"This is Phil Wylie--is Hattie there?"
"What's the name again, please, sir?"
I spelled it. She was gone for a long time. I felt a little amused.
If Hattie didn't remember--I thought she would--they'd be obliged to
consult books or files or whatever records they kept, that went back
to the wild, drunk, bewildering years when my first marriage had worn
patience thin, shattered it, and turned loose on the town a younger
man. A decade and more ago.
Hattie's voice--deep, harsh--worried, I thought. "Phil, for God's sake!
Where have you been keeping yourself? I heard you were a reformed
character."
"My wife told me to call you up."