I felt the passion with which she was charged. But suddenly it was too much for me. I was bewildered and annoyed; I wanted to get away.
“Don’t you want to meet him?”
I shook my head. “Another time maybe, but not now. Shall I take you back?”
“No. I’ll get a ride in to Santa Monica. I may even stay over for the night. He’ll be here a week.”
I wondered again if she might have a personal interest in Cave: though I doubted it, anything was possible.
She walked me back to the car, past the lighted chapel, over the summery lawn, down the dark street whose solid prosaicness helped to dispel somewhat the madness of the hour before.
We made a date to meet later on in the week. She would tell Cave about me and I would meet him. I interrupted her then. “What did he say, Iris? What did he say tonight?”
Her answer was as direct and as plain as my question. “That it is good to die.”