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Page 35.
 “Do you like cheddar puffs? Do you follow football?”
“Who is ahead?”
“Madrid over Warsaw. Six aught,” she said, feeling a warmth creeping into her stomach as she ran a toying fingernail over the crushed velvet material of the couch’s arm rest.
“Sounds like an interesting game.”
“If you like I’ll warm some more cheddar puffs.”
He said, “I’m crossing the Rubicon as we speak.”
“Are you walking or driving?”
“I have my old Renault, with the cloth top and raised tail end.”
“I can’t wait to ride in it.” She added, when he was silent: “Honest.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“Hurry.” She hung up and went into the bedroom. In the stillness and darkness there, she found some silk briefs into which she slipped her long legs. After a brief deliberation, she decided to leave her breasts bare, and pulled on a mid-thigh summer dress. In the mingled light of moon and street lights, she turned slowly before the bedroom mirror and regarded herself. She would act nonchalant at the door.
Or, anyway, I’ll try my best not to seem eager.
In the mild cross-lights, the puckering of her nipples in the flimsy flowered cotton shift did not show at all, but it made a magic glowing lantern to entice him with her figure.
The telephone glowered righteously under its palm tree. She stepped into high-heeled open pumps which accentuated the length of her legs.
“The die is cast,” she said to the telephone, breezing past the TV to make some more cheddar puffs.
“The Madrid takes the lead again and this looks like a take-away game, folks,” said the announcer.
“De dice is trone,” she intimated airily to the mute black telephone.
Minutes later, as popping sounds ensued from the kitchen, she stood behind the window overlooking the Boul’ Saint-Germain. She’d had curtains installed—like a fig leaf, a sort of an expulsion from Eden theme—and pulled them apart for a peek. Any moment now a dusty Renault would come careening around the corner. She heard the sound of a car engine revving not far away. She raised her eyes, gripping the window sill with sweaty hands.
What am I doing?
His boxy little dark blue Renault, top down, crawled around the corner.
With fluttering hands, she let the curtain fall shut. And waited hungrily by the door, counting the seconds until she heard his footsteps, until she could tear the door open.
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