Эд Макбейн - Snow White and Rose Red

“Thanks,” she said. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

We drank.

“Good,” she said. “I usually don’t drink martinis because they make me do funny things,” she said. “But what the hell.” She sipped at the drink again. “This is really very good,” she said. “You make a good martini.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” she said, “were you surprised that I called?”

“I was.”

“I don’t believe in standing on ceremony. But, boy, was I afraid some woman would answer the phone. I had it all figured out I would say I had the wrong number or something. You’ll notice I’m wearing green,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Remember I told you this morning that green—”

“Yes, I remember.”

“This is one of my favorite dresses, in fact,” she said. “Though my mother tells me it’s too tight. My mother’s a pain in the ass when it comes to telling me how I should dress, you’d think I was still ten years old or something. Did I tell you how old I am?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty-seven, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“And You’re thirty-eight, right?”

“Right.”

“Eleven years,” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

“The difference in our ages.”

“Right.”

“I got this dress up at Lucy’s Circle,” she said. “A place called Kitty Corner, do you know it?”

I knew it.

“Yes,” I said.

“They have sexy clothes there. Do you think it’s sexy? The dress, I mean.”

I looked at the dress more closely. It was fashioned of something that appeared to be silk but was probably a synthetic fabric. It was cut low over the breasts and slit to the thigh on the right leg. Her mother was right; it did seem a bit tight. Or at least a bit too clingy.

“it’s very sexy, yes,” I said.

“I like sexy clothes,” she said. “I mean, what the hell, if You’re a woman you should dress like one, don’t you think?”

“I would expect so.”

“I like the way you talk,” she said. “Am I too outspoken?”

“No.”

“I say What’s on my mind. That’s a bad failing, I guess.”

“Not necessarily.”

“That’s what I mean. About the way you talk. Somebody else would’ve said something else. Instead of ‘not necessarily.’ I don’t know what they would’ve said, somebody else, but it wouldn’t’ve been ‘not necessarily.’ Do you like chicken?”

“Yes.”

“I fried it myself. I hate what they give you at these take-out places. I made this myself, with my own two little hands — not that they’re what you’d call dainty or anything, my hands. Do you think I’m too big?”

“Big?”

“Yeah, you know. Big.”

“Well... no, you look fine,” I said.

“Oh, I know I look fine,” she said, “but am I too big ?”

“How do you mean?”

“Guess how tall I am?”

“Five-nine.”

“Five-eleven,” she said, shaking her head.

“That’s tall.”

“Oh sure. Guess what I weigh?”

“I have no idea.”

“A hundred and thirty. Does that sound fat to you?”

“No.”

“My mother says I’m too fat. She means here , I think,” she said, and glanced down at her breasts. “I give a big impression all over, I guess. Lieutenant Hanscomb says I should join the force. As a cop , he means. In the office I’m civil service, a civilian employee, you know? He says I could knock any cheap thief on his ass in a minute, is what he thinks. He’s wrong, though. I’m not really very strong, I’m just big. How tall are you ?”

“An even six feet,” I said.

“Uh-oh,” she said. “I shouldn’t’ve worn heels, right? You notice the shoes match the dress? But maybe I’ll be too tall for you with heels on. Come over here a minute,” she said, and stood up.

I walked to where she was standing.

“A little closer,” she said. “I won’t bite you.”

We stood facing each other.

“Yep, just a little bit too tall,” she said, looking into my eyes. “That’s ’cause the heels add three inches — well, what can you do, I like very high heels. Did you ever notice when a girl is wearing heels it lifts everything? I mean everything . Your breasts, your ass, they all get lifted when You’re wearing heels. Also, heels make you suck in your tummy, I don’t know why that is. Should I take them off? Does it make you feel uncomfortable or anything, my being a little bit taller than you with the heels on?”

“No, I don’t mind at all.”

“’Cause I’d rather leave them on, if you don’t mind,” she said. “Even later. I’d like to leave them on later, if That’s okay with you.”

“Sure,” I said.

“I like looking sexy,” she said, and smiled. “Are you getting hungry? Shall I heat up the chicken and stuff? Just say the word.”

“I think I’d like another drink first,” I said.

“Yes, me, too, please,” she said.

I mixed the drinks. I carried hers to where she was sitting.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Cheers,” I said.

“Cheers,” she said. “Mm, just as good as the first one.”

We drank in silence for several moments.

“I’ll tell you why I called,” she said.

I waited.

“I find you very attractive,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Do you find me attractive?”

“I do.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“It would’ve been stupid, wouldn’t it?”

“What would’ve?”

“You being alone here tonight, having your dinner alone here, and me being alone having my dinner alone when instead we could be together when we find each other attractive, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Which is why I called.”

“I see.”

“Have you ever wondered how many people in the world would be together instead of alone on any given night in the universe if only they would pick up the telephone? Or if they would go up to each other on the street and say to each other, ‘Hey, I find you attractive, let’s get to know each other.’ ”

“They’d get arrested,” I said.

“Yeah, That’s the shame of it, That’s exactly what I mean. But you can’t get arrested for picking up the telephone, can you?”

“Unless you breathe heavily into it,” I said.

“That’s another thing I find attractive about you,” she said. “You have a good sense of humor. I love to laugh, don’t you love to laugh?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I also love to eat ,” she said, “and I am getting hungry, really, ’cause all I had for lunch was a little salad. I get fat as a horse, my mother’s right, if I don’t watch it.” She got to her feet, put down her glass, smoothed her dress over her hips, and said, “What I’ll do, I’ll get it started, and we can just sit and drink till it heats up, okay?” She started for the kitchen. “This is a nice place you’ve got here,” she said. “Do you own it?”

“I’m renting,” I said.

“it’s nice anyway,” she said. “Where’s the light switch?”

“To your left.”

She snapped on the kitchen lights and looked around appraisingly.

“I’ll bet a woman designed this kitchen,” she said, but did not amplify. “Okay, let’s see. I guess I can heat the chicken and french fries in the same oven, and I’ll need a pot to put the veggies in. Where do you keep your pots?”

“Cabinet on the left of the stove,” I said.

“Cabinet on the left of the stove,” she said, kneeling. “Right. Did you chill some wine?”

“I think there’s a bottle in the fridge,” I said.

“White wine, right?”

“Right.”