Audrey took a lipstick from her handbag. She was not shaking any more. She redid her lips—or started to—and laughed. “I didn’t think I’d got in the habit of repairing my lips whenever I parked with a boy.” She frowned. “And I haven’t! I just hoped—that I’d have to, with you. That was my hope! I can see what you mean, Jimmie. I wouldn’t want you to owe me anything. I’m sure of that. Maybe you were right. Maybe I was crazy. You’ve got a lot of glamour.”
“Glamour’s a commodity, now. That spoilt it.”
“Didn’t it!”
“Besides, glamour requires backgrounds. There aren’t any good ones left—much.
Except in United States.”
Audrey backed the car expertly, and turned into t he road. It was dusk. “I certainly tried hard to blitzkrieg you, Jimmie!”
He smiled in the murk. “I was nearly licked.”
“I’ll drop you a block from your house. I don’t want your family to tell my family that it took me about three hours to break the new commandment.”
“No. Neither do I. And they would.”
The car hummed under arc lights at corners. The houses grew in size and the distance between them increased. Lights were on in all of them and they glowed with the very essence of warm good will. “So far,” he said, at one point, “the American blackout’s still inside the people.”