“How was the Tommy Miller picture?” he asked. “What was it, ‘Song of Manhattan’?”
“I didn’t get to see it. I told you that.”
“I remember you mentioned it. I thought you’d seen it.”
“Shows how much attention you pay to what I say.” But her voice was not as edgy as he had come to expect. He dared to try one more tentative lead.
“I just happened to see it advertised. It’s playing at — what’s the name of that theatre on Santa Monica, not far from us?”
“Where?” She looked eagerly down the list. “Oh, the Monterey.”
“I thought I’d like to see it myself. Might go tonight.”
“Why don’t you?”
He had to take the plunge. “Want to come along?” he asked.
He could feel her looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “I might,” she said, and then added, “if I can’t find anything better to do.”