“Oh dry up!” Ken exclaimed, exasperated. “The trouble with you is that you’ve never grown up.”
“Thank the Lord I haven’t.” Parker said. “When my idea of fun is cutting the goddam lawn, I’ll know it’s time I was buried.”
Ken left him, still talking, and climbed the steps that led to the staff exit.
Parker’s continual suggestions irritated him, and he was frowning as he walked along the hot sidewalk to the restaurant where he always took his meals.
He was thinking: of course he’s right. I am in a rut. I’ve been in a rut ever since I married. I don’t suppose I’ll get another chance to kick the can around. Ann won’t leave me again: anyway, not for years. But do I want to kick the can around? If only I knew when Ann was coming back. This might go on for weeks.
It may be your last chance before you get old and useless, Parker had said. That was true. Ann would never know. Why not have a night out tonight? Why not?
He suddenly felt excited and reckless. He would do it! It would probably turn out to be a flop, but anything was better than returning to the empty bungalow.
He would go to the Cigale and have a couple of drinks. Maybe some blonde would be willing to share his company without making any complications.
That’s it, he said to himself, as he walked on towards the restaurant; a final night out; a swan song.