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Show 180 He knew something was wrong. He crossed the lawn in front of the women's gym and saw that she was already outside, waiting for him on the grass under the eucalyptus. Her legs were curled under her, her skirt was spread out, her wicker basket lay off to one side with part of its contents-a horn cosmetic case, a small pair of nail scissors, several combs, a cellophane packet of kleenex-spilled onto the grass. She smiled up at him. "How odd you should turn up the very moment I was thinking about you," she said. He had turned up at the same time he always did. She got up onto her knees and shook stray grass clippings from her skirt, then stood and brushed more off her legs, holding the hem of her skirt up with one hand. "I thought if you didn't have other plans for right now that we might make a small break in the routine," she said, looking up. He was immediately interested. "What?" She stooped and picked up her spilled belongings, tossing them one by one back into her basket. She picked the basket up by both handles and shook it and then peered inside. She took his arm as they started toward the parking lot-a thing she hadn't done for weeks. "I thought instead of going home we might nip downtown and have supper at Clifton's Cafeteria and still get back in time, don't you think?" He didn't answer, and she looked up at him with worried eyes. "Or is that not a good idea?" It was fine, he said. "I'm sorry?" "Fine." That made her happy. She squeezed his arm against her firm little breast and began to hum. In the car she demurely gathered her skirt above her knees to clear it of the door he closed for her. All the way down Wilshire Boulevard, against the tide of commuter traffic coming the other way, she |