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Show 38 "Your place," she said. = "We can celebrate." Fogarty tried to smile, then did smile. "I have a bottle of wine." "I'll be back," said Sparkle. She_ had started smiling first however. "Wait up for me." "Don't worry." Fogarty began to relax. She put her mouth to his, darted her tongue around the rim of his lips. He leaned toward her; but she was already moving around him, past him, down the last step and onto the sidewalk. Then she was headed a little awkwardly, almost as though she was tipsy, up the street in her white high-heeled shoes. He was up until after two, but it had only taken him until a quarter after twelve to get used to the idea that she was not going to show that night at all. What exactly, he wondered, had allowed him to think she would in the first place? By one he had at least established an answer to that question: he had been tricked, he decided, by the fact that she so obviously had not been lying when she said she would be back. He had thus foolishly accepted what she said, what she projected, as the truth. It wasn't the first time he had made that mistake. His was the human error of blind hope compounded by a twitch in the thigh. He admitted it. And hers was the human error of brave ignorance: she simply didn't know what she was doing. She was young, too young. Or he was too old. The truth of this also in no way comforted |
