Some men's wives, calling that late, would be checking up.
Ricky would just be missing me.
I jumped over to the phone.
It wasn't that clear Hello Darling, like a star in clouds, a landfall in unknown, tedious seas.
"Hello. Phil Wylie?" A pleasant voice. Yvonne, perhaps.
"Yeah-me." I wasn't very civil since it wasn't Ricky.
"This is Gwen. Can you talk?"
"Gwen?"
"We met last night. If you've forgotten so soon, it's not my fault."
The redheaded girl at Hattie's—the one who looked studious and unaffected—the one who had made me think of the handsome wife of some fortunate professor. An interesting one.