“Listen. Nobody ever has to drag Joanie anywhere. Don’t gimme any of that dragging stuff.”
“Nobody’s giving you any dragging stuff, Arthur,” the gray-haired man said quietly.
“I know, I know! Excuse me. Christ, I’m losing my mind. Honest to God, you sure I didn’t wake you?”
“I’d tell you if you had, Arthur,” the gray-haired man said. Absently, he took his left hand out from between the girl’s upper arm and chest wall. “Look, Arthur. You want my advice?” he said. He took the telephone cord between his fingers, just under the transmitter. “I mean this, now. You want some advice?”
“Yeah. I don’t know. Christ, I’m keeping you up. Why don’t I just go cut my—”
“Listen to me a minute,” the gray-haired man said. “First—I mean this, now—get in bed and relax. Make yourself a nice, big nightcap, and get under the—”
“Nightcap! Are you kidding? Christ, I’ve killed about a quart in the last two goddam hours. Nightcap! I’m so plastered now I can hardly—”
“All right. All right. Get in bed, then,” the grayhaired man said. “And relax—ya hear me? Tell the truth. Is it going to do any good to sit around and stew?”
“Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t even worry, for Chrissake, but you can’t trust her! I swear to God. I swear to God you can’t. You can trust her about as far as you can throw a—I don’t know what. Aaah, what’s the use? I’m losing my goddam mind.”
“All right. Forget it, now. Forget it, now. Will ya do me a favor and try to put the whole thing out of your mind?” the gray-haired man said. “For all you know, you’re making—I honestly think you’re making a mountain—”