Boys & Girls Together by William Goldman

handsome. Small? Sure, but, dammit, he was handsome.
    “Catch me, somebody, before I swoon.”
    “Esther, quit fighting with the customers.” The man standing at the far end of the counter was obviously the morsel’s father. The resemblance was unmistakable, in spite of the fact that the old man had the largest nose Sid had even seen.
    “Not a customer, Father. A gnat.”
    “Well, quit fighting with him and let him go.”
    “If he’d go I’d quit fighting.”
    The old man took two steps toward them and started to speak, his voice kind, explaining. When he spoke, his nostrils dilated. Sid watched them. “My daughter is the local lure. Granted she is ripe, she is also, believe me please, sour.”
    “I am helpless before her charms,” Sid said.
    “I assure you, you have no chance. Is your suit cashmere? If not, strike three goodbye.”
    “Persistency is my middle name,” Sid said.
    “Then I weep for you and also wish you joy.” Old Turk gestured softly and retired.
    “Nice man,” Sid said.
    “He’s word-happy. A frustrated philosopher.” She handed him the sandwich. “Two bits you owe me.”
    “You can have my heart.”
    “A quarter is preferable.”
    Sid held the change in his hand. She reached out and took it. Even her fingers, soft and pink and round, aroused his passion. “We touched,” Sid said. “Your hand and mine. Now I can die.”
    “Outside, not here.” She moved down the counter, disappearing behind a barrel of pickles.
    Sid pursued her to the pickles and beyond until their eyes met over a chunk of Swiss cheese. “When shall we two meet again?”
    “Whenever you’re hungry, feel free.”
    “Looking at you, I starve.” Now she was starting to color, so he pressed on. “My name is Sid. Say the word. Let me hear you say it.”
    “If you’re not outta here before I count two, I’m calling the cops.”
    “I want a corned-beef sandwich,” Sid said. “Heavy on the mustard.” He smiled. “Now the law’s on my side, so call who you want.”
    She backtracked to the corned beef and he followed along on the outside of the counter. “You really think you’re something, don’t you?”
    “What’s my opinion against thousands of others?”
    She hacked at the corned beef with surprising vigor. “I wish you eternal indigestion,” she said.
    “She cares for me,” Sid said.
    Esther snorted.
    “Movies tonight or a walk along the lake?”
    “I’m busy tonight.”
    “Tomorrow night, then.”
    “I’m busy.”
    “This week sometime.”
    “All week I’m busy.”
    “I never ask a girl out more than a week in advance. That’s a rule. Break one of your dates or you lose me.”
    “Here’s your corned beef.” And she slammed it on the counter. “Two bits and get out.”
    Sid paid her and started for the door. “The week after,” he yelled, whirling.
    “I’m busy the week after.”
    “Goodbye. You’ll never forget me.” He was halfway out the door.
    “Two weeks from Thursday.”
    Sid jumped back inside. “What?”
    “I happen to be free two weeks from Thursday.”
    “Why not say next year?”
    “That’s the best I can do. Take it or leave it.”
    “Sold!” Sid said and he stormed out pursued by her laughter. He did not like her laughter. But when she laughed her body shook. And he did like that. He did indeed. He liked that fine.
    He had, however, no intention of keeping the rendezvous. Pride was pride and he had plenty, so even though he called her on the phone later that week to reconfirm and set seven as the time, it was all show. Set her up high, let her down hard. He was much too successful with women to let a garlic maiden ruffle him. He called her again to inquire innocently about the color of the dress she might wear. Naturally, she would envision flowers. Sid chuckled as they hung up. (Set her up high, let her down hard.) His normally busy social life—he had a string of succulent South Siders—became abnormally busy: Tilly one night, Adele the next, Adele