“Good! Buy me some tea, won’t you? I’m frozen.”
“We’ll have tea at your place. I want to talk to you.”
She turned and stared at him as he slammed the door.
His voice didn’t sound like Marshy Kent’s at all.
“I’ve called on you half a dozen times,” he supplemented. “You’re never home.”
“I’m busy.”
“I know you are. That’s why I sidetracked you.”
He did not speak again until they had mounted the flight of stairs to her apartment in a reconstructed house near the theater. But as she collected the seldom used [147] ]tea things, he walked impatiently up and down the room.
“Naomi, we’ve always been pretty good friends, haven’t we?” he began.
“Friends?”