I was getting riled. "You love him, don't you?"
She frowned. "He loves me, doesn't he?"
This had a familiar feminine ring to it which balked pursuit of that subject. I wouldn't have believed that Willy possessed such a dogmatic objective imagination. If I wanted to conjure up a babe I'd make sure beforehand that she came out the way I whimmed her. Red had a mind of her own, which was the negative, or feminine, part of Willy's mind.
All these thoughts popped up in my head because I had to keep this in a practical light to insure against a return of the shakes. If I started considering the impractical side of it I'd recognize it in its true light, which was unmitigated madness.
Willy and Red remained silent, inferring that I was to carry the ball.
"What I'm dim about, Willy, is how this ties in with your professional livelihood. Why do you have to give up art?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
I shook my head meekly. Willy sighed and reached for a pastel stick. He sketched quickly on the layout pad, first in greys, then filling in with the three basics. It was a martini glass, and the first basic was the cherry in it. Then he addressed his signature under the sketch.
He picked up the martini glass and drained it.
Looking apologetically at my ogle he picked up the pastels again and said, "Sorry. Care for one?"