“You’re not the famous Maxine that Selena talks about, are you?”
“No,” Ginnie said.
The young man suddenly began brushing the cuffs of his trousers with the flat of his hand. “I am dog hairs from head to foot,” he said. “Mother went to Washington over the weekend and parked her beast in my apartment. It’s really quite sweet. But such nasty habits. Do you have a dog?”
“No.”
“Actually, I think it’s cruel to keep them in the city.” He stopped brushing, sat back, and looked at his wristwatch again. “I have never known that boy to be on time. We’re going to see Cocteau’s ‘Beauty and the Beast’ and it’s the one film where you really should get there on time. I mean if you don’t, the whole charm of it is gone. Have you seen it?”
“No.”
“Oh, you must! I’ve seen it eight times. It’s absolutely pure genius,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get Franklin to see it for months.” He shook his head hopelessly. “His taste. During the war, we both worked at the same horrible place, and that boy would insist on dragging me to the most impossible pictures in the world. We saw gangster pictures, Western pictures, musicals—”
“Did you work in the airplane factory, too?” Ginnie asked.
“God, yes. For years and years and years. Let’s not talk about it, please.”
“You have a bad heart, too?”