The sound of the taxi pulling away from the curb let me know I was on my own. It was a diminishing yellow spot far down the street.
The door frame was white set in brick. The door was stained oak. I reached out to lift the knocker and saw I had a fist full of money. I reached out with the other hand. It had the card in it. I hooked the little finger under the knocker and lifted it, letting it fall. It emitted a feeble tap.
After a while I saw the door moving inward. Pausing in my futile stabbing for my pockets, I lifted my eyes slowly, beginning with the shapely hips encased in spotlessly clean watermelon red, past the slim waist with its black belt, pausing at the firm lift of the breast, jumping to the smooth neck, and finally coming to the face with its smooth contours, red lips, blue eyes lit with questioning curiosity, and iridescent waves of spun brown hair.
Not daring to talk, I mutely held out the card.
Her graceful curves of eyebrows lifted just a trifle as she looked at the card. Then her eyes surveyed me again, quickly.
"Won't you please come in?" she asked, stepping backward invitingly.
I went past her with an attempt at dignity. The door closed behind me. Her feet tapped pertly on the foyer floor as she went past me and opened another door.
"Wait in here Mr. Stevens," she said, her voice rich in velvet overtones. "I'll tell my father you're here."
I ducked my head at her in acquiescence and went past her into the room, a luxurious library.