Well, Ricky, I am worried. I went to Tom's. Of course, it's probably going to turn out to be nothing. But until I know for sure I feel—the hell with it! I'm ashamed of being this way!
I sat there, taking divots out of myself and not getting on the green.
I looked at the roses again.
They were just yellow roses—big ones—in a glass vase. I yanked out the bridge table, batted the bridge lamp around, sat, and bent into it.
6
Yvonne came through the connecting doors about one o'clock. I was still bent—bent enough so it took a moment to turn and straighten after she said, "Hello, Svengali!"
She was drunk. Not happy-drunk, or mean-drunk, either. Nervous-drunk.
"Your pure relation left me," she said.
"Left you how?"