| OCR Text |
Show 144 original varnish. At the elbow of the staircase hung a large philodend-ron, suspended from a tripod chain, the dish platter of its vase almost three feet across. The green vines, rich in the rain, spilled through the iron grillwork on the far side to hang freely below-with a view of the pool beyond, a deep kidney-shaped pool with the water murky green in the rain. The tales she had heard centered around that pool! of Robbie and his roommates and a host of airline stewardesses carousing in midnight swims, skinnydipping at those wild, abandoned summer parties. Although this morning it looked tranquil enough-serene even-in the rain. "Not much activity around here this morning," Robbie fumbled with the keys. "Half the people who live here are gone for the day." "Home for dinner?" "Some of them. There was quite a bunch who left for Squaw Valley last night. To ski." The interior of the apartment was finished in walnut, with modern walnut furniture, light, airy pieces, there was nothing heavy in the room. It looked sharp, modern, like an ad in a magazine. And Robbie had cleaned this morning; seeing that made her feel good, that he had done that for them, for their day together. After setting the pies on the kitchen counter, she went on out the sliding glass door of the front room to the balcony with its view of the marina. Rows of boats were spread out in a long crescent before her, with an occasional mast of a sailboat among them. They inspired her. Each boat was separate, individual, with its own uniqueness. With its own way to travel. To have them all gathered here in these long sweeping rows, all marshalled |
