Angela was not surprised to see him. The blond sailor with the gold earring was sound asleep in the chair beside her. On the table was a half empty bottle of whiskey. Wearily Bervick walked over to her.
“Hello, darling,” she said brightly. “Was Olga mean to you?”
“That’s right,” he said. He sat down beside her. The sailor stirred sleepily. His long hair fell in his face.
“Nice, isn’t he?” commented Angela, with a motherly air.
“Yeah. What are you doing tonight?”
She looked at him. The playfulness left her face. She was strictly business now. “Sure, darling, sure,” she said. “But you know how it is.”
“I know just how it is. I only got ten dollars,” he lied.
Angela sighed. Then she smiled, her fat face creased with kindness. “I’ll lose my reputation for this,” she said with a chuckle, “but for an old pal, that’s a deal.” Bervick thanked her. He wondered to himself how these wrecks of women would ever be able to adjust themselves to peacetime when no man would look at them. “Of course you might take me to the show first,” she added coquettishly: a female elephant trembling at the thought of love.
“I suppose I could. What’s on tonight?”
“Saturday Magic. I hear it’s real good. I saw it advertised when I was in Frisco ten years ago.”