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Show Woodworth/90 on him, not tacky. Casual. Indifferent. Something young about him. His hair, dull even in the sun, sticks out from the back of his head as if rubbed full of static electricity. She wonders what it would be like to touch the back of his shirt, run her hand down the back of his jeans. "Here," he says at last, and stands aside so she can enter a crowded shop. "The best pizza in town. I hope you're hungry." She nods, feeling silly that she has only nodded since they frist met, tries to think of something to say. He steps up to the counter. "What's hot?" he asks, and the man tells him, "They're all hot." "Two pieces of this, then," Gary says, and turns back to her with two pieces of pizza, cheese dripping onto the paper napkin. His eyes run up and down her again. Bedroom eyes - a phrase of Ruth's. Marty always confused it with bedside manner. A sexy doctor. Jittery, suddenly, she reaches for the pizza, avoids his eyes. "Let's get out of here. Some place where we can eat in peace." He carried both pieces. She follows him again, through the line of carts, across the streets littered with orange peels and squished lettuce heads, and into the parking lot. "Not very scenic, but we should eat these before they get cold. Maybe we can go down to the waterfront later on." So they sit on the curb, the parked cars gazing at them, summing them up, rows and rows of silent, wide-eyed glass and chrome. Marty thinks of saying that the pizza is good, great, the best she has ever tasted. But it sounds too contrived. So she says nothing. Gary is talking about the development of the waterfront, about the price of the new apartments down by the water, about the traffic problem caused by Quincy Market. She is wondering what Rachael is doing, and thinking that maybe she was too hasty about the apartment. It's cheaper.to live at honi&s. and she doesn't think any thing is going |
