“I haven’t thought about it. What is the temperature in Hong Kong, by the way?”
“Why?” Dora said coldly. “Are you going there?”
“I might.”
“If you didn’t spend all your money on clothes, you could afford to.”
“Maybe I’ll win a free trip. That’s it. You could go on one of those quiz shows you’re always watching and win a free trip to Hong Kong. You wouldn’t want to take the trip yourself because you don’t like Chinamen so you give the ticket to me. And before I even get there, I’ll know the temperature. How does that sound?”
Dora’s plump pink face looked fretful like a disappointed child’s. “I wouldn’t dream of giving you the ticket. Either I’d sell it or I’d take the trip myself, Chinamen or no Chinamen. And speaking of spending all your money on clothes, what happened to your dress?”
“What dress?”
“This morning at breakfast you were wearing a new knitted dress.”
“I changed.”
“I can see that. But why?”
“I wanted to.”
“You must have had a reason for wanting to.”
“I decided it wasn’t suitable for a courtroom.”
“Surely they don’t tell you what to wear.”
“No.”
“Then why not look as attractive as you can? That dress made you almost sexy.”
Eva knew what was coming: It was up to a woman to look as sexy as possible because one never knew when Mr. Right was going to come along. Or even Mr. Half-Right, since a woman who’d reached Eva’s age couldn’t afford to be choosy.
It was Dora’s favorite theme, and she played it like a virtuoso. “You remember that nice Mr. Weatherbe your father brought home from the office for dinner Saturday night? Well, he asked your father about you and sent his best regards. It’s a sign he’s interested in you, even though you sat there like a dead clam all through the meal.”
“How do you tell a dead clam from a live one?”
“Dead or alive, that isn’t the point. Mr. Weatherbe is a very presentable man. He dresses well — that part should certainly appeal to you — he has nice teeth and not a trace of dandruff.”
“How could he have dandruff when he’s bald?”
“His hair is thinning a little on top. You can’t call him bald.”
“I can. I just did.”
“When are you going to get it through your head that you’re no spring chicken anymore. You can’t be so picky. Goodness gracious, what are you waiting for?”
Still standing at the window, Eva watched the liquidambar tree dazzling to death in the sun. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m waiting to fall in love.”
“Fall in love? That’s silly.”
“Why?”
“People can’t expect to just fall in love. They have to go out and look for it, work at it, not sit around the dinner table acting like a—”
“Dead clam.”
“Yes, a dead clam. That’s what I said, and I won’t apologize for it. Mr. Weatherbe’s hair may be thinning a bit on top, but he earns a very good salary. And the fact that he asked after you must mean he’s interested.” Dora stabbed at an oil-slick lettuce leaf. “So you’re waiting to fall in love. I can’t really believe you said that.”
“Believe it.”
“You’re sure you don’t have one of those things they call a father fixation?”
“I doubt it.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. One of my friends was saying the other day how funny it was that Frank had had four wives and through all four of them you were still occupying the same bedroom you had when you were a child instead of going out and getting a place of your own, which you could well afford to do if you didn’t spend so much money on clothes. Not that I object to having you here, but you’d think with all that blabbing you do about women’s independence you might go out and get some place of your own. Why don’t you?”
“Inertia,” Eva said. “All us dead clams suffer from inertia. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring up the subject of Mr. Weatherbe again. He may earn a good salary, but he’s a conceited ass who suffers from logorrhea.”
“What’s that?”
“Look it up.”
“There you go again. Whenever you’re losing an argument, the only thing you can do is flaunt your superior education.”
“I can think of something else to do,” Eva said. “But it wouldn’t be legal.”
She spent the rest of her lunch hour looking in shop-windows, buying an umbrella for Mildred Noon’s birthday and finally going into a bookstore and asking for a map and some literature about the Caribbean islands.
She was a steady customer at the store, and the middle-aged woman behind the counter greeted her by name.
“Going on a cruise, Miss Foster?”
“I might someday.”
“I’ve never been to the Caribbean myself. But I have a friend who took one of those cruises that was supposed to be like the Love Boat on TV. A love boat, my eye. In the first place most of the passengers were women, and the only men on board were the crew.”
“And in the second place?”
“There was no second place. What do you think she went on the cruise for? It was an expensive mistake. She would have done better to join one of those health clubs.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“There at least you’ll be surrounded by men and you can start scouting. It’s amazing what poor judges of character women are. They use their eyes and ears instead of their brains. They might as well say eeny meeny miny mo.”
Eva stared down at the map in her hands. It had begun to quiver, as if someone had opened a door and let the wind in. She felt no draft.
Eeny, meeny, miny mo, catch a nigger by the toe.
Had the woman chosen these words deliberately? She seemed to be looking at her in a peculiar way. Perhaps she knew all about the trial, had even been one of the anonymous court watchers, had seen Cully talking to her, smiling, admiring her dress.
She started to refold the map, but it wouldn’t fold, and the woman took it out of her hands. “Here, let me do it.”
“Thank you,” Eva said.
“Personally I think the best way to meet men — or women either, for that matter — is to buy a dog. People who walk dogs always get acquainted with each other. Have you noticed that?”
“Yes.”
“Actually, I think dogs are a lot smarter than people. When dogs want to get acquainted, they just walk up to each other and sniff around a little, and they’re either friends or enemies right off the bat. Wouldn’t it be nice if people felt free to do the same?”
“I guess so.”
“Aren’t you feeling well, Miss Foster?”
“I’m all right.”
“Maybe you’ve been working too hard. You know, it’s funny, but in all the years you’ve been coming in here I’ve never known what you do for a living.”
“I work for the government.”
“Aren’t you lucky. I hear they have great health insurance coverage. And the pensions! If I could get a pension like that, I’d make a point of living forever.”
“I’ll take the map,” Eva said. “And the paperback on the Virgin Islands.”
“Want me to put them in a bag for you?”
“No, thanks, there’s room in my purse.”
“What a lovely purse,” the clerk said. “What’s it made of?”
“Alligator.”
“I thought alligators were on the endangered species list and people weren’t allowed to use their skins.”
“That used to be true. But now alligators are farmed and the use of their skins is legal.”
Eva paid for the book and map and went back out onto the street.
She arrived in the courtroom ten minutes early, but Cully was already seated at the counsels’ table. Bailiff di Santo stood at the back of the room, talking to a pensioner who divided his time between the courthouse and the library in the next block.