Rebecca inquired sweetly.
“Thanks,” replied Eric, with a quick sarcastic glance.
One dim form broke loose from the tangle of bodies. It sprinted across the sidewalk and into the street. “Watch out!” shouted someone, and another voice cried, “Hey you! Come back here!”
Rebecca gasped. Her foot made futile pushing motions at a nonexistent brake pedal. Eric spat a four-letter word that clashed with his suit and tie. His foot succeeded where hers had failed. The car skidded, fishtailed and stopped. The fleeing figure spun through the headlights, eyes and mouth gaping; a fist pounded the hood of the car and then vanished. The face was branded on Rebecca’s retina— eyes and mouth smeared with makeup, delicate features almost erased by the glare of light. A girl.
“You all right?” asked one of the policemen, running up to the car.
“Yeah,” snapped Eric, his voice, if not his body, showing evidence of whiplash. He turned to Rebecca. “Are you?”
Her hand was pressed over her mouth as if she were keeping her tonsils from leaping out in a scream. Surely the lines of the seat belt would be engraved on her body. She blinked and managed to say. “I’m fine, thank you. Only a dent in my composure.”
She’d had to start kidding him just then. If he’d had slower reflexes he’d have hit that— that child while he was looking at her. She didn’t know him well enough to be kidding him like that anyway.
“Better go on,” advised the officer. “Traffic’s backing up.”
With infinite care Eric straightened up the car and crept off down the road. “You’re sure you’re all right? I’m sorry, I… ”
“Good Lord,” she said. “I distracted you. I’m the one who’s sorry.” She could see his frown in the barred light of the streetlamps, the black arch of his brows furrowed. The car accelerated beyond a turtle’s pace. “At least let me apologize for swearing like that.”
“You’re entitled,” Rebecca told him. “If I’d had a voice just then we would’ve had a duet.”
He shook his head and allowed his face to smooth. In silence they passed through the old downtown district, storefronts divided among boutiques, feed stores, and boarded-up windows, skirted a residential area, and emerged on another highway. The topmost of a tier of signs before a strip shopping center proclaimed in fancy script letters, “Gaetano’s”.
“Here we are.” Eric pulled into a parking place and stopped. Rebecca, used to letting herself in and out of a car, hesitated a moment and was rewarded by Eric’s handing her out with the self-mocking gallantry of a Regency beau. She returned the pressure of his hand before releasing it.
The interior of the restaurant was all subdued lighting, tasteful pastels, and the occasional impressionist print. The maitre d’ recognized Eric and bowed them into a banquette. This is living, Rebecca said to herself. She opened the menu and tried not to gulp at the prices. It might be a shopping center on the outside, but inside it was strictly uptown.
“May I?” Eric asked. Rebecca murmured something polite, too embarrassed to admit she didn’t know what half the things on the menu were. Tuesday nights with Ray and his everlasting olive pizzas were beginning to look pretty thin indeed.
Eric turned to the hovering waiter. Gnocchi con pomodoro e rosmarino, focaccia , salad, veal alla pizzaiola , something hideously expensive from the wine list. Rebecca’s composure crumpled even further. She and Ray would treat themselves to glasses of what Dover’s Pizza Paradise optimistically called wine, but a whole bottle? And she was sure her palate wouldn’t appreciate anything so exclusive. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” she whispered.
“Now why would I want to do that?” Eric replied with a smile. Oh Grandmother, she thought, what lovely teeth you have.
He sat close enough to her she could sense his presence, far enough away to preserve her personal space. She
“Thanks,” replied Eric, with a quick sarcastic glance.
One dim form broke loose from the tangle of bodies. It sprinted across the sidewalk and into the street. “Watch out!” shouted someone, and another voice cried, “Hey you! Come back here!”
Rebecca gasped. Her foot made futile pushing motions at a nonexistent brake pedal. Eric spat a four-letter word that clashed with his suit and tie. His foot succeeded where hers had failed. The car skidded, fishtailed and stopped. The fleeing figure spun through the headlights, eyes and mouth gaping; a fist pounded the hood of the car and then vanished. The face was branded on Rebecca’s retina— eyes and mouth smeared with makeup, delicate features almost erased by the glare of light. A girl.
“You all right?” asked one of the policemen, running up to the car.
“Yeah,” snapped Eric, his voice, if not his body, showing evidence of whiplash. He turned to Rebecca. “Are you?”
Her hand was pressed over her mouth as if she were keeping her tonsils from leaping out in a scream. Surely the lines of the seat belt would be engraved on her body. She blinked and managed to say. “I’m fine, thank you. Only a dent in my composure.”
She’d had to start kidding him just then. If he’d had slower reflexes he’d have hit that— that child while he was looking at her. She didn’t know him well enough to be kidding him like that anyway.
“Better go on,” advised the officer. “Traffic’s backing up.”
With infinite care Eric straightened up the car and crept off down the road. “You’re sure you’re all right? I’m sorry, I… ”
“Good Lord,” she said. “I distracted you. I’m the one who’s sorry.” She could see his frown in the barred light of the streetlamps, the black arch of his brows furrowed. The car accelerated beyond a turtle’s pace. “At least let me apologize for swearing like that.”
“You’re entitled,” Rebecca told him. “If I’d had a voice just then we would’ve had a duet.”
He shook his head and allowed his face to smooth. In silence they passed through the old downtown district, storefronts divided among boutiques, feed stores, and boarded-up windows, skirted a residential area, and emerged on another highway. The topmost of a tier of signs before a strip shopping center proclaimed in fancy script letters, “Gaetano’s”.
“Here we are.” Eric pulled into a parking place and stopped. Rebecca, used to letting herself in and out of a car, hesitated a moment and was rewarded by Eric’s handing her out with the self-mocking gallantry of a Regency beau. She returned the pressure of his hand before releasing it.
The interior of the restaurant was all subdued lighting, tasteful pastels, and the occasional impressionist print. The maitre d’ recognized Eric and bowed them into a banquette. This is living, Rebecca said to herself. She opened the menu and tried not to gulp at the prices. It might be a shopping center on the outside, but inside it was strictly uptown.
“May I?” Eric asked. Rebecca murmured something polite, too embarrassed to admit she didn’t know what half the things on the menu were. Tuesday nights with Ray and his everlasting olive pizzas were beginning to look pretty thin indeed.
Eric turned to the hovering waiter. Gnocchi con pomodoro e rosmarino, focaccia , salad, veal alla pizzaiola , something hideously expensive from the wine list. Rebecca’s composure crumpled even further. She and Ray would treat themselves to glasses of what Dover’s Pizza Paradise optimistically called wine, but a whole bottle? And she was sure her palate wouldn’t appreciate anything so exclusive. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” she whispered.
“Now why would I want to do that?” Eric replied with a smile. Oh Grandmother, she thought, what lovely teeth you have.
He sat close enough to her she could sense his presence, far enough away to preserve her personal space. She
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