Read The Golden Goose for Free Online Page B

“Marry me. Tomorrow. Tonight. Right now! Will you?”
    â€œDo you think we know each other well enough? Marry in haste and repent at leisure, you know.”
    â€œYou read the wrong authors. Ben Franklin pointed out that a lot of people who marry at leisure repent in haste, and he was a pretty wise old owl. What do you say?”
    â€œI haven’t had much experience repenting,” said Prin, “or marrying either, for that matter. This is a marvelous daiquiri. However, I think it’s just a wee bit too marvelous.” She opened her purse. “How much do I owe you?”
    â€œOwe me! My God!” he said in horror. “Please. Can’t you keep drinking my daiquiris till midnight, when the bar closes and I’m free? Oh, no , not again!” he groaned. “Don’t go way yet. Promise me you won’t go way till I’m through with these swilling swine?” And off he sped, like a harassed Mercury.
    Prin was feeling warm. That kidding “I’m-not-kidding” part about marrying and all, of course that was the stale old line, but … then why did it seem to have a just-made taste, like freshly baked bread? And Prin was sure that the warmth she was feeling under her clothes was not entirely the result of the rum.
    â€œDo you have to go?” He was back, a little out of breath.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWill you come back tomorrow?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe. Do you tend bar every day?”
    â€œEvery other day, from five to midnight. Sometimes I take the lunch shift, too.”
    â€œI’m disappointed in you,” Prin said coldly. She felt cold, too. “Why ask me if I’ll be here tomorrow when you won’t be? You’re pulling my leg.”
    â€œOh, no,” Coley Collins said urgently. “I will be here tomorrow, because the fellow whose turn it is has to be late for some reason and I’m spelling him.” The coldness melted out of Prin and slunk off. He was sincere . If any proof were needed, her leg-pulling phrase had not evoked from him the traditional response. “I’ll be free at six, and you’ll be here, and maybe something will come of it.”
    â€œYou mean, you’re asking me for a date?”
    â€œYes! Yes?”
    â€œI’ll see,” said Prin with her most dazzling smile, and wriggled her little bottom off the bar stool, paid for her two drinks over his manly protests, and left.
    All the way home, through the diminishing light, Prin warmed herself by the little fire the young man had kindled in the Coronado taproom. The air seemed remarkably soft, the scents and sounds of the summer evening remarkably sweet—softer and sweeter than summer air and scents and sounds had ever been in the world before.
    Prin wondered if it would be good feminine policy to go to the Coronado tomorrow directly from work, as shortly after five as possible. It would give her an entire extra hour with Coley. Of course, the bar would be between them—a strong argument in favor of the move, since it would put the goodies he apparently found so desirable within reach and yet untouchable. But then Prin decided that this might make things a little difficult for her afterwards. It would be wiser to arrive on the dot of six, when he might be wondering whether she was coming after all.
    So the next night she came on the dot of six and found a fuming young bartender who, at the sight of her, ripped off his bartender’s mess jacket, disappeared through a door and was back with the speed of Superman in a neat if slightly threadbare sports coat in which he looked simply black-browed-divine.
    Things were a little strained at first. But when Coley stopped fuming they were glorious—and they kept getting more so. Altogether, from first to last, it was an exceptional experience. Nothing happened that had not happened numberless times on any night anyone might designate, summer, fall, winter or spring; but