“Archie? This is Rosa.” “Well, well. You don’t need to tell me. That voice. How are the curves?” “Now really.” She tittered. “How can you find out on the telephone? You know, I went to bed last night at nine o’clock, and I didn’t get up till ten this morning, and I feel simply wonderful! While I was drinking my coffee it reminded me of you, and this is Saturday, and I wondered if you were doing anything this evening.” “Nothing special. Are you?” “No, that’s why I called. I thought—” “Good for you. Meet me at the bar at Rusterman’s at seven o’clock.” “Oh, that wonderful wine! A.nd steak?” “Sure, two steaks. Or maybe thiree. Seven sharp?” “Yes!” Wolfe snorted again, and again. I ignored it. Anyway, I had to put ray rnimd on my work. This was not a case of transcribing from notes; I had to concentrate on a job of original composition. I proceeded with it: Dear Mrs. Pine: Last night I went to a fortune-teller, which is something I seldom do. What was bothering me was your remark the other day that everybody gets tiresome sooner or later, and I wanted to find out where I stood. She told me that the most I could count on was two months. It seems that I am wonderful as long as I last and then I go tiresome all at once without any warning.
I regret to say that under the circumstances it wouldn’t be worth it to you, and I am therefore returning herewith the baseball tickets. It is still two weeks before the season starts, so you have plenty of time to dig up another prospect.
Sincerely, I was debating whether to sign it just Archie or with my full name, and had decided in favor of the latter when the phone interrupted me again. I picked it up.
“Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking.” “This is Hester Livsey, Mr. Goodwin.” “Good morning.” I cleared my throat. “What do you want?” “I know I deserve that,” she said. “I want to say I’m sorry I was rude to you when you phoned Thursday evening. I—I hope you’ll understand. I didn’t feel like anything, and I was terribly rude. I wanted to explain—” “Don’t mention it. Feeling better?” “Oh, yes, much better. I really would like to explain some things to you. Would you care to come over here this evening—you know my address, don’t you? It’s just a little apartment where I live with my mother.” “In Brooklyn.” “Yes. Twenty-three ninety-four—” “Yeah, I know. I guess I can find it. How about taking a ride with me tomorrow, in Mr. Wolfe’s rackety old sedan, to the country somewhere and see if spring has come?” “I’m sorry, I couldn’t make it tomorrow because my mother and I are going to visit some friends. Don’t bother, really—” “No bother at all.” An idea struck me. “The trouble is I’m so uncouth I’m afraid I’d make a bad impression on your mother. I think you ought to know me better before you invite me to your home. Do you know where Rusterman’s restaurant is?”
“Rusterman’s? Certainly.” “That’s a nice quiet place with good food. How about meeting me in Rusterman’s bar at seven this evening?” “Well—that wasn’t—I wasn’t fishing for a dinner—” “No, I know, you don’t fish. But I think it might be very enjoyable, at least for me. Will you?” “Well—” “You will.” “All right, I will.” I hung up, reached for my pen, and signed the letter to Cecily.
Wolfe growled at me, “What the devil are you going to do with all of them?” I grinned at him. “God knows, I don’t. I’m so damn sociable. I can’t bear to disappoint people.”
The End