Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/99

 sounded his horn and waved. She responded with a broad smile and flip of the wrist.

"Want something?" Blake asked.

"No … no, I'm not hungry."

"Shall we have another coke and kid her a little," Blake grinned, "or do you think we'd better go on?"

"Let's go on if you don't mind, Bob."

"Okay, sweetheart." Blake was expansive. "I feel good."

"You should. You slept all through the show."

"Did I snore?"

Gaylord giggled, "No … but I thought you were going to any minute."

"I'm surprised I didn't. I ate too much. Was the show any good?"

"It wasn't too good."

"How'd the dame make out?"

"She killed herself after he left her. I felt so sorry for her. Bette Davis is my favorite actress. I wish they'd give her better stories. She just lived the part. She was so miserable when she found out her husband had not come home … I think I know just how she felt … men sure can be mean at times."

"Yea … guess we can. Specially when it comes to dames."

"Bob?"

"Huh?"

"Did you want to … er … see that girl?"

"What girl?"

"That girl at the drive-in."

"No … why?"

"I just thought maybe you wanted to see her."

"Her?" Blake questioned. He sat laughing, then placed his hand on the other's leg. "Hell no … I don't want to see her. Why should I when we're together? I'd rather be with you any time."

Gaylord watched him yawn deliciously, watched his breath suddenly quicken with a sense of imminency, of immediate necessity. He experienced an unexplainable tinge of uneasiness as Blake's arm went around his shoulders. It rested there a moment, then pulled Gay toward him.

"Come here," Blake grinned. "I'm lonesome over here by myself."