never do that.” He spoke absently, as if this were a subject beyond discussion, case closed. “But I’ll tell you what I see.” He smiled and stretched out his hand to touch hers again. “I’ll always tell you what I see. That’s a promise.”
7
She said he needn’t bother escorting her up the stairs, but he insisted and she was glad. Their conversation had passed on to less personal things when their meals came—he was delighted to find out the Roger Clemens reference hadn’t been a fluke, that she had a knowledgeable fan’s understanding of baseball, and they had talked a lot about the city’s teams as they ate, passing naturally enough from baseball to basketball. She’d hardly thought of Norman at all until the ride back, when she began imagining how she would feel if she opened the door of her room and there he was, Norman, sitting on her bed, drinking a cup of coffee, maybe, and contemplating her picture of the ruined temple and the woman on the hill.
Then, as they mounted the narrow stairs, Rosie in the lead and Bill a step or two behind, she found something else to worry about: What if he wanted to kiss her goodnight? And what if, after a kiss, he asked if he could come in?
Of course he’ll want to come in, Norman told her, speaking in the heavily patient voice he employed when he was trying not to be angry with her but was getting angry anyway. In fact, he’ll insist on it. Why else would he spring for a fifty-dollar meal? Jesus, you ought to be flattered-there are gals on the street prettier than you who don’t get fifty for half-and-half. He’ll want to come in and he’ll want to fuck you, and maybe that’s good-maybe that’s what you need to get your head out of the clouds.
She was able to get her key out of her bag without dropping it, but the tip chattered all the way around the slot in the center of the metal disk without going in. He closed his hand over hers and guided it home. She felt the electric shock again when he touched her, and was helpless not to think of what the key sliding into the lock called to her mind.
She opened the door. No Norman, unless he was hiding in the shower or the closet. Just her pleasant room with the cream-colored walls and the picture hanging by the window and the light on over the sink. Not home, not yet, but a little closer than the dorm at D & S.
“This is not bad, you know,” he said thoughtfully. “No duplex in the suburbs, but not at all bad.”
“Would you like to come in?” she asked through lips that felt completely numb—it was as if someone had slipped her a shot of Novocain. “I could give you a cup of coffee ...”
Good! Norman exulted from his stronghold inside her head. Might as well get it over with, right, hon? You give him the coffee, and he’ll give you the cream. Such a deal!
Bill appeared to think it over very carefully before shaking his head. “It might not be such a good idea,” he said. “Not tonight, at least. I don’t think you have the slightest idea of how you affect me.” He laughed a little nervously. “I don’t think I have the slightest idea of how you affect me.” He looked over her shoulder and saw something that made him smile and offer her a pair of thumbs-up. “You were right about the picture—I never would have believed it at the time, but you were. I guess you must have had this place in mind, though, huh?”
She shook her head, now smiling herself. “When I bought the picture, I didn’t even know this room existed.”
“You must be psychic, then. I bet it looks especially good there where you’ve hung it in the late afternoon and early evening. The sun must sidelight it.”
“Yes, it’s nice then,” Rosie said, not adding that she thought the picture looked good-perfectly right and perfectly in place—at all times of the day.
“You’re not bored with it yet, I take it?”
“No, not at all.”
She thought of adding, And it’s got some very funny tricks. Step over and take a closer look, why don’t you? Maybe you’ll see something even more surprising than a lady getting ready to brain you with a can of fruit cocktail. You tell me, Bill-has that picture somehow gone from ordinary