start. âDonât you think itâs time you told me your name?â I asked.
Her eyes studied me carefully. âZita,â she said.
âJust Zita? Nothing more?â
âMy family name is Hungarian, somewhat difficult for American. Zita does very well.â
âMineâs Hull,â I said. âJack Hull.â
She didnât say anything. The burn was still in her eyes, and I couldnât understand it. After the several chats weâd had in the dining room and the lobby, while I waited for lawyers, contractors, and the rest during the week Iâd been here, I couldnât figure it at all. There wasnât much I could do about it, but thereâs a limit to what you can take, and I was getting a burn myself.
I was still trying to think of something to say when the door of the elevator opened, and out stepped a cute blonde in a maidâs uniformâshort skirt and apron and cap, and all. Iâd seen her once or twice around the hotel, but Iâd paid no attention to her.
She smiled quick at me, but gasped when she saw who I was talking to. âMademoiselle!â she said, in the same accent as Zitaâs. â Mademoiselle! â Then she bobbed up and down, bending her knees and straightening them, in what seemed to be meant for bows.
But if Zita minded her being there, she didnât show it at all. She said something to her in Hungarian, and then turned back to me. In English, she said, âThis is Maria, Mr. Hullâthe girl with whom you have the date.â
âI have theâ what? â
âYour date is with Maria,â she said.
I stared at her, and then at Maria, and then at Zita again. If this was a joke, I didnât feel like laughing.
âI heard Mariaâs telephone conversation with you,â Zita said. âI did not know it was you then, of course, but I heard her repeat your room number.â She smiled again. âAnd I heard her say something about wine.â
âListenââ I began.
âWine â¦â she said. âHow romantic.â
âI ordered the wine for you,â I told her. âMy date was wit you, not withââ
âYes, the wine,â she said. âWhere was it to be served? On the plane perhaps? It leaves at two, you said, when you told me goodbye a little while ago. You made me feel quite sad. But at two o-clock, with a smile, comes Maria.â
I knew by then what had happened, and how important it is to get names straight before you phoneâand to make sure of the person youâre talking to before you do any asking. It put quite a crimp in my pitch, and I guess I sounded weak when I go the blueprints out and tried to start all over again.
âPlease,â Zita said. âDonât apologize for the maid. She is very pretty, Mr. Hull. Very pretty.â
I opened my mouth to say something, but she didnât wait to hear it. She went off down the hall, switching her hips very haughtily. She didnât stop for the elevator, but left by way of the stairs.
I looked at the blonde maid. âCome in, Maria,â I said. âWeâve got a little talking to do.â
I had some idea of a message, which Maria could deliver when the situation cooled down a bit. But by the time Iâd closed the door and followed Maria into the living room, Iâd closed the door and followed Maria into the living room, Iâd come to the conclusion that a message was not such a good idea. So I got my wallet out, took out a ten, and handed it to Maria. âIâm sorry,â I told her, âthat we had to have this mix-up. I think you see the reason. Over the telephone, to an American, one accent sounds pretty much like another. I hope your feelings arenât hurt, and that this little present will help.â
Judging by her smile, it helped quite a lot. But as she started toward the door, something started to nag at me. âWhat a minute,â I said.
Learning to Kill: Stories