Helen came in as he hung up.
“Show starts at seven-twenty,” he said.
“You going?”
“I think so.”
“Oh.”
He hoped he could mask his anxiety. “Want to come along?”
He knew that she wanted no part of an evening with him, even in a movie theatre. But she had nothing else to do. He could see her indecision in the way she fingered her cigarette.
“I do want to see that picture.” He breathed a prayer of gratitude for Tommy Miller. “And I don’t know when I’ll get another chance. What time did you say?”
“Seven-twenty. I’d like to see the newsreel.”
“I’ll get ready.”