“On the dot,” I told her.
Bertha sat back with a smile of calm contentment, and blew smoke up at the ceiling.
The waiter appeared with a menu. Bertha didn’t even bother to look at it. “Bring me a double chocolate sundae,” she ordered.
Chapter Eight
Bertha seemed surprised when she saw me coming out to meet her cab as it pulled in at the curb, promptly at seven o’clock. Her diamond-hard eyes were glittering angrily at the world.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Sleep!” she said and made it sound like an expletive.
I gave the cab driver the address out on St. Charles Avenue. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Was it noisy?”
She said, “When I was a girl, women used to let their seductions be carried on usually with secrecy, and all — in silence.”
“Why? What’s the matter? Did you hear a seduction last night?”