"Sh. I'll be here three weeks."
"Come in, come in." She took his hand in her own warm one, pressing the door button and dimming the hall light as they walked into the house. "Tell me about yourself, darling. What do you do? How are you going to spend your time in New York? Oh, I'm so excited. There's so much to talk about, so much to learn about each other. Do you play bridge? There's a couple down the street, the wife's a Transient and just got here today, but I know the husband, who likes to play bridge. Do you like music? I'll turn some on."
She was talkative, all right. Soon Simon heard the lilting strains of a Strauss waltz. Jane-Marie pirouetted happily about the dining room table in three-quarter time and sat down, motioning Simon to sit near her and not on the other side. As he adjusted his napkin she leaned her head on his shoulder and said, "I like your eyes, darling."
He smiled. "They're close-set."
"They are not. They're very intelligent-looking. I'll bet you're an engineer or something. I'll bet you're going to help design that new construction project in Brooklyn. Gee, I like your eyes." She gazed up at them demurely.
The robot server wheeled in the first course along with a frosted bottle of champagne leaning gracefully in a silver chilling urn. Simon popped the cork expertly, filled both glasses and raised his. "To us," he said.
"To us, darling. Forever and ever three weeks. I hope you like chopped liver salad," Jane-Marie added nervously. "I had no way of knowing, but from now on you'll get whatever you like, I promise."
"It's delicious," Simon said, beginning to eat.
Other courses followed. There was jellied consommé, roast, stuffed chicken and sweet potato pudding, a salad which Simon tossed with an enthusiasm and expertness that Jane-Marie said was a joy to behold, dessert of brandied bing cherries, coffee and pie. And a constant stream of chatter from Jane-Marie.
"Well," said Simon, patting the bulge at his waistline and sliding his belt-clasp an inch or two looser with the comfortable informality only a married man can display (and in his own home, thought Simon). "I must say that was good."