“Just taking something to keep my strength up, dearie.”
“Nice of you.”
“What did you think I was doing?”
“I didn’t.”
“Don’t worry.
When I get ready to skip I’ll let you know.
Just take it easy.
You may need all your strength.”
She gave me a funny look and went upstairs.
It kept up all day, me following her around for fear she’d call up Sackett, her following me around for fear I’d skip.
We never opened the place up at all.
In between the tip-toeing around, we would sit upstairs in the room.
We didn’t look at each other.
We looked at the puma.
It would meow and she would go down to get it some milk.
I would go with her.
After it lapped up the milk it would go to sleep.
It was too young to play much.
Most of the time it meowed or slept.
That night we lay side by side, not saying a word.
I must have slept, because I had those dreams.
Then, all of a sudden, I woke up, and before I was even really awake I was running downstairs.
What had waked me was the sound of that telephone dial.
She was at the extension in the lunchroom, all dressed, with her hat on, and a packed hat box on the floor beside her.
I grabbed the receiver and slammed it on the hook.
I took her by the shoulders, jerked her through the swing door, and shoved her upstairs.
“Get up there!
Get up there, or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?”
The telephone rang, and I answered it.
“Here’s your party, go ahead.”
“Yellow Cab.”
“Oh.
Oh.
I called you, Yellow Cab, but I’ve changed my mind.
I won’t need you.”
“O.K.”
When I got upstairs she was taking off her clothes.
When we got back in bed we lay there a long time again without saying a word.
Then she started up.
“Or you’ll what?”
“What’s it to you?
Sock you in the jaw, maybe.
Maybe something else.”
“Something else, wasn’t it?”
“What are you getting at now?”
“Frank, I know what you’ve been doing.
You’ve been lying there, trying to think of a way to kill me.”
“I’ve been asleep.”
“Don’t lie to me, Frank.