Detour by Martin M. Goldsmith Read Free Book Online Page B

at eleven we began talking. Then, at twelve, when he asked to drive me home because it was raining, I began to suspect something. At first I refused, of course; but later, when I began to think of the long ride home on the bus, and how the buses were usually irregular at that hour, and how harmless he looked... Well, never again, I told myself.
    While these reflections were further upsetting me he drove along the deserted streets whistling contentedly. Men are lucky that way. They can quickly forget things they prefer not to remember, and no matter what it is they have done, there are scarcely any distasteful after effects, recriminations or—worse yet—abortions. Then they wonder why a girl thinks it over a long time before she gives in! He pulled into the drive-in stand on Melrose where I worked and tooted the horn. Inside, I could see Mr. Bloomberg poke Selma into activity. She snatched up her trays, water, napkins and menu-cards and came running out through the drizzle. When she recognized the car she doubled her speed.
    “Hello, Raoul,” she said breathlessly. “Where're you been keeping yourself? We haven't seen you around here in a month.” Then she glanced over and spied me. The smile on her face faded a little.
    “Why, Sue! What are you doing up at this hour? I thought you said you were going straight home.”
    “Hello, Selma. I thought so, too.” Selma shot a sharp look at Raoul, who pretended to be occupied with the menu. “I get it,” she murmured. “You missed Gwen, you know.”
    “What do you mean, I missed her?”
    “Oh, didn't you know she was fired?”
    “Fired!” That came as a shock. Gwen had worked for Bloomberg longer than any of us.
    “Well,” explained Selma, “the boss found out today that she was married, and you know the rule. Gee, I hated to see her go-”
    “I'll take coffee and a barbecued beef sandwich,” announced Raoul. “Save the chatter until later.”
    “White, rye or wheat?”
    “On a roll.”
    “And you?”
    “I don't know.”
    “How about the same, Sue?”
    “I'm not hungry.”
    I was beginning to wonder about Selma. Was Raoul one of her old boy friends? She was acting strangely. Although I didn't know Selma any too well, this much I did know: she didn't say much and she controlled her temper. One night when a drunk tried to kiss her she had acted much as she was acting now—friendly in her speech, but cold in her stare. Now, as she leaned against the door of the car waiting for our orders, there was something about her that made me think she was jealous.
    “Oh, come now. You've got to eat something. The panic isn't on, you know.”
    “Really, Raoul, I'm not hungry in the least.”
    To tell the truth, I was feeling a little uneasy in my stomach. While the liquor I had put away was all good stuff, there had been too many kinds of it.
    “Well, have some coffee. It'll sober you up.”
    That remark rubbed me the wrong way, but I let it go. When Selma brought the coffee I sipped it slowly, still thinking what an idiot I'd been ever to have allowed him to take me home—which he hadn't, as yet. The man was entirely without tact. The least he could have done was select another place to eat. Especially if Selma was one of his ex-girl friends. What was he trying to do? Give the help something to talk about? Parade his conquest of me before the late shift? Show them it had only taken him from midnight when I got of work, until... whatever time it was now?
    “You might have picked another place to come,” I told him.
    He turned to look at me blankly, every inch the fake Englishman. “What's the matter with this? The food's good. At any rate, there aren't many places open at this hour, you know.” He took out a package of imported cigarettes, tapped one of them on his thumb-nail and lighted it.
    “There are plenty of places open along the Boulevard and on Vine,” I retorted sharply. “We could have gone to the Coco Tree.” It rankled me because he hadn't offered