keeping it back out of her face. Her lips were full and had just a hint of a cupid’s bow. Her nose was small, and she probably wrinkled it fairly often, for effect. I decided she couldn’t possibly be a drama student because stereotypes are never that perfect.
“I like your coat,” she announced, as if her approval of my dress were the supreme prize in a good-taste contest.
“Does that mean I get to see Jill?”
She considered this. “Perhaps it does,” she said. “Just what are your intentions concerning my roommate?”
“I’m going to kidnap her and hold her for ransom.”
“Really?” she said, appearing delighted. “How splendid.”
“Or else I’ll put her in a cage and show her for money, but I think you’d be more suitable for that role.”
She nodded. “Yes. The kidnapping is a much better idea.” She stood straight and walked with exaggerated grace into the living room. There was a very nice wooden stairway, curving back on itself with a stained-glass window at the landing. She called, “Jill! Your kidnapper is here,” and gave me a big smile.
“Aren’t you going to come in?” she said.
“Only if you want me to. We kidnappers are very polite.”
“Oh do, by all means.”
“My name is Jack Agyar.”
“I am Susan,” she said, giving me an elaborate curtsy. “Susan Pfahl.” I left my Wellingtons in the entryway and passed inside. There was a very nice ceiling fixture, with old, presumably dead, gas jets mixed into the more modern decorative lamps. They cast downward-pointing sharp shadows against the printed white wallpaper. The pattern was of roses, but nicely subdued. The furnishings didn’t all match each other, but all went with the polished maple floor, the high, smooth white ceiling, and the dark wood of the stairway and around the fireplace.
“Dance or music?” I said.
“Both,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to hear me sing?”
“Yes.”
She sang, “Laaaaaaaa,” at a high pitch, filling up the room, her arms spread as if she were finishing a solo at the Met.
I said, “Hire the kid.”
Jill called from the stairs, “My god, Susan, don’t break the glasses.”
“I shan’t,” she said.
Jill wore faded jeans, a plaid work shirt, and pale yellow deck shoes. I looked quickly back and forth and wondered if it was too late to change my mind. I smiled at Jill and said, “How are you on this fine evening?”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m surprised to see you.”
“Not unpleasantly I hope.”
She made a vague gesture and said, “What’s up?”
“I thought I might take you out.”
“Hmmm. I sort of have to study.”
“Let’s talk about it. Upstairs.” I didn’t quite leer.
She glanced at Susan, blushed, started to say something, decided to get angry, changed her mind, and said, “All right,” in a very low voice. She went upstairs and I followed.
Her room was done in light blue, with a twin bed against the wall, head near the window, a green stuffed turtle on the flower-patterned comforter and a single white pillow. There were a couple of prints of abstract art on the wall, one of red lines and watery pastels, the other seemed to be a meaningless pattern of black needles against a green background. I’m sure they were both meaningful. In one corner were a few small canvases, and from the two I could see they were clearly her work, judging by the lack of style. Her desk sat in a corner and held a Webster’s Collegiate dictionary, an ashtray with a few marijuana buds, a round copper incense holder, a picture of her that I guessed to have been taken by a bored family photographer when she was about sixteen, a coffee mug full of pens and pencils, an electric typing machine, and a pad of drawing paper.
She said, “Don’t embarrass me in front of Susan.”
“Why were you embarrassed?”
“Just don’t, all right?”
I smiled into her eyes. “Give us a kiss, then,” I said.
She sighed and came into my arms. I caressed her back for a moment, and held her cheek against mine. Her skin was warm and soft. I kissed my way past her ear.
“Jack,” she said in a whisper.
“Hmmm?”
“I don’t-”
“I do, however, and that’s what matters.”
She came around to my way of thinking in pretty short order. When I went back down the stairs Susan was still up, stretched out like a cat on the sofa, her ankles crossed. Something I didn’t recognize was on the stereo. She seemed to be listening intently, although she must have heard me come down, because she opened one eye and said, “That was quick.”
“Jill was mad at me,” I said. “It seems I embarrassed her.”
“Jill,” said Susan, “embarrasses easily.”
“You don’t though,” I said.
“That is correct.”
“Then I won’t try to embarrass you. Grab a coat.”
“Where are we going?”
“Coffee.”
She smiled a very nice smile and said, “I’d like that.”
I had draped my coat over a chair. I retrieved it, and she was ready by the time I had my Wellies on. Her coat was green wool, double-breasted, belted, and knee length, with a large collar. She wore no hat. “I shall not bring my purse,” she said, “since this is your treat.”
“Exactly.”
She didn’t lock the door on the way out. She took my arm at once and said, “I don’t believe I shall call you Jack.”
“No? What will you call me?”
“I don’t know. John isn’t right, either.”
“Perhaps Jonathan.”
“Hmmm. Jonathan. Yes, that might do. Come here, Jonathan. Yes.” She repeated it a couple of times, and I guess decided it would do. She looked at me and smiled. Her mouth was large, her jaw line prominent.
I said, “I hope Jill won’t be angry with you.”
“Gillian,” she said, “must learn to look out for her territory.”
“You mean that in general?”
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
“When we moved in together, I told her that I would be claiming as much of the house as I could until she stopped me, so she had better be prepared to defend her turf or I’d simply take over.”
“And she hasn’t done so?”
“You saw the house; did it look like her or me?”
“What makes you think I can tell the difference?”
“You can tell.”
I laughed. “You,” I said.
“Correct.”
“The attitude,” I said, “seems ever so slightly harsh.”
“Do you think so?” she inquired sweetly. “Maybe it is, but I don’t have the patience to put up with having to ask every time I want to move a piece of furniture or put a new vase on the mantelpiece.”
“So you just do it?”
