And your hair is light.
You’re not a little soft greasy guy with black kinky hair that he puts bay rum on every night.”
“That must be a nice smell.”
“But it won’t do, Frank.
That road, it don’t lead anywhere but to the hash house.
The hash house for me, and some job like it for you.
A lousy parking lot job, where you wear a smock.
I’d cry if I saw you in a smock, Frank.”
“Well?”
She sat there a long time, twisting my hand in both of hers.
“Frank, do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love me so much that not anything matters?”
“Yes.”
“There’s one way.”
“Did you say you weren’t really a hell cat?”
“I said it, and I mean it.
I’m not what you think I am, Frank.
I want to work and be something, that’s all.
But you can’t do it without love.
Do you know that, Frank?
Anyway, a woman can’t.
Well, I’ve made one mistake.
And I’ve got to be a hell cat, just once, to fix it.
But I’m not really a hell cat, Frank.”
“They hang you for that.”
“Not if you do it right.
You’re smart, Frank.
I never fooled you for a minute.
You’ll think of a way.
Plenty of them have.
Don’t worry.
I’m not the first woman that had to turn hell cat to get out of a mess.”
“He never did anything to me.
He’s all right.”
“The hell he’s all right.
He stinks, I tell you.
He’s greasy and he stinks.
And do you think I’m going to let you wear a smock, with Service Auto Parts printed on the back, Thank-U Call Again, while he has four suits and a dozen silk shirts?
Isn’t that business half mine?
Don’t I cook?
Don’t I cook good?
Don’t you do your part?”
“You talk like it was all right.”
“Who’s going to know if it’s all right or not, but you and me?”
“You and me.”
“That’s it, Frank.
That’s all that matters, isn’t it?
Not you and me and the road, or anything else but you and me.”
“You must be a hell cat, though.