You Find Him – I'll Fix Him

  We had dinner at the little restaurant. It wasn't a bad dinner, but I can't say I remember what we ate. I found talking difficult. All I wanted to do was look at her. She was cool, distant, but at the same time, provocative. If she had invited me up to her apartment I would have gone and to hell with Sherwin Chalmers, but she didn't. She said she would take a taxi home. When I hinted I would go with her, she handed me a beautiful brush-off. I stood outside the restaurant, watching the taxi edge its way up the narrow street until I lost sight of it. Then I walked home, my mind seething. The meeting hadn't helped: in fact it had made things worse.

  Three days later I called her again.

  "I'm pretty busy," she said, when I asked her to come to a movie. "I don't think I can manage it."

  "I was hoping you could. I'm going on vacation in a couple of weeks time. I won't be seeing you then for a month."

  "Are you going away for a month?" Her voice had sharpened as if I had caught her interest

  "Yes. I'm going to Venice and then on to Ischia. I plan to stay there for about three weeks."

  "Who are you going with?"

  "I'm going alone. But never mind that: how about this movie?"

  "Well, I might. I don't know. I'll call you. I have to go now. There's someone at the door," and she hung up.

  She didn't call me for five days. Then, just as I was about to call her, she rang my apartment number,

  "I've been meaning to telephone you," she said as soon as I came on the line, "but I haven't had a moment up to now. Are you doing anything particular right now?"

  The time was twenty minutes past midnight. I was about to go to bed.

  "You mean right now?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, no. I was going to bed."

  "Will you come to my place? Don't leave your car outside."

  I didn't hesitate.

  "Sure, I'll be right over."

  I entered her apartment block like a sneak thief, taking elaborate care no one would see me. Her front door was ajar, and all I had to do was to step across the corridor from the elevator into her hall.

  I found her in the lounge, sorting through a stack of Long Play records. She was wearing a white silk wrap and her blonde hair was about her shoulders. She looked good, and she knew it

  "So you found your way up?" she said, putting the records aside and smiling at me.

  "It wasn't so hard." I closed the door. "You know, we shouldn't be doing this: this is the way to start real trouble."

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  "You don't have to stay."

  I went over to her.

  "I don't intend to stay. Why did you ask me over?"

  "For heaven's sake, Ed!" she exclaimed impatiently. "Can't you relax for a moment?"

  Now I was alone with her, my caution asserted itself. It was one thing to imagine being alone

with her, but with my job hanging to the consequences of being found out, actually being with her was something else besides. I was sorry now I had come.

  "I can relax," I said. "Look, I've got to think of my job. If your father ever found out I was fooling around with you, I'd be through. I mean that He would see I never got another newspaper job as long as I live."

  "Are you fooling around with me?" she asked, opening her eyes very wide and looking surprised.

  "You know what I mean."

  "He won't find out – why should he?"

  "He could find out. If I were seen coming here or leaving he could hear of it."

  "Then you must be careful not to be seen. It shouldn't be difficult."

  "This job means everything to me, Helen. It's my life."

  "You're not what I would call a romantic type, are you?" she said and laughed. "My Italian men don't think about their jobs, they think about me."

  "I'm not talking about your Italian men."

  "Oh, Ed, do sit down and relax. You're here now, so why are you getting so worked up?"

  So I sat down, telling myself that I was crazy in the head to be here.

  She went over to the liquor cabinet.

  "Will you have a Scotch or rye?"

  "A Scotch, I guess."

  I watched her, wondering just why she had asked me over at this time of night. She wasn't being provocative.

  "Oh, Ed, before I forget: would you look at this cine? I bought it yesterday, and the release thing doesn't work. Do you understand cines?"

  She waved to where an expensive leather camera case hung from a chair. I got up, opened the case and took from it a 16 mm. Paillard Bolex with a triple lens turret.

  "Hey! This is nice," I said. "What in the world do you want with an item like this, Helen? It must have cost plenty."

  She laughed.

  "It did come high, but I've always wanted to own a cine. A girl should have at least one hobby, don't you think?" She dropped crushed ice into two glasses. "I want a record of my stay in Rome for my old age."