Gentleman's Agreement by Laura Z. Hobson Read Free Book Online

was probably pressing too hard, too soon. Minify had told him there was no rush. He’d better spend a week or two reading and thinking and interviewing some of these committee people before even reporting back. As soon as he decided that, he realized he was tired from the eyeballs down. It was long past lunchtime. He made stacks of the clippings he’d been through and on the others he put an oval glass paperweight that had been a gift from Betty. Mrs. Green heard him moving about and came in for the first time since breakfast.
    “Lunch is ready, Phil.”
    “Don’t want any.”
    “It’s nearly three.”
    “I’m not hungry.”
    She left him. He went to his room and lay down on his bed. He thought of taking flowers to Kathy for their date tonight and veered promptly away from the notion. He was not the man for courtly gestures. Anyway, don’t rush things, he thought. This may be important.

CHAPTER THREE
    T HE DAYLONG RAIN HAD depleted itself into a thin drizzle, and Phil gratefully saw that the approaching cab was empty. He gave Kathy’s address and said, “I’m in luck tonight.”
    “Sure are, gettin’ a cab this far downtown,” the driver said amiably. “It’s the doormen all along Park, flaggin’ us down for them rich Jews.” With that, he snapped the butt of his cigarette through the window of the cab and began whistling a tune.
    “The taxi shortage hasn’t anything to do with Jews,” Phil said shortly.
    “It’s just them fancy doormen,” the driver agreed willingly, “doin’ it for them.”
    You moron, Phil thought. For the rest of the short trip he searched for some effective thing to say; he found none, and decided that he’d be damned before he’d tip him. But at Kathy’s door he paid the driver and found himself helpless to resist the waiting palm. Frustration still clutched at him as he went into the self-service elevator.
    Upstairs he rang the bell and heard quick footsteps. She opened the door herself and said, “Hello. You’re on the dot.”
    “Should I be fashionably late?” At once he thought, How cute of me.
    She laughed, took his coat and hat, and hung them in a hall closet. She seemed glad to see him. She went ahead into a living room which pleased him before he could look at its details. There were books around and a piano and none of the too-perfect look of the interior decorator.
    “Do you want a cocktail?” she asked. “Or Scotch? I have a little, and plenty of Scotch-type blend.”
    She wrinkled her nose over the last part. He stopped looking about the room and turned to her. She was different from last night, wearing some kind of dress with flowers printed along the bottom and fitting close up under her chin.
    “You really look so—never mind.” Compliments always sounded false, He went over to the piano. It was a large grand, too big for this room, undoubtedly a hangover from her married life. There were two books of Mozart sonatas open on the rack. One looked clean and new, the other worn. He riffled the pages of the old one and saw pencil marks for loud and soft, for the pedal, for an overlooked sharp or flat.
    “Do you play?” he asked.
    “Some. The easy ones. Do you?”
    “Not any more, but I’m a sucker for music.”
    “I started taking lessons again this winter.” She stood near the piano. He turned the pages further, then closed the volume and looked at her without saying anything, studying her. She stood poised and quiet, letting him, and then moved away. “You still haven’t said what drink.”
    “Whatever you have. Got any ideas about restaurants? I’m lost in this town.”
    “We’ll think that up when we start out.” She poured Scotch into an old-fashioned glass and put two lumps of ice into it from an ice bucket. The ice tongs were right on the tray, but she ignored them and used her fingers. He didn’t know why, but that pleased him.
    He took the glass and waited until she had a drink ready for herself. He raised his in a toast, said,