She moved away from him, smiling.
“I’ll be with you in two seconds, Buster,” she said. “Help yourself to a drink and fix me one too.”
She went into the bedroom and shut the door after her.
Ken lit a cigarette and moved over to the liquor cabinet. He was sure now that he shouldn’t have come up to her apartment. He didn’t know why, but the evening had gone dead on him. He was suddenly ashamed of himself. He thought of Ann. It was an inexcusable and disgraceful act of disloyalty. If Ann ever discovered what he had done, he could never look her in the face again.
He poured out a stiff drink and swallowed half of it.
The least he could do now, he told himself, moving slowly about the room, glass in hand, was to go home.
He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It showed a quarter to one.
Yes, he would go home, he decided, and feeling a little virtuous at making a sacrifice that most men, he felt, wouldn’t have been able to resist, he sat down and waited.
A sudden rumble of thunder not far off startled him.
It was quite a walk from Fay’s apartment to the parking lot. He wished she would hurry. He didn’t want to get wet.