Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 90

"Where, then?"

She thought. "Maybe we could stop at a filling station and

I could sneak into the ladies' room."

"Mmm, . . . maybe. See here, Meademy house is six blocks from here and has a garage entrance. You could get inside without being seen." He looked at her.

She stared back. "Potipharyou don't look like a wolf?"

"Oh, but I am! The worst sort." He whistled and gnashed his teeth. "See? But Wednesday is my day off from it."

She looked at him and dimpled. "Oh, well! I'd rather wrestle with you than with Mrs. Megeath. Let's go."

He turned up into the hills. His bachelor diggings were one of the many little frame houses clinging like fungus to the brown slopes of the Santa Monica Mountains. The ga- rage was notched into this hill; the house sat on it. He drove in, cut the ingition, and led her up a teetei-y inside stairway into the living room. "In there," he said, pointing. "Help yourself." He pulled her clothes out of his coat pockets and handed them to her.

She blushed and took them, disappeared into his bed- room. He heard her turn the key in the lock. He settled down in his easy chair, took out his notebook, and opened the

Herald-Exprew.

He was finishing the Daily News and had added several notes to his collection when she came out. Her hair was neatly rolled; her face was restored; she had brushed most of the wrinkles out of her skirt. Her sweater was neither too tight nor deep cut, but it was pleasantly filled. She reminded him of well water and farm breakfasts.

He took his raincoat from her, hung it up, and said, "Sit down, Meade."

She said uncertainly, "I had better go."

"Go if you mustbut I had hoped to talk with you."

"Well" She sat down on the edge of his couch and looked around. The room was small but as neat as his neck- tie, clean as his collar. The fireplace was swept; the floor was bare and polished. Books crowded bookshelves in every pos- sible s.p.a.ce. One corner was filled by an elderly flat-top desk; the papers on it were neatly in order. Near it, on its own stand, was a small electric calculator. To her right,

French windows gave out on a tiny porch over the garage.

Beyond it she could see the sprawling city; a few neon signs were already blinking.

She sat back a little. "This is a nice roomPotiphar. It looks like you."

"I take that as a compliment. Thank you." She did not answer; he went on, "Would you like a drink?"

"Oh, would II" She shivered. "I guess I've got the jitters."

He got up. "Not surprising. What'll it be?"

She took Scotch and water, no ice; he was a Bourbon- and-gingcr-ale man. She had soaked up half her highball in silence, then put it down, squared her shoulders and said,

"Potiphar?"

"Yes, Meade?"

"Lookif you brought me here to make a pa.s.s, I wish you'd go ahead and make it. It won't do you a bit of good, but it makes me nervous to wait for it."

He said nothing and did not change his expression. She went on uneasily, "Not that I'd blame you for tryingunder the circ.u.mstances. And I am grateful. But . . . wellit's just that I don't-"

He came over and took both her hands. "My dear, I haven't the slightest thought of making a pa.s.s at you. Nor need you feel grateful. I b.u.t.ted in because I was interested in your case."

"My case? Are you a doctor? A psychiatrist?"

He shook his head. "I'm a mathematician. A statistician, to be precise."

"Hub? I don't get it."

"Don't worry about it. But I would like to ask some ques- tions. May I?"

"Uh, sure, sure! I owe you that muchand then some."

"You owe me nothing. Want your drink sweetened?"

She gulped it and handed him her gla.s.s, then followed him out into the kitchen. He did an exact job of measuring and gave it back. "Now tell me why you took your clothes off?"

She frowned. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

I guess I just went crazy." She added round-eyed, "But I don't feel crazy. Could I go off my rocker and not know it?"

"You're not crazy . . . not moi-e so than the rest of us," he amended. "Tell mewhere did you see someone else do this?"

"Hub? But I never have."

"Where did you read about it?"

"But I haven't. Wait a minutethose people up in Canada.

Dooka-somethings."

"Doukhobors. That's all? No bareskin swimming parties?

No strip poker?"

She shook her head. "No. You may not believe it but I was the kind oi a little girl who undressed under her nightie." She colored and added, "I still dounless I re- member to tell myself it's silly."

"I believe it. No news stories?"

"No. Yes, there was tool About two weeks ago, I think it was. Some girl in a theater, in the audience, I mean. But I thought it was just publicity. You know the stunts they pull here."

He shook his head. "It wasn't. February 3rd, the Grand

Theater, Mrs. Alvin Copley. Charges dismissed."

"Hub? How did you know?"

"Excuse me." He went to his desk, dialed the City News