It was sweet of you to drive it out for me.”

“Not at all.”

“How about a drink before you go?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I followed her inside. The Venetian blinds were half closed in the living room and a big electric fan oscillated like a slowly shaking head on the mantel above the fireplace. She stopped and faced me, and again I could feel that faint strain in the air.

“Bourbon and water?”

“That’s fine.”

“Push some of those magazines out of the way and sit down. I’m sorry the place’s in such a mess.” She turned to go, and then stopped and added, as if it was an afterthought, “I gave the girl the week-end off, to visit her folks.”

She went out. It was hot in the room, even with the fan going, and I was conscious of a deep quiet, unbroken except by the whirring of the fan blades and now arid then a tinkle of ice against glass out in the kitchen. I lighted a cigarette and put the match in a tray. It was heaped up and overflowing with butts smeared with lipstick. Movie and confession magazines were scattered over the sofa and lying on the floor, and I could see the rings left by highball glasses on the coffee table. Standing there looking around at the evidence of boredom was like watching a burning fuse.

She came back in a minute with the drink, and I saw she’d refilled her own. She sat down in the big chair across from me with her legs stretched out and the toes of the wedgies touching each other, and looked at me with her chin propped on her hand.

“Well, how are you standing the excitement?”

I shrugged. “Maybe it picks up on Saturday night.”

“Yes, it really does. They show two westerns at the movie instead of one.”

“Sounds pretty rugged.”

“Well, you can always join the Ladies’ Club and collect junk. There’s a hot pastime.”

“I might have trouble getting past the credentials committee.”

“I bet you wouldn’t if you approached ‘em one at a time. Meow.”

“What a way to talk about the Ladies!”

“They’re a bunch of dears.”

I put my glass on the coffee table and walked over to the front window to look out through the Venetian blind. The house across the street was a little further up and you couldn’t see it from here.

“Which one of ‘em lives over there?” I asked.

“Mrs. Gross. She’s the one with fourteen eyes and party-line ears.”

She put her glass down and walked over and stood close to me. “Well, what do you think of the view?”

I turned, and we were staring at each other again. “It’s better all the time.”

“Oh, I meant to ask you. Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“No,” I said. “I could find it in the dark.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

I put a hand behind her neck and then brought it up in back of the ash-blonde curls, holding it there and pulling her face against mine, hard, as I kissed her. Her mouth was soft and moist, and she came to me like a dachshund jumping into your lap. In a minute she turned her face aside and pushed back.

“You’d better get out.”

“Like hell.”

“I thought you told me you’d lived in a small town.”

“What of it?”

“Don’t you think that old witch over there watched you drive in here? And she’s watching right now, waiting for you to leave.”

I tried to take hold of her again, but she moved back, pushing at my arms. “Harry, get out!”

I could see she meant it, and somehow I had sense enough to realize she was right. There was no use asking for trouble.

“All right,” I said. “But don’t think you can tease me. I’ll be back.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Well?”

Her face was sullen. “Well?” she said.

I picked up my car at the lot and drove over to the rooming house. After standing under the shower a long time, I changed into slacks and T-shirt and drove down to Main.