“Yes?”
“I . . . I haven’t stopped thinking about you, you know?”
“Oh Bill.” Janey laughed. “I’ve definitely stopped thinking about you.” She began to turn away, but he grabbed her arm.
“Janey, don’t. Don’t do this, okay? I’m
pouring my heart out to you and you’re stomping all over it. What is it with you women? You want us to fall in love with you and then we do and then you kick us in the teeth and won’t stop kicking.”
“Bill,” Janey said patiently. “I am not kicking you in the teeth. You’re married. Remember? Your wife is insane?”
“Don’t torture me,” he growled. “Where are you staying?”
“I have my own house. In Bridgehampton.”
“I have to see you. In your house.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Janey said, laughing and pulling away. “You can’t come over. I have a boyfriend.”
“Who?”
“Someone famous.”
“I hate you, Janey,” he said.
She finally agreed to meet him later, at the bar in Bridgehampton. When she turned up, he was there, waiting. He was freshly showered, wearing a worn yellow oxford-cloth shirt and khakis. Damn, he looked good. He was talking to the bartender. Janey slipped onto the barstool next to him.
“Hiya.” He kissed her quickly on the mouth. He lit up a cigar and introduced her to the bartender.
“So. What do you do?” the bartender asked.
“I’m a writer,” she said.
“Puh! A writer,” Bill said, choking on his drink.
“I am,” Janey said, turning to him accusingly. “I’m writing a screenplay.”
“For whom?”
Janey smiled. She’d been waiting for this moment. “Oh, just for Comstock Dibble.”
Bill looked relieved. “Comstock Dibble? He’ll hire anyone to write a screenplay.”
“Will not,” Janey said playfully.
“Will too,” he said. “I heard he once hired his doorman. It didn’t work out, though. It never does with amateurs.”
“You’re jealous,” Janey squealed. She loved the way Bill made her feel like a little girl. “You probably thought I was just a dumb model. I’ve written thirty-three pages!”
“Is he paying you?”
“What do you think?” Janey said.
“I’ll bet he’s your lover too,” Bill said slyly, poking her in the ribs.
“He is not my lover.”
“He isn’t?”