Lois rattled the handle of the stall-shower door, and I shut off the water. "Yeah?"
"Telephone, darling."
"At this hour? Who is it?"
"Sounds like Purcell."
"For Crisake!" I came out and grabbed a towel. "This is worse than one of those Hollywood farces about honeymooners. What's he want?"
"I didn't dare ask him, he sounded so grumpy."
I kissed her. "About that nightgown...."
"You're getting me all wet!"
Purcell was night Editor at the Herald-Telegram, a small, intense, middle-aged, highly literate man. Years before, his wife had run off with a reporter, leaving Purcell with an undying hatred for all members of the profession.