Page:Fantastic Volume 08 Number 01.djvu/16

 ed, painted nail of her index finger against my pajamas.

I was wearing pajamas! How could that be? Had I undressed again and—?

A quick glance to my right showed my clothing hung neatly over the back the way Roxie always hung it for me. My jacket wasn't there. It would be in the closet. Roxie put it on a hanger before we went to bed.

Yes. Of course. It had to be that way.

"Wake up. What's the matter?"

Husky voice. I could remember the way she used it when she sang. No control, but the fire came through.

"What's wrong with you, Steve? Another nightmare?"

"Nightmare?"

"You've been tossing and turning and groaning like a—I don't know what." She laughed. "I had an awful time waking you up. She must have been pretty."

"That was no lady, that was something I ate." I sat up and grinned. It wasn't hard to do.

Roxie was something to grin at—something to whistle at, too. I never could understand what she saw in me, but there was no doubt about what I saw in her.

She was a beautiful redhead. Repeat, beautiful. Because there are plenty of redheads per se (or per henna, for that matter) but very few worthy of that much-abused adjective. Generally speaking, every girl with orange hair or caramel-colored hair is, by courtesy, a redhead. But Roxie's hair, in ordinary light, was really red. And there was no accompanying dermatological disorder; no hint of freckles or blotches in the smooth skin.

I reached over and took her in my arms. Not a bad deal. But she kept one eye on the clock. Thirty-six seconds later she said, "Steve—time to get up. You'll be late."

I made a face at the clock, but I got up.

"Want me to fix breakfast, honey?" she called, as I started shaving.

"No, don't bother. I'll catch something downtown." I stared at my countenance in the mirror. There were sagging pouches under my eyes. And no wonder. That dream last night had been the worst. Worse than the reality of the night on the desert, the night I was pinned under the car; worse than the weeks that followed.

I really ought to tell Roxie about the dream, but not now. This evening, perhaps, when '16