But it was now Joe who leaned against the bureau and looked at her.
She began to laugh.
She laughed, holding the gaudy box in her bigknuckled hands.
Joe watched her.
He watched her rise and pass him, her face lowered.
She passed through the door and called Max by name.
Joe had never seen Max save in the restaurant, in the hat and the dirty apron.
When Max entered he was not even smoking.
He thrust out his hand.
“How are you, Romeo?” he said.
Joe was shaking hands almost before he had recognised the man.
“My name’s Joe McEachern,” he said.
The blonde woman had also entered.
It was also the first time he had even seen her save in the restaurant.
He saw her enter, watching her, watching the waitress open the box.
She extended it.
“Joe brought it to me,” she said.
The blonde woman looked at the box, once.
She did not even move her hand.
“Thanks,” she said.
The man also looked at the box, without moving his hand.
“Well, well, well,” he said. “Sometimes Christmas lasts a good while.
Hey, Romeo?” Joe had moved a little away from the bureau.
He had never been in the house before.
He was looking at the man, with on his face an expression a little placative and baffled though not alarmed, watching the man’s inscrutable and monklike face.
But he said nothing.
It was the waitress who said,
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.” He watched Max, watching his face, hearing the waitress’ voice; the voice downlooking: “Not doing you nor nobody else any harm ...
Not on his time ...” He was not watching her nor the blonde woman either.
He was watching Max, with that expression puzzled, placative, not afraid.
The blonde woman now spoke; it was as though they were speaking of him and in his presence and in a tongue which they knew that he did not know.
“Come on out,” the blonde woman said.
“For sweet Jesus,” Max said. “I was just going to give Romeo a drink on the house.”
“Does he want one?” the blonde woman said.
Even when she addressed Joe directly it was as if she still spoke to Max. “Do you want a drink?”
“Don’t hold him in suspense because of his past behavior.
Tell him it’s on the house.”
“I don’t know,” Joe said. “I never tried it.”
“Never tried anything on the house,” Max said. “For sweet Jesus.” He had not looked at Joe once again after he entered the room.
Again it was as if they talked at and because of him, in a language which he did not understand.
“Come on,” the blonde woman said. “Come on, now.”
They went out.
The blonde woman had never looked at him at all, and the man, without looking at him, had never ceased.
Then they were gone.
Joe stood beside the bureau.
In the middle of the floor the waitress stood, downlooking, with the open box of candy in her hand.
The room was close, smelling of stale scent.
Joe had never seen it before.
He had not believed that he ever would.
The shades were drawn.