The Spiked Heel

“I know you will,” she said suddenly serious. “You’re a knight in shining armor, aren’t you, Griff? You came to the damsel’s rescue.”

“Well,” he said, “I hadn’t looked at it that way. Truth is, I wanted to take you home.”

“You’re a liar,” she said.

“I’m a clam.”

Marge laughed. “You’re very sweet. I appreciate what you did, Griff. Not that… well…”

“What?”

“Not that I’m anything special. I mean… oh, what the hell, is it so important? Am I any different than any other woman? But just the idea of giving it to McQuade.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Am I embarrassing you?”

“No.”

“I am, I can see that. You’re really a very sweet guy, Griff. I know most men don’t like to be called that, but you really are very sweet, Griff. I can’t begin to tell you how sweet I think you are.” She was surprised to find tears springing to her eyes. She bit her lip and turned her head away. “I’d better get some cups,” she said.

She walked to the cupboard, took down two cups and two saucers, and then came back to the table.

“I haven’t even got any cake in the house.”

“I don’t feel like cake, anyway.”

“Even if you did, you’d say you didn’t. Griff…”

“No, really. I don’t feel like cake.”

“All right.”

“Really.”

She smiled, a sudden tenderness blossoming inside her. “All right,” she said. She took a jar of coffee from the shelf and spooned a teaspoonful into each cup. “Do you take sugar?”

“Yes. One and a half.”

“I like to put it all in beforehand. Once I even bought that powdered cream stuff and put the coffee, the sugar, and the cream in all beforehand. Then when you put the water in, it’s something like magic. That’s silly, isn’t it?”

“No, Marge, I don’t think so.”

She spooned sugar into his cup and then her own. She went back to the stove and put her finger into the open pot of water.

“How hot can you stand it, Griff?”

“Pretty hot.”

“This is very hot. I’ll get some boric acid.” She laughed abruptly. “I just thought of something funny.”

“What?”

“Spooning boric acid into the coffee cups and coffee into your pot of water. It’s not really funny, I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. Maybe I’m still drunk.” She brought the pot of water to the table and set it down before him. The steam rose, clouding his face for a moment. “You look all misty, like April.”

“That looks hot as hell,” he said.

“Wait until you put your hand into it.” She went into the bathroom and returned with a tin of boric acid. “How many spoonsful?”

“Two, three, I don’t know.”

“Three,” she said, measuring the boric acid into the pot. “And one for the pot.”

“What we really need is a basin.”

“I haven’t got a basin. Won’t your hand fit?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Well, go ahead.”

“Give me time.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I feel like a man on a diving board.”

“Come on, Griff. Faint heart… well, that doesn’t apply here.”

He looked up at her curiously for a moment, and her eyes met his, and she felt a strange warmth suffusing her body. “I’ll get the coffee water,” she said. She turned her back and he suddenly yelled, “Ouch!” She whirled abruptly. His hand was in the pot of steaming water.

“How does it feel?”

“Hot.”

“Yes, but otherwise.”

“There’s no otherwise. It only feels hot. Jesus, does it feel hot!”

“It’ll fix you up,” she said.

“Then why are my fingers melting off?”

Marge laughed and then brought the kettle to the table, filling the cups. “Milk,” she said, going to the refrigerator. Griff sat at the table with a pained expression on his face, his hand dangling in the pot of water. “I should put this in a creamer,” she said, “but I haven’t got a creamer. Besides, it’s sacrilege to put milk in a creamer.”

“That’s right. Milk should go in a milker.”

“You’re bright,” she said.

“Yes, I know. I don’t take milk, anyway.”

“Now he tells me. I don’t either.”

“I learned to drink it black in the Army. Where’d you learn?”

“I don’t know, I just learned. I think it was from a boy I used to go with. Yes, he always took his black. He made me feel like an awful sissy, so I started.”

“He was probably from my company,” Griff said.

“No, he was in the Navy.”

“Oh.”

“I forgot his name.” A twinkle came into her eye. “Hornblower, or something like that.”

“Oh, yes, fine fellow.”

“You’re much nicer when you’re not a clam. Drink your coffee.”

He reached for the cup with his left hand. “Funny how you get used to things,” he said. “It feels strange as hell holding a cup in my left hand.”

The aroma of coffee spread around the kitchen. They sat sipping, Griff with one hand in the pot of water, Marge with her legs crossed. The streets outside were silent and deserted. Out on the river, they could hear the hoarse moan of a tug.

“That bastard,” she said suddenly.

“Wh… oh, McQuade.”

“Yes. He shouldn’t have hurt you.” She paused and looked at his face. “Does it bother you, my talking about it? I’m sorry, but I seem to be a clumsy idiot tonight. Does it make you feel… weak?”

“Weak?” His eyes opened in surprise. “McQuade? No, Marge, no, not by a long shot. What happened tonight makes me feel strong, so goddam strong.”