“Socking railroad detectives developed the muscles.”
“And you’re hard all over. Big and tall and hard. And your hair is light. You’re not a little soft greasy guy with black kinky hair that he puts bay rum on every night.”
“That must be a nice smell.”
“But it won’t do, Frank. That road, it don’t lead anywhere but to the hash house. The hash house for me, and some job like it for you. A lousy parking lot job, where you wear a smock. I’d cry if I saw you in a smock, Frank.”
“Well?”
She sat there a long time, twisting my hand in both of hers. “Frank, do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love me so much that not anything matters?”
“Yes.”
“There’s one way.”