“Darling,” she said, rolling the R’s. “Aren’t we going to have some coffee?”
“Yes, dearest, I’ll put some on right away.”
He walked over to the kitchenette, poured water into a coffee percolator, dumped in coffee and switched on the electric stove.
“You should have done that long ago,” the blonde said.
“Yes, dear.”
She regarded me with cool grey eyes that were impudently frank in their appraisal.
She took a cigarette from a packet, tapped it gently on the arm of the chair, placed it between full red lips and tilted her head back to wait for my light.
I crossed the room, struck a match and held it to the tip of her cigarette. She reached up with her hand and held it cupped over mine, furnishing guidance for the flame.
She held the hand longer than was necessary.
I blew out the match. Her eyes met mine.