He ordered and began once again. "I didn't know it--like a dope--for a
long time. I can't even tell whether or not knowing it right off--would
have made a difference. I suppose it would. I suppose I'd just have
been bitter--because I couldn't afford her. The name's Marcia."
"Nice name."
"Yeah. Look, Phil. It was last winter--after I got back from Eniwetok.
Some of the directors of a big corporation where I'd been called in
for a conference asked me to a party. Marcia was there. I suppose that
the other girls were the same." He looked at his knuckles. "Scratch
that. I know they were--now. Nobody said anything about it. Just--big
corporation hospitality for people like me, whose advice might make
them a few more millions. I sat around drinking cocktails and having
a swell time and thinking that the girls had got prettier while I was
in the Pacific, working. I didn't know they were to take home--like
candy--compliments of the management. And Marcia didn't mention the
fact when I asked her if she'd care to ditch the binge and have supper
just with me."
"No."
"She merely went. She went--and was charming. You see--she caught onto
my naïve assumptions, and she was being paid, and it amused her to be
thought of as just an ordinary girl--a debutante, or the like--for whom
a smart young physicist was falling like a ton of bricks." He looked
at me again. His explanation was coming more easily. "Do you get the
picture?"
"She must be bright. As well as attractive."
He nodded. "She has a sense of drama. All I did--feeling suffused that
evening with love--was to take her to her apartment and bid her a
pleasant good night. She asked me in--sure. Even tried to argue me in.
But I was thinking in terms of the long and sentimental pursuit. Or--at
least--decorum. Not-the-first-night, baby. That's me. Gentleman of the
old school. I extracted her phone number--it wasn't difficult--and
escorted her home, and went out to Brooklyn to my flat--and dreamed
into my pipesmoke. Happy me."