"I played golf with some potential customers this afternoon, and we had dinner in the club after the game. We hung around and had a few drinks, then when I came out to leave I saw you driving in. So I waited."
And for hours. Just to talk to her, hoping she might come with her. "Betty, if I was… unkind to you at first, then I'm sorry."
"Oh, hell, don't worry about it. I could imagine how you felt – a chick like you, and some big broad running up in your face and batting her gums at you. But I didn't know any other way to do it. I haven't been dogging around after you, Janice, if you're worried about that it would have attracted attention to you, and I didn't want to do that. Anyway I realized from the beginning that the most I could hope for would be like a just every now and then thing. Maybe just once, but I figured it would be worth it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you're the most beautiful woman I've ever…"
"No, why did you think that we couldn't become… friends?"
Betty laughed, tossing her head back. "Oh, come on, Janice. You're an arty type, and I'm just a big here an now broad. I'm as sensitive as a sledge hammer, and I have all the couth of a dump truck. But you… well, you have a different drum beat, Janice – you're in a different world."
Janice looked at her and shrugged. "Musicians are like anyone else."
"Maybe they are in Europe, then. How long have you been here?"
"What do you mean? I was born in the United States."
Betty glanced at her in surprise. "You haven't lived here all your life, have you?"
"Well, no – as a matter of fact, I… well, I suppose I spent most of my life in Austria, but… I don't see what that has to do with it. I believe you have some misapprehensions about musicians, Betty. People are people."
The dash lights were a soft glow, highlighting Betty's face as she smiled and shook her head. "Yeah, well, I don't want to argue with you, but there are arty types and there are plain types. There's all kinds of types as far as that's concerned, but my point is that you and I have different drum beats – it wouldn't take you long to get fed up with me, because we speak different languages. Just like when you said what's-his-name on the radio sounded pleasant. It might as well be a coffee grinder as far as I'm concerned. And I went to a concert last Saturday night just for the hell of it, and for all it meant to me in the way of music it could have been a drunk rat running through a pile of tin cans. No offense meant, though."
"None taken," Janice chuckled, shaking her head. She'd had limited contacts with other people whose tastes ran to modern, mainstream culture, but she'd never before heard an opinion expressed so succinctly. "By the same token, I suppose, you could become bored with me, then."
"No. Someone could spend all day of every day with you, and ten years later they'd still be getting to know you."
"You know more about me than I do you what do you do?"
"I own Parsons Construction."
"That sounds interesting. You build things, right? Well, that's creative work if anything is, and for all you say you couldn't do that unless we shared some common characteristics in terms of creativity."
"If you call nose to nose and toes to toes cussing contests with gang bosses and foremen creative, then it's creative. I have architects and designers who tell me what it's supposed to look like and what goes into it, and I know how to lever the hardhats and the materials around to get it into place. I inherited the business from my father, and by the time I had taken it over I'd done most of the work from the bottom myself – plumbing, carpentry, masonry, and heavy equipment. I do most of the preliminary contacts with the customers myself – the talking before the lawyers and architects get into it – but basically I'm a high-powered foreman."
"You must be successful at it."
Betty nodded matter of factly. "Yes, I am. I have two housing developments, a big freeway contract, and two high-rise contracts in progress right now. Things are going well."
The Cadillac was hissing smoothly along the freeway, and Betty was controlling it effortlessly with one hand on the wheel as her eyes moved between Janice, the freeway ahead, and the rear view mirror. The right turn signal flicked on and ticked with a muted sound, and the massive car swept into an off ramp, swaying fractionally as the tires rumbled across irregularities in the pavement. It eased to a stop at the traffic signal at the bottom of the off ramp, then the light changed and the engine hummed as it darted away from the intersection, turning right onto another thoroughfare.
It was comfortable and relaxing with Betty, and the silence between them was relaxed and unstrained. Her rough and ready self-image made her friendliness heavy-handed, but she was pleasant, congenial, and eager to please. She also had a wry humor which was engaging, and her self-depreciating attitude made her a nice companion. Janice relaxed in the soft seat, looking out the window at the businesses closed for the night and the other cars moving along the street.
The Cadillac turned off into a residential area and drove along a wide street between massive houses set well back from the street behind stone fences, huge, neat lawns, and masses of trees and shrubbery. Betty braked the car as she leaned over and touched a button under the dashboard and the iron gates across the entrance to a circular drive swung, open as the Cadillac dipped down through the ram gutter and bobbed back up onto the drive. The gates began swinging closed again as the car wept through them, and the headlights swept across a massive brick house at the end of the drive as the tires grated in the gravel on the drive. Betty touched another button under the dash, and the doors on the garage at the side of the house rolled up as the car approached. She drove the car in beside a new Lincoln, braking it to a smooth stop, then opened her door as she switched off the headlights and ignition. "Just a sec, Janice, and I'll turn on the garage light – it's dark as hell in here at night."
The automatic garage doors rumbled back down into place as she stepped out of the car and flipped a switch on the wall, and Janice unfastened her seat belt and opened her door. Betty walked around the car and opened the door wider, and she took the seat belt from Janice and snapped it back onto the hook on the door post as Janice slipped out of the car. "We can go in through the kitchen if you don't mind – it's closer."
"Yes, all right."
Betty's hand was a feathery pressure against her elbow, guiding her, and she reached around her and pushed the kitchen door open as she snapped off the garage lights and turned on the house lights.
The kitchen was a shining gleam of chrome and baked enamel from the built in stove, refrigerator, and dish washer, balanced by the antiseptic look of the huge countertop and the spotless brick floor. On the other side of the kitchen was the dining area with the rich sheen of heavy maple furniture in Early American style, and on the other side of that was the den with a soaring cathedral ceiling, thick carpeting, and dark, heavy furniture. Everything was spacious, strong, and heavy; it seemed to match Betty well, and it was beautiful.
"Betty, your house is absolutely beautiful," Janice murmured, walking into the dining room and looking around.
"Thank you – I had the one that was here torn down, and I made this one the way I wanted it." She glanced around uncomfortably, clearing her throat and cracking her knuckles. "Well, would you like a drink or something?"
"Do you have tea?"
"Tea?" Betty responded, looking blank. "Well, let me see…" She walked to a cupboard and opened it, looking inside. "I don't know if… hey, yeah, here's some tea." She took a box of tea bags out and slammed the cupboard then turned toward the stove. "You'll have to show me how to make it, though."