I leaned across the table, pushed the plates away to make a clear spot on the tablecloth. “Why did you leave Los Angeles?”
“Don’t make me talk about it.”
“I want to know.”
The question seemed to sober her. She looked down at her plate, thought for a moment, said, “I could use a cigarette.”
I gave her one and lit it.
“I’ll tell you, if you make me, Donald, but I don t want to. You could make me do anything.”
“I want to know, Rob.”
“It was years ago, 1937.”
“What happened?”
“I was out with a man in an automobile. We drove around just killing time, and then turned in to one of the parks, and — stopped.”