“No, thanks. I want to think.”
“Think while you’re with me, lover.”
“No. I can stay here and figure things out a lot better.”
Bertha Cool said, “I see.” She pulled the telephone over towards her, dialled a number, and said, “This is B. Cool. Send me up a double clubhouse sandwich and a quart bottle of beer.” She hung up the telephone, said, “I’m sorry you’re not hungry, Donald. Bertha will sit right here and wait with you.”
I didn’t say anything.
We sat there in silence, Bertha Cool studying me with half-closed eyes, smoking thoughtfully. After a while there was a knock on the door, and Bertha Cool said, “Open it and let the waiter in.”
The waiter from the restaurant downstairs brought in a tray with a double clubhouse sandwich and a quart of beer. Bertha Cool told him to put it on the desk, paid him, gave him a tie, and said, “You can get the dishes in the morning. Were going to be busy tonight.”
The waiter thanked her and left. Bertha munched on the sandwich, washed it down with big gulps of beer, and said, “It’s a hell of a way to make a dinner, but it will stay my appetite. Too bad you weren’t hungry.”
After she’d finished and had another cigarette, I looked at my watch carelessly and said, “Well, I guess there’s no use waiting any longer.”
Bertha Cool beamed at me. “I guess you’re right. Who was she? Why did she stand you up on the call?”