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Show 172 uncorked on the kitchen table, wet underthings and a wet leotard hanging on the curtain rod in front of the shower, and Yvonne curled into a tight ball on her side of the bed. He undressed and crawled in beside her. She stirred once and mumbled something, uncurling slightly. Feeling pugnacious, he crowded her, Yvonne mumbling protests, close to the edge, where she sat suddenly upright and looked wildly around her. The crumpled edge of the sheet dropped to her lap and he saw the apparition of walleyed breasts peering into the grey light. "I'll be damned, it's Yvonne," he said. "This must be Wednesday." She flopped down again, her back to him, drawing the covers over her shoulder. He lay there wondering if she had heard him. He would feel humiliated if he repeated it in the morning and it turned out she had. * * * * * * He asked her over coffee and scrambled eggs next morning how her evening had gone in the company of Andrea, who had whisked her away to dance like the wind much earlier than usual. Something in the way he asked seemed to strike her as funny. She said, "Very well, thank you," and smiled agreeably. That was all right, he reflected after driving her to work and returning to his screened porch and laying out his brushes in the fresh morning light; they would see about that. She would have answered differently if she had known the girl with the bangs was going to be at the Coach and Seven tonight. Before setting to work he took off all his clothes and rummaged through her dresser until he found a crisp blue ribbon which he tied into place. It was only a matter now of ignoring the doorbell and keeping one eye on the shrubbery in the back yard, because there were pre-school urchins in the neighborhood. |