I went over to the shoe-shining stand and let the boy work on my shoes while I was waiting.
The head barber came over to me. “You waiting for a manicure?”
“Right.”
“There’s a girl ready for you now.”
“I want Sylvia.”
“This other girl’s just as good — in fact a little better than Sylvia.”
“Thanks, I’ll wait.”
He went back to his chair.
“Sounds a little unfriendly to Sylvia,” I told the bootblack.
He grinned, glanced cautiously over his shoulder, said, “She’s sure in the doghouse.”
“What’s the matter?”
“They don’t pay me to gossip.”
“Perhaps they don’t, but I will.”
He thought that over, bent low over my shoes, said guardedly, “He’s jealous. He’s been making a big play for her. Tuesday she phoned she had a headache and couldn’t work; then she never showed up again until this morning. He thinks she was out with a boyfriend. Don’t think she’s going to be here long.”
I slid two dollars down to him. “Thanks,” I said. “I was just curious, that’s all.”
The man Sylvia had been working on got up and put on his coat. Sylvia nodded to me. The boy finished my shoes, and I went over to Sylvia’s table.
The head barber kept his face averted.
With one hand in the bowl of warm, soapy water, I sat relaxing, letting Sylvia’s soft, competent fingers hold my other hand while she started filing my nails.
“Been here long?” I asked after a while.
“About a year.”
“Get any vacations on this job?”
“Oh, yes. I just got back from a short vacation.”
“Swell. Where’d you go?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Alone?”
“Fresh!”
“I was just asking.”
“I had a girlfriend with me. We had always wanted to take a look through Hollywood and see if we could see some of the movie stars in one of the night clubs.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“What stopped you?”
“We went, but we didn’t find the movie stars, that’s all.”
“There’s quite a few of them around and they have to eat, you know.”
“Not when we were eating, they didn’t.”
“How long were you there?”
“A couple of days. I just got back last night.”
“Go on the train?”
“No. My girlfriend has a car.”
I said, “This is Friday. Where were you Tuesday night?”
“That’s the night we got into Hollywood.”
“Suppose you tell me what happened Tuesday night.”
“And suppose I don’t?” she said, her eyes suddenly flashing.
I didn’t say anything more.
She worked over my hands. The silence became oppressive.
“I’m over twenty-one and my own boss,” she volunteered after a while. “I don’t have to account for the things I do.”
“Or the things you don’t do?” I asked.
She looked at me sharply. “Where are you from?”
“Los Angeles.”
“When did you get in?”
“Just now.”
“How did you come?”
“By plane.”
“What time did you arrive?”
“An hour ago.”
“You must have got off the plane and come directly here.”
“I did.”
“Why were you interested in what happened Tuesday night in Los Angeles?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Oh,” she said.
I didn’t say anything more.
She slowed down her pace and started marking time. Two or three times she looked at me curiously, started to say something, then caught herself and quit. After a while she said, “You up here on business?”
“Sort of.”
“I suppose you know lots of people up here.”
I shook my head.
“It must be lonesome to come into a strange town.”
Again I nodded.
She suddenly put down her things and said, “My heavens, there’s one phone call I have to make. I almost forgot it.”
She dashed off to a phone booth; dialed a number, and talked for three or four minutes. Twice, she looked at me while she was talking, as though she were describing me over the phone.
Then she came back, sat down, and said, “Gosh, I hope you’ll pardon me.”
“Sure, it’s all right. I don’t have anything to do. Just so you’re not kept here too late.”
By that time the shop had closed up, the curtains had been pulled, and the barbers were getting ready to go home.
“Oh, that’s all right,” she told me. “I’m not in a hurry any longer. That phone call — My dinner date blew up.”
“Too bad,” I told her.
She worked in silence for a while longer, then said, “Darned if it wasn’t. I had my heart all set on going out to dinner and there isn’t a thing to eat in my apartment.”
“Why not go out with me?”
“Oh, I’d love to. I — Well, now, wait a minute. There’s a lot about you I don’t know.”
“The name,” I said, “is Donald. Donald Lam.”
“I’m Sylvia Tucker.”
“Hello, Sylvia.”
“Hello, Donald. Are you nice?”
“I try to be.”
“I’m not a gold digger, but I like thick and juicy steaks and I know where to get them. They come high.”
“That’s okay.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get any funny ideas.”
“I haven’t.”
“After all, you know, this is — Well, you must think it’s an easy pickup.”
“I hadn’t thought of it as being a pickup,” I said. “I have to eat somewhere, you have to eat somewhere. Why be lonely?”
“That’s a nice way of looking at it. I think you’re a square shooter.”
“I try to be.”
She said, “Ordinarily I don’t pick up. I just have a few friends, but — Well, I don’t know, you’re different, somehow. You don’t seem to be on the make the way most of them are.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. You’re not — Oh, you know what I meant.” She laughed. “I bet you have a terrific line, but — Well, what I meant was that you weren’t like so many of them. You don’t take it for granted that a girl will date just because she happens to be working at a job of this kind.”
I didn’t say anything.
She worked in silence for a while, then said, “I certainly had one funny experience on the last pickup.”
“Yes?”
“Uh-huh,” she said brightly. “My girlfriend was with me and the fellow was certainly amorous. I had some sleeping-medicine the doctor had given me, and without my knowing anything about it she slipped one of the capsules in his drink. He went out like a light.”
“Why did your girlfriend do that? Didn’t she like the guy? Or did she feel that your virtue had to be protected at all hazards?”
“Not at all She’s a funny girl; a cute little redhead. And I don’t know, perhaps she was a little peeved this fellow wasn’t falling for her. You never can tell about women. He was a nice boy, too.”
“Then what happened?”
“Oh, nothing. I just mentioned it.”
I said, “Uh-huh,” and kept quiet.
She finished with my hands, doing a lot of thinking.
“I’ll have to run up to my apartment,” she said.
“Okay. You want me to come along or shall I pick you up there later?”
“Why don’t you come on up?”
“Promise you won’t give me any sleeping-pills?”
“I’ll promise.” She laughed. “Millie won’t be there. She’s the one that did the dirty work.”
“Must have been quite a joke.”
“It was. I was half mad at the time because I liked this boy, but honestly, Donald, it certainly was funny!