The Burglar Who Counted the Spoons (Bernie Rhodenbarr) by Lawrence Block Page B

sky-high.”
    “I know, Bern.”
    “And my clothes—what’s the matter with my clothes? I told you that blazer’s from Brooks Brothers.”
    “Via Housing Works, Bern.”
    “It didn’t say so on the label. You said she missed the point. What point did she miss?”
    “The point that you were actually a pretty good prospect, at least from a financial standpoint. She thought you were irresponsible to pay two hundred dollars for dinner. What you were was a man celebrating a nice windfall. So what if the bookstore wasn’t jammed with buyers? You’d just made thirty-five grand in a matter of hours.”
    “Sure, but how often does that happen?”
    “Often enough to keep you from missing any meals. And your apartment may not be packed full of high-ticket furniture, but there’s a painting hanging on one wall that would bring a seven-figure price at auction.”
    “If I could sell it.”
    “It’s worth the money, whether you can sell it or not. And the fact of the matter is that you could sell it if you wanted to. Not for full price, and not openly, but there are collectors who’ll buy something knowing they can never show it to anyone. Like your Mr. Smith with his manuscript.”
    “So I was actually just the guy she was looking for all along, and she was too dumb to know it. I was that Scarsdale Galahad from the song, ready to buy her a split-level colonial in Westchester and support her in style by breaking into the neighbors’ houses. And if anything went wrong, I’d be just half an hour away in Sing Sing.”

    And later still:
    “Carolyn, I don’t want to get married.”
    “I’m glad you told me, Bern. Here I was building up my nerve to propose, and you just saved me a lot of embarrassment.”
    “Seriously, Carolyn?”
    “Oh, God, of course not.”
    “I didn’t think so, but I wanted to make sure. You know what I want?”
    “I hope it’s not pizza. They’re closed at this hour.”
    “I want everything to stay the same,” I said.
    “So do I.”
    “I want to have lunch with you every day, and drinks after work at the Bum Rap. I want Maxine to keep that dead-end job forever, just so she can go on being our waitress.”
    “She wouldn’t dare leave. She knows I’d kill her if she did.”
    “I don’t want to sell books online. I want to keep the bookstore, even if most of the time it’s just me and Raffles in there.”
    “And some girl with a Kindle.”
    “That girl with the Kindle,” I said, “set me up for the hottest night I’ve had in years.”
    “And when it was over—”
    “I felt bad, but it was worth it. And I’ll get over it, and do you know why?”
    “Because there’ll be other girls.”
    “There will,” I said, “and I’ll keep thinking one of those relationships has a future, but it never will, and that’s really the way I want it. One hopeless romance after another, with a lot of good times along the way.”
    “Me too, Bern.”
    “You want to know something? Even when I was in bed with her—”
    “Janine.”
    “Janine, Marie, whatever. Even when we were in outer space, smack in the middle of the Asterisk Belt, there was a part of my mind that knew I’d want to be rid of her sooner or later.”
    “You want to hang on to that part of your mind, Bern. It’s called sanity.”
    “If you say so. Never mind marriage. I knew we’d be through with each other by the time the summer was over.”
    “That soon?”
    “With maybe the occasional one-nighter down the road, for old time’s sake. Is the bottle empty?”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “Well, that’s okay. I guess we’ve had enough. Where was I?”
    “Done with Janine, except for an annual reunion.”
    “ Same Time Next Year. That was a great play, and then it was a great movie. How often does that happen?”
    “Not too,” she said. “And what it really is, Bern, is a beautiful fantasy.”
    “The best. Carolyn, I’m glad she’s out of my life, I really am. But I’d give a lot for one more night with