She stared back. “Potiphar you don’t look like a wolf?
“Oh, but I am! The worst sort.” He whistled and gnashed his teeth. “See? But Wednesday is my day off from it.
She looked at him and dimpled. “Oh, well! I’d rather wrestle with you than with Mrs. Megeath. Let’s go.
He turned up into the hills. His bachelor diggings were one of the many little frame houses clinging like fungus to the brown slopes of the Santa Monica Mountains. The garage was notched into this hill; the house sat on it. He drove in, cut the ignition, and led her up a teetery inside stairway into the living room. “In there,” he said, pointing. “Help yourself.” He pulled her clothes out of his coat pockets and handed them to her
She blushed and took them, disappeared into his bed room. He heard her turn the key in the lock. He settled down in his easy chair, took out his notebook, and opened the Herald-Express
He was finishing the Daily News and had added several notes to his collection when she came out. Her hair was neatly rolled; her face was restored; she had brushed most of the wrinkles out of her skirt. Her sweater was neither too tight nor deep cut, but it was pleasantly filled. She reminded him of well water and farm breakfasts
He took his raincoat from her, hung it up, and said, “Sit down, Meade.
She said uncertainly, “I had better go.
“Go if you must but I had hoped to talk with you.
“Well” She sat down on the edge of his couch and looked around. The room was small but as neat as his neck tie, clean as his collar. The fireplace was swept; the floor was bare and polished. Books crowded bookshelves in every possible space. One corner was filled by an elderly flat-top desk; the papers on it were neatly in order. Near it, on its own stand, was a small electric calculator. To her right, French windows gave out on a tiny porch over the garage
Beyond it she could see the sprawling city; a few neon signs were already blinking
She sat back a little. “This is a nice room, Potiphar. It looks like you.
“I take that as a compliment. Thank you.” She did not answer; he went on, “Would you like a drink?
“Oh, would II” She shivered. “I guess I’ve got the jitters.
He got up. “Not surprising. What’ll it be?
She took Scotch and water, no ice; he was a Bourbon and-gingerale man. She had soaked up half her highball in silence, then put it down, squared her shoulders and said, “Potiphar?
“Yes, Meade?
“Look if you brought me here to make a pass, I wish you’d go ahead and make it. It won’t do you a bit of good, but it makes me nervous to wait for it.
He said nothing and did not change his expression. She went on uneasily, “Not that I’d blame you for trying under the circumstances. And I am grateful. But…well it’s just that I don’t —
He came over and took both her hands. “My dear, I haven’t the slightest thought of making a pass at you. Nor need you feel grateful. I butted in because I was interested in your case.
“My case? Are you a doctor? A psychiatrist?
He shook his head. “I’m a mathematician. A statistician, to be precise.
“Hub? I don’t get it.
“Don’t worry about it. But I would like to ask some questions. May I?
“Uh, sure, sure! I owe you that much and then some.
“You owe me nothing. Want your drink sweetened?
She gulped it and handed him her glass, then followed him out into the kitchen. He did an exact job of measuring and gave it back. “Now tell me why you took your clothes off?
She frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know
I guess I just went crazy.” She added round-eyed, “But I don’t feel crazy. Could I go off my rocker and not know it?
“You’re not crazy…not more so than the rest of us,” he amended. “Tell me, where did you see someone else do this?