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thereabouts. A little theatrical in her actions, but beautiful. And absolutely nothing else.
    “You’re Pat Cosgrove,” she announced, dipping her hand a little to take hold of mine. “Doctor’s told me so much about you. I’m Lila Luther.”
    “How do you do, Mrs. Luther,” I said.
    “I was going to drop in last night and say hello, but Doctor said you were tired. And, of course, he snatched you away this morning before I got my eyes open.”
    “Well…” I said.
    “Do come along.” She linked her wrist over my arm. “I want you to show me your room. Doctor assured me you were made utterly comfortable, but naturally he wouldn’t know if you weren’t. Isn’t he a weird man? But sweet. Very sweet.”
    “I like him,” I said, trying not to make it sound like a reproof. “And the room is fine. I—”
    “Oh, well,” she shrugged. “Of course, you would like him. Not that you’re not sincere. I could see instantly that you were. Do you know Mr. Hardesty? I like him very much, don’t you? He’s such a smooth, earnest man. So, uh, so unweird.”
    She chattered incessantly as we went up the driveway and around the walk to the house, apparently so intrigued with the sound of her own voice that my tense silence went unnoticed.
    At the door of her apartment, hers and Doc’s, she rapped briskly and called:
    “Doctor! I’ll be with Mr. Cosgrove for a few minutes!”
    Then, without waiting for a reply, she urged me down the hall, her long, soft thigh brushing against mine.
    I unlocked the door of my room, and pushed it open for her. She took my arm and we went in together.
    “Well,” she said, glancing around critically. “They haven’t done too badly by you.”
    “It’s far better than anything I’ve had,” I said. “There’s really nothing I need, Mrs. Luther.”
    “Nothing at all?” She gave my arm a sly squeeze. “Well I do. I need a drink.”
    “Mrs. Luther,” I said. “Do—do you—”
    “What?” She raised one delicate, glossy eyebrow. “Oh some of that bourbon will be all right. With just a little water, please.”
    I nodded and went over to the bar—hearing the door ease shut almost the moment my back was turned.
    Doc would resent my ordering her out. No matter what he might think about her himself, he would resent anyone else’s implication that she was less than she could be. I could only hope he would not let jealousy get the better of his common sense. Surely, he must realize that I would not play loose with his wife.
    I mixed the drink and brought it over to her. I lighted her cigarette. I tried not to notice as she toed off her highheeled suede slippers.
    “Do sit down, Pat,” she said. Then, “Oh, where’s your drink?”
    “I don’t drink very much, Mrs. Luther,” I said. “I don’t think I want one just now.”
    “But I never drink alone! I mean, I’m very serious about it!”
    “Mrs. Luther…”
    “Lila. Or don’t you like the name?”
    “I like it very much, but—”
    “Say it, then.”
    “Lila,” I said flatly.
    What happened then was so completely insane that I am almost doubtful it did happen.
    She set her glass on the floor and arose, letting the fox scarf slide from her shoulders. She put her arms around me and turned, turning me, and slumped backwards. She went down on the bed, drawing me down with her.
    Her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply, and her head rocked a little from side to side on its thick pallet of ash blonde hair…Her lips parted and she raised them up toward mine. And, almost, I bent down to them. I wanted to. I wanted her.
    I believe it must have been the red of her mouth which brought me to my senses. Lipstick: evidence: penalty. Or perhaps I heard the soft footsteps in the thickly carpeted hallway…although that does not seem possible.
    Whatever the case was, I did not bend down.
    I reversed the trick she had pulled on me.
    I moved up and backwards, swiftly, jerking her upright before she could release her hold. I