"Where'll I put the ice, lady?" he said. "You're supposed to be out."
"Welcome back. I just got here and I had to change so I left the keys down there in case you got here while I was changing. How was New York?"
"Okay, but I'm glad I'm with the agency out here. How'd you get in without keys?" He sat down in the soft tan sofa-chair he'd given her.
"I have a key to the kitchen way. Is the show all right now?"
"I guess we fixed it for a while. How are you?"
"Fine. And, hey, I have a good part in Alex' new play. It just happened and I couldn't write."
"You have lousy handwriting, you know," Pendleton called. Grinning, he got out a cigarette and reached into his coat pocket for a book of matches. Something jabbed into the palm of his hand.
"It's because I'm so intense," Beth said, near her bedroom door.
Pendleton winced and pulled a small toy Chinese junk out of the pocket. The price stamp was still on the bottom of the boat, 25 cents. The old man must have dropped it in his pocket when he nudged him.
Beth came up behind him. "It's warm in here. Give me your coat. I have a whole new concept about making martinis. This fellow in Actors' Lab told me. You do it with Zen." Her hands rested on Pendleton's shoulders.