TEETH
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last week. She hit a car. Two hundred bucks. I've got to pay her
lawyer. That doesn't seem fair, does it? I mean Consolo is no poor
man. They do well, even in winter. Three-fifty a dozen for
iris~."
She put on her coat. "What do I owe you today?"
"I put my book away. I guess I can't charge you, or they'll be
getting me up for not reporting income."
"I won't think of that," she said, and laid a five dollar bill on
top of his sterilizer.
He took out his wallet and gave her two dollars. "I'll drive you
home. It's another cold one."
"Lovely," said Miss Wilmott. She drove a '52 Pontiac which
hadn't started for most of January and February.
Out on Fifty-third Street, the wind was knifed for murder.
People passed like thugs, scarves pulled over mouths, hats down like
old Dr. Hobbie's to the nose. Ridges of steel ice humped the streets,
and every third corner had its famished crocodile of open car hood,
whining for life.
"I'll offer him supper," thought Miss Wilmott, though there
was nothing in the kitchen but two cans of roast beef hash, eggs, and
a loaf of Pepperidge Farm Bread. Nor could she take the chance of
asking him to let her shop. He'd not let himself be invited then.
"I'd like to give you a little supper, Dr. Hobbie.
If
you're free,
I mean."
"Gee."
"I don't get too many chances to cook for other people."
"That would be something, Miss Wilmott," but he was turning
around, looking for something. "Darn," he said. "Guess what? I
don't have the car today. It's in the garage. I am sorry, Miss
Double-U, I'll put you in a cab. Let me take a raincheck on that
supper, o.k.? It's real nice of you." And he opened a taxi door, put
her in, spoke to the driver and said "So long." Turned out he'd
paid the fare.
But Miss Wilmott had a bad night. The heat was low, her bed
was cold. She got up, put on a sweater and the furry bathrobe her
father'd sent her for her birthday. Feb. 2. Thirty-one. She turned on
WFMT. Buzz. It was three o'clock. Dr. Hobbie'd be coming home
from the Tall Girls. She sat back in the terrible green armchair
she'd gotten at Carmen the Movers for eight dollars. A troglodyte.
