.'
'What makes you think Paradise City could be better than Miami?'
'Just a change of scenery. I'm a great one for changing the scene.'
'Well . . .' He stared at her, then got to his feet. 'I'll be leaving at nine tomorrow morning. That suit you?'
'Suits me fine.' She stood up, smoothed down her skirt and then came close to him. 'I'll pay for the ride if you want me to.'
There was that look in her eyes that made him flush.
'I don't want any payment . . . it'll be a pleasure.'
'Most men would.' She turned her head and looked at the bed. 'That kind of payment.'
Tom would have given a lot to have taken her up on the offer, but he found he couldn't. This girl suddenly meant much more to him than a quick roll in the hay.
'Not me,' he said, his voice unsteady. 'Then nine o'clock tomorrow.'
She leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers. The feel of her soft lips against his sent his blood hammering.
'I like you . . . you're nice,' she said, smiling at him.
He hadn't slept much that night. The following morning, he drove her to Paradise City and found her a tiny room for $8 a week. Away from her, he found he was continually thinking of her. In the past he had got around and had had a number of girls, but none of them affected him the way this girl did. He called on her the following evening. He had borrowed, without permission, the Oldsmobile Sedan, and he was wearing his sharpest suit. They had dinner at an expensive sea food restaurant on the outskirts of the City. It was understandable that Sheila believed she was being courted by a successful, wealthy young business man.
Ever since Sheila had been dumped, at the age of twelve, by her parents on a State highway and left there to fend for herself, she had been in and out of all kinds of trouble, just keeping clear of the Law. She had always looked older than her years. She was now twenty-two. From being a waitress, a dance hostess, a stripper and a receptionist at a two-dollars-a-night hotel, she had finally become one of Miami's many Call girls. This hadn't lasted long. She had helped herself to the contents of a client's wallet and had had to leave Miami in a hurry. She now had fifty dollars in her purse and she wasn't inclined to look for work. She saw Tom Whiteside was infatuated with her, and she decided the fifty dollars would last long enough to keep her until she married him.
They were married when one dollar fifty remained in her purse. It had been a close thing.
Both of them were in for a sharp disappointment. Sheila discovered that Tom lived in a small, shabby bungalow, left him by his father, and that he was neither wealthy nor successful. Tom found she was completely incompetent to run his home. She was lazy; she was frigid and she was continually asking for money.
They had been married now for twelve months. They made the best of a bad job. It suited Sheila to have a roof over her head and regular meals. It suited Tom to have a glamorous- looking wife. At least, if he didn't get any satisfaction from his marriage, he did bask in the envy of his friends, who thought Sheila was sensational.
He turned off the Miami highway on to the dirt road that led through the pine forest down to the Paradise City highway. He switched on his headlights. The sun had gone down behind the foothills. It was now turning dark.
Sheila said abruptly, 'About that watch . . . you may not know it, but any decent husband gives his wife a wedding anniversary present. There's nothing else I want so much. I should have something I want.'
Tom sighed. He hoped she had put the goddamn watch out of her mind.
'I'm sorry, baby. We just can't afford that kind of money. I'll find you a watch, but it's not going to cost $180.'
'I want this watch.'
'Yeah . . . I know . . . you told me, but we can't afford it.'
'I must have been crazy to have married you,' she said with an outburst of bitterness. 'All those lies about your success. Success? What a joke! You can't afford anything! We don't even get a decent vacation. Camping! God! I should have had my head examined!'
'Would you kindly shut up?' Tom said. 'You're no ball of fire youself. Look at the way you keep house . . . like a pigstye. All you're any good at is watching TV.'
'Oh, knock it off!' Her voice was strident and hard. 'You bore me. Mr. Successful who can't afford $180. Mr. Successful . . .' She laughed. 'Mr. Cheapie, I would say.'
The car slowed and Tom pushed down on the accelerator. The car continued to slow, not answering to the extra gas.
'Do you mind?' Sheila said, heavy sarcasm in her voice. 'I would like to get home. You may like this dreary scenery, but I don't. Couldn't we go a little faster?'
The engine gave a splutter and died. They were going downhill and Tom quickly shifted the automatic gear stick into neutral. They continued to coast down the road as he cursed under his breath.
'What's the matter now?' Sheila demanded, rounding on him.
'The engine's packed up.'
'It only wanted that. What do you expect with a cripple like this? So what are you going to do?'
As the road began to climb, the car slowed and stopped. Tom stared into the pools of light made by the car's
