Ted drove down the curving, back rocky road to Sweeney's. It was a low-roofed building of cedar shakes, with an open air dining room on piles above the water of the cove.
Ted stayed in the bar. He had French-fried shrimp and garlic bread and beer. And after that, some whiskey. And after that, some dialogue with Sweeney regarding the respective merits of Shahn and Albright. Ted knew very little about either of them, but Sweeney knew less so it was a satisfying discussion.
He drove home in a mood. He was remembering the Honolulu days with Ann, and the days and nights before that. What they'd had, they'd find again. There was a solution to it all, and not on Venus.
He came home to find a note on the kitchen table:
Henri's in town and he insisted I visit the Blairs with him. He's just done over their place. Don't wait up.
Henri was elegantly thin and fairly tall. An interior decorator with a modern bent. He'd done the Truesdale place three times.
If it were anyone but Ann, I'd be jealous, Ted thought. As it was, he felt only a grating annoyance. He poured a king-sized jolt of bourbon, added a trace of water and went into the study.
He didn't turn on the light. He sat in the dark and sipped the bourbon—and fell asleep....
The blonde had her hair up and was wearing a red jacket above a white flannel skirt. Her smile was the same as last night's, and possibly a shade warmer.