She laughed again. “It’s a strong fireplace. It sweeps you right up to the sky. I’d like to see that house sometime. Would you take me to see it?”

He had not, up to that second, thought past tonight. She had, in two sentences, added continuity to their relationship, and he did not yet know if he wanted continuity.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll take you to see it sometime.”

“Good. Do you read a lot? I was reading all last night. First the magazine with your house in it, and then some poetry.”

“Which?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

On impulse, he said, “This Is My Beloved?”

She turned on the seat in surprise. “Why... why, yes! How did you know?”

“A lucky guess. I used to work in the public library on Fifth Avenue when I was still a kid going to Pratt. I used to mark the books with the library’s seal as they came through. I remember that when it was still a pamphlet, before a hard-cover publisher did it. There was a lot more to it then. They cut out a lot.”

“I love it.”

“Why?”

“I just do. Do you still feel guilty?”

“No,” he lied. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

Her answer surprised him. She should have lied, she should have said no. Her honesty puzzled him, or was it stupidity? He still didn’t know.

“Well, look, Maggie,” he said, “we’re here, we’re together, it’s done. There isn’t much sense brooding about it.”

“Why do you call me Maggie?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, you’re the only one. Even he calls me Margaret.”

“Then I’ll call you Maggie. I’ll be the only one in the world who calls you Maggie.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s an ugly name. And you’re so beautiful that you make the name beautiful simply by wearing it. It’s a name like Kate or Bess. Those are ugly names, too.”

“What’s your favorite name?”

“Eve,” he said instantly.

“Oh.” He felt her stiffen beside him. He wanted to say, “I didn’t mean that. I meant...” and then he wondered why he felt he should apologize for liking his own wife’s name.

“I have a lot of favorite names,” he said in compromise.

“Do you?” she asked coldly.

“Yes. Gertie and Sadie and Myrtle and Brunhilde...”

She tried to stifle the laugh but couldn’t. “I have favorite boys’ names, too,” she said, laughing. “Percy, and Abercrombie, and Irwin...”

“Don’t forget Maximilian.”

“Yes, yes,” she said, and her laughter mounted.

“Do you know Fundgie?” he asked. “It’s really Fotheringay, but the British pronounce it Fundgie.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m serious.” He paused. “Or Sinjin?”

“Like in Sinjin the Baptist?” she asked immediately.

Surprised by her quick response, he said, “You’re not so stupid.”

“Did you think I was?”

“No, no.” He hesitated. “Well, yes, I did.”

“I’m not so pretty, either. Remember?”

“You are.”

“But you said I wasn’t.”

“Only sometimes.”

“Which times? When you notice the scar?”

“Who ever sees that?” he said.

She smiled. “Am I stupid sometimes, though?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” he said, surprised.

“You’re very smart, aren’t you?” she said seriously. “You won a seventy-five-thousand-dollar prize. You must be very—”

“A what?”

“I know,” she said, pleased with her knowledge.

“It was only seventy-five hundred! My God, who told you that?”

“One of the neighbors.”

“Is that what they think? Wow!” He began laughing. “That would have been very nice indeed. You can buy a lot of beer with seventy-five thousand bucks.”

“Do you like beer?”

“I hate it. That was just an express—”

“I loathe it.”

“Good. We have something in common.”

“We have a lot in common,” she said, suddenly quite serious. He turned to look at her, and she smiled quickly, like a young child who had put on her mother’s heels and was waiting now for her father’s approval. He smiled back at her, suddenly wanting to touch her hand. He did not.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “You said you’d surprise me.”

“Well, I don’t know exactly. I thought we’d stop for a drink first.”

“Then what?”

“Then...” He hesitated. “Well, let’s have the drink first.”

“Will you teach me to drink?”

“Well, sure, I...” He paused, puzzled. “What do you mean, teach you? You mean what to order?”

“Yes. And how to hold the glass. I don’t know how to hold the glass.”

He knew she was lying. You held whisky the same way you held water. Facetiously, he said, “Sure, I’ll teach you to hold it.”

“After the drink, what will we do?”

“We’ll have another drink.”

“And then what?”

He made his decision in a split second. “We’ll go to a motel.”

A small sharp cry escaped her lips. She sat bolt upright, and all the nervousness, all the fear, all the tension, seemed to come back into her in a rush.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I was right.”

“About what?”

“Anatomy!”

“What?”

“My breasts!” she said angrily.

“Oh, for Pete’s—”

“You’d better take me home.”

“All right,” he said. “We’ll get out at the next exit.”

“I want to have the drink first,” she said icily.

“All right.”

“You didn’t have to be so damn blunt!”

“I wasn’t blunt. I was honest.”

“That’s the same thing. You make me feel like a slut.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend that.”

“Would you have asked your wife that the first time you took her out?”

“You’re not my wife.”

“I know. I’m just the girl with big breasts you picked up on the street. Well, I don’t like being treated like a whore.”

“Maggie, we’ll—”

“Don’t call me Maggie!”

“Maggie, we’ll go dancing or to a movie. All right? However you want it.”

“I want you to make the decisions. You’re the man! I want you to decide.”

“But you don’t like my decisions,” he said bewildered.

“You’re the man,” she repeated emphatically.

“All right. A drink first and then a movie. Okay?”

“Yes.”

They drove in silence for a long while. When he turned off the parkway, they began looking for a roadhouse. “How about that one up ahead?” he said. “The Big Bear?”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No.”

“Then it’s a first.”

“You’re a first, too,” he said.

“Am I?” she answered. And then in the candid way that still surprised him, she said, “You’re not.”

He pulled into the gravel parking lot alongside the restaurant. A small sign outside read: CLOSED MONDAYS.

“We’re lucky,” he said, and he led her to the front door.

As they entered, his eyes hastily swept the room, first flicking to the left where the diners sat, and then to the cocktail lounge which was to the right of the entrance. He took her elbow, feeling strange taking anyone’s elbow but Eve’s, and walked with her to the lounge. There were four round tables across from the bar. He steered her to the table at the far end, helped her off with her coat, and then held out a chair for her.

She wore a black dress with a square neck, and he noticed for the first time that she was wearing dangling red earrings, and he wished she were not. The men sitting at the bar had turned to look at her. One man nudged another gently as she leaned over to sit. Larry felt suddenly embarrassed. He sat opposite her, looking at her dress and at the shaded dividing cleft between her breasts where the square low neck ended. Her beauty was a terrifying thing. He was amazed that he could be sitting with a woman so beautiful, but the open admiration of the other men in the bar annoyed him. He realized abruptly that this was not a girl you could take to a place where there was the slightest possibility of being observed by anyone you knew. Because this girl would definitely be observed. Again he thought, You see her. You see her instantly.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked.

“A martini,” she said quickly.

“Have you ever drunk one?”

“No,” she smiled.

“They’re slightly potent. Maybe you ought to have a whisky sour or something.”

“What are you going to have?”

“Whisky and soda,” he said.

“I’ll have that too.”

“If you prefer—”

“I prefer what you prefer,” she said.

He ordered the drinks. The waiter’s eyes lingered on Margaret as he placed them on the table. She lifted the glass without hesitation and put it to her lips.

“Wait,” Larry said.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“Yes. You’re forgetting to toast.”

“Oh, good let’s toast.”

“Here’s...” He paused, holding the glass aloft. “Here’s to holding hands in the movies,” he said, and he hoped the sarcasm didn’t show too completely in his voice.

She laughed lightly. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, and she sipped at the whisky. Her eyes, he noticed, kept wandering to the bar and then dropping to the table top. It was as if she checked to see if she was being admired and then — having discovered that she was — was embarrassed either by the admiration or her necessity for checking it.

“How do you like it?” he asked.

“It tastes awful.”

“After the third one you’ll complain they left out the whisky.”

“I’m stopping after this one. I’m getting dizzy already.”