Her eyes met mine. “Two beds or three?”
“Three.”
“Okay.”
She spread the blankets down on the desert. Louie lifted the gasoline stove out of the carton in which it had come, set it up on the running-board, filled the fuel tank, and in a few minutes had a hissing blue flame under a coffeepot.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Nothin’,” he said. “Just stick around. You’re the man of the family, the big boss. Ain’t that right?” he asked, looking over at Helen Framley.
“That’s right.”
“What do I call you when it’s time to come to meals?” he asked, giving her that snaggle-toothed grin.
“Helen.”
“Okay. I’m. Louie. There ain’t no hard feelin’s because of that slot-machine business?”