Gentleman's Agreement (33 page)

Authors: Laura Z. Hobson

BOOK: Gentleman's Agreement

11.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

A first step was always an important thing. You could respect it even if you didn’t overrate it. Whatever had at last clinched her decision to take this one step about the house, she’d done one actual thing which her own world would have to deal with. There was a contagion in any first action; as time went on, she would engage in others. Hadn’t it become easier and surer for himself, as he’d got into it more deeply?

“Finish your drink, Phil,” Dave said. “Would you like another sent up?”

Phil gulped the rest of his. This excitement in him was like a drunkenness, but one watery drink hadn’t done it to him. “No, thanks,” he said shortly, and glanced at his watch. It was midnight. He looked down at Dave on the bed. “I think I’ll run along now,” Phil said. “It’s pretty late.”

Dave didn’t stir. He smiled and said, “Take it easy, boy.”

Outside it was wet and cold. While they’d been upstairs it had rained. Phil walked a few blocks up Madison and then turned right. On Park there were lights in the tall buildings, but the city already had begun to go to sleep. On the puddled road, taxis whooshed by, and he remembered the other night he’d walked down this broad avenue in a misty cold just like this.

Had John preached at her? Had some special incident occurred? Or had that womanish softness of which he’d accused her, suddenly—or slowly—jelled? She who’d started the whole business of the series so long ago by putting Uncle John on the tight, small spot of logic—she had somehow discovered at last that proxies weren’t enough. The house was her first attack on her own. It never mattered which came first. The situation would always dictate different fronts to different people. Just so they were on the ready.

He was walking rapidly. He turned the corner into the side street where she lived. Through his turbulence a new question pierced. Had Dave accepted her offer? Was he going to take her house, move into a neighborhood where he knew he wasn’t wanted? Would he, Phil, urge him to go ahead, see it through, blast it apart? In a neighborhood or an inn or a club?

It was a big question. Dave had said something or other he hadn’t taken in. “Hold it a minute, Dave.” Maybe right then, Dave had been telling him Carol’s and his decision.

Before him on the glistening pavement a bar of light told him he was at Kathy’s house. The question would have to wait. Now there was no time.

He went through the lobby to the self-starting elevator. The bulb of dark glass above the bell glowed red, and far above, a burble told him the cage was starting down. In the dimmed hall, the red gleam shone like a small sunrise.

Crawling upward in the car, he had trouble with the simple matter of breathing. The knot had come loose; streamers from it were flowing through him. He got out at her floor and for a moment stood motionless. Then his finger jabbed the flat white button in the doorjamb. Inside two long rings sounded.

Seconds passed. Then Kathy opened the door.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

cover design by Michel Vrana

978-1-4532-4440-1

This edition published in 2011 by Open Road Integrated Media

180 Varick Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com