for him.
I gave Miss Spence a sidelong look. She was watching the game with a bored disdainful expression on her face as if she knew what was going to happen, and didn’t care if and when it did happen.
I remembered what the hall porter had said about her flopping at the drop of a hat. I wondered if it had to be a certain kind of a hat or whether any hat would do. I wished I’d asked for further details.
“Before long that side of beef will be looking for you,” I said softly. “Suppose you and me walk out on him? I could show you the moon. If you don’t like moons, I’ll show you my tattoo marks instead.”
Her long, slender, red-tipped fingers tapped on the binocular case.
“I still don’t like playboys,” she said, and looked away.
Gomez had smashed his cesta. Scowling, he signalled time out, and went over to a Negro attendant who strapped a new basket on his hand.
I looked around to make sure no one was paying us any attention. No one was. I made my hand into a fist and slugged Miss Spence just above her hip bone. She rocked, and breath whistled through her nose.
“Maybe you like tough guys better?” I said, smiling at her.
She didn’t look at me, but her nose was pinched and her eyes like holes in a mask. She gathered up her junk off the balcony wall and stood up.