Nothing happened. Occasionally, the blonde would turn a page, but that was all. Ted went in and mixed himself a drink. Then he put some records on the record player and sat near the huge empty fireplace in the living room.
Why wasn't he happy? Fine home, fine view, money in the bank, neat, pretty wife, no job to fret about, nothing to do but improve his mind.
Nuts, he told himself. Nothing to do but covet blondes, you mean. Don't give me that malarkey about improving your mind.
He rose, in protest, and picked out a volume of Spinoza from the shelves flanking the fireplace. He stayed with it for seven full minutes, and then mixed another drink.
At four-thirty, he was dozing in the leather chair in his study when Ann came in.
"You should see Dora's delphiniums," Ann said.
"Should I? How do you know I haven't?"
"Ted, you've been drinking." Her voice was not sharp, but soft, her attitude maternal.
"A little. I'd like some more. Why don't we go out to dinner, some place where we can dance?"
"Tonight? Have you forgotten the Drews are coming over?"