“I suppose I am. I’m quaint. I’m old-fashioned. I like to hear the truth once in a while. Legs confuse the issue.”
She said. “All right. I’m going to tell you the truth because... because... damn it, because right now I can’t think of any convincing lie. Your presence disturbs my equanimity as much as my legs disturb yours.”
I said, “Go ahead. Shoot the works while you’re in the mood.”
She said, “I’ll give you the whole story. My real name is Lucille Hollister. I’ve been married. I didn’t like it. I had a property settlement from my husband when we split up. I have money and…”
“Never mind the biographical sketch,” I told her. “Get down to what happened last night. You’re sparring for time. That makes me more and more suspicious. If you wanted to tell the truth you’d plunge right into it.”
“I am telling the truth, Donald, but I want you to understand me. I want you to — I like you more than I’ve liked anyone in a long time. You — well, you give a girl a break. You were wonderful to me last night.”
I said, “Let’s quit stalling and start talking.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to explain — that it’s not a stall.”
She twisted her position slightly on the bed. Her hand was on my shoulder. Her eyes were pleading up at me. “Donald,” she said, “please, please believe me.”
“Give me something to believe,” I said, “and let’s have it fast. The police are on their way out here.”