“Every night what?”
She certainly was not making it easy for him. “Do you prepare dinner every night? Or do you occasionally get a night off?”
“Oh, I get nights off,” Claire said.
“Maybe you’d enjoy dinner out some night?”
“With you, do you mean?”
“Well, yes. Yes, that’s what I had in mind.”
Claire Townsend looked at him long and hard. At last she said, “No, I don’t think so. I’m sorry. Thanks. I couldn’t.”
“Well… uh…” Quite suddenly, Kling felt like a horse’s ass. “I… uh… guess I’ll be going, then. Thanks for the cognac. It was very nice.”
“Yes,” she said, and he remembered her discussing people who were there and yet not there, and he knew exactly what she meant because she was not there at all. She was somewhere far away, and he wished he knew where. With sudden, desperate longing, he wished he knew where she was because, curiously, he wanted to be there with her.
“Good-bye,” he said.
She smiled in answer, and closed the door behind him.
That Thursday afternoon, Kling called Claire Townsend the first chance he got.
The first chance he got was on his lunch hour. He ordered a western sandwich and a cup of coffee, went to the phone book, looked up Townsend at 728 Peterson in Riverhead, and came up with a listing for Ralph Townsend. He went into the booth, deposited a dime, and dialed the number. He allowed the phone to ring for a total of twelve times, and then he hung up.
There were a lot of things to keep him busy on the beat that afternoon. A woman, for no apparent reason other than that her husband had called her “babe,” had struck out at him with a razor, opening a gash the size of a banana on the side of his face. Kling made the pinch. The razor, by the time he had arrived on the scene, had gone the way of all discreet assault weapons — down the nearest sewer.
No sooner was he back on the street than a gang of kids attacked a boy as he was coming home from school. The boy had committed the unpardonable sin of making a pass at a deb who belonged to a rival street gang. Kling arrived just as the gang members were ready to dump the kid into the pavement. He collared one of them, told him he knew the faces of all the kids who’d participated in the beating, and that if anything happened to the boy they’d jumped from here on in, he’d know just where to look. The gang member nodded solemnly, and then took off after his friends. The boy they’d jumped survived with only a few bumps on his head. This time, fists had been the order of the day.
Kling then proceeded to break up a crap game in the hallway of one of the buildings, listen to the ranting complaints of a shopkeeper who insisted that an eight-year-old boy had swiped a bolt of blue shantung, warn one of the bar owners that his license was kaput the next time any hustlers were observed soliciting in his joint, have a cup of coffee with one of the better-known policy runners in the neighborhood, and then walk back to the precinct house, where he changed into street clothes.
As soon as he hit the street again, he called Claire. She picked up the instrument on the fourth ring.
“Who is it?” she said, “and I hope to hell you apologize for getting me out of the shower. I’m wringing wet.”
“I apologize,” Kling said.
“Mr. Kling?” she asked, recognizing his voice.
“Yes.”
“I was going to call you, but I didn’t know where. I remembered something that might help.”
“What is it?”
“The night I walked Jeannie down to the train station she said something.”
“What?”
“She said she had a half-hour ride ahead of her. Does that help?”
“It might. Thanks a lot.” He paused. “Listen, I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes.”
“About… about this dinner setup. I thought maybe—”
“Mr. Kling,” she interrupted, “you don’t want to take me to dinner.”
“I do,” he insisted.
“I’m the dullest girl in the world, believe me. I’d bore you stiff.”
“I’d like to take the chance.”
“You’re only asking for trouble for yourself. Don’t bother, believe me. Buy your mother a present with the money.”
“I bought my mother a present last week.”
“Buy her another one.”
“Besides, I was thinking of going Dutch.”
Claire chuckled. “Well, now you make it sound more attractive.”
“Seriously, Claire—”
“Seriously, Mr. Kling, I’d rather not. I’m a sad sack, and you wouldn’t enjoy me one bit.”
“I enjoy you already.”
“Those were company manners.”
“Say, have you got an inferiority complex or something?”
“It’s not that I have an inferiority complex, Doctor,” she said, “it’s that I really am inferior.” Kling laughed, and she said, “Do you remember that cartoon?”
“No, but it’s wonderful. How about dinner?”
“Why?”
“I like you.”
“There are a million girls in this city.”
“More than that, even.”
“Mr. Kling—”
“Bert.”
“Bert, there’s nothing here for you.”
“I haven’t said what I want yet.”
“Whatever you want, it’s not here.”
“Claire, let me gamble on it. Let me take you to dinner, and let me spend what may turn out to be the most miserable evening in my entire life. I’ve gambled with larger stakes involved. In the service, I even gambled with my life once in a while.”
“Were you in the service?” she asked.
“Yes.”
There seemed to be sudden interest in her voice. “Korea?”
“Yes.”
There was a long silence on the line.
“Claire?”
“I’m here.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Deposit five cents for the next three minutes, please,” the operator said.
“Oll, hell, just a minute,” Kling replied. He dug into his pocket and deposited a nickel. “Claire?” he said.
“I’m costing you money already,” she told him.
“I’ve got money to burn,” he answered. “How about it? I’ll call for you tonight at about six-thirty.”
“No, tonight is out of the question.”
“Tomorrow night, then.”
“I have a late class tomorrow. I don’t get out until seven.”
“I’ll meet you at the school.”
“That won’t give me any time to change.”
“It’ll be a come-as-you-are date, okay?”
“I usually wear flats and a dirty old sweater to school.”
“Fine!” he said enthusiastically.
“I suppose I could wear a dress and heels, though. It might shock some of the slobs in our hallowed halls, but then again it might set a precedent.”
“Seven o’clock?”
“All right,” she said.
“Good, I’ll see you then.”
“Good-bye.”
“Bye.” He hung up, grinning. He was stepping out of the booth when he remembered. Instantly, he reached into his pocket for another dime. He had no change. He went to the proprietor of the candy store, who was busy doling out a couple of two-cent seltzers. By the time he got his change, five minutes had rushed by. He dialed the number rapidly.
“Hello?”
“Claire, this is me again.”
“You got me out of the shower again, you know that, don’t you?”
“Gee, I’m awfully sorry, but you didn’t tell me which school.”
“Oh.” Claire was silent. “Nope, I didn’t. It’s Women’s U. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Go to Radley Hall. You’ll find the office of our alleged college newspaper there. The paper is called The Radley Clarion, but the sign on the door says The Radley Rag. I keep my coat in a locker there. Don’t let all the predatory females frighten you.”