“It’s been such fun, Sam.” She put a hand on his and squeezed, ever so lightly.
Somehow the Saint managed a blush.
“It was sure swell of you, Luella. Gosh, do you know this town!”
Luella stood up, after squeezing his hand again.
“Why don’t you be comfortable, Sam? Take off that hot old coat.” She helped him out of his coat and vest, carried them toward her bedroom. “Excuse me while I get into something cool, Sam.”
The Saint leaned back, a little smile flickering on his mouth. He adjusted the black sleeve bands on his pin-striped shirt, loosened his tie, sipped at his drink, and awaited the inevitable.
It came at that moment. Luella’s muffled voice called, “Sam, dear, could you help me? My darned zipper is stuck.”
The Saint got to his feet, raised Saintly eyes to Heaven, and entered the bedroom.
Luella stood with her dress up over her shoulders, revealing a body of such classic lines that he caught his breath. The body was clad in the scantiest of diaphanous scraps, and the Saint loosened his tie a little more before stepping forward to assist her in getting her head out of the dress. It was in this position, with the dress breaking free from her dark hair, the Saint holding it, obviously having taken it off, that the cameraman caught them.
The blinding flash bulb popped, the shutter clicked from the bedroom doorway, and the Saint whirled, looking as guilty as a little boy caught with his hand in the cooky jar.