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185 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1953
"The girl upstairs almost kills me with a cast iron bucket. So I ask her down for a drink. What's wrong with that? If Helen was here, she'd do the same thing."
Good-bye. . . . (He closes hall door. Then, after a moment silently opens it again and peers out, craning his neck to look up the stairs. He comes back inside, closes the door. Tie is shaking bis bead. Crossing d. to c.) Where did that come from! 1 didn’t know they made them like that any more. She must be the one who sublet the Kaufmans’ apartment.... I should have asked her in for a drink or something. Oh, no! Oh, no, I shouldn’t have. Not me, kid. (The telephone rings. It is on table behind sofa L. He looks quickly at his watch. bis ^cb goes t0 phone . . . puts He loob c2,e Eagerly) Hello? Oh. Hello, Helen. i , [Crosses to R. end of sofa, taking phone with him.) . . . 1 wasn’t expecting you to call till ten. Is everything okay? Good. I was just expecting you o they were two runs Shere Z ent Hodges up to bunt ... huh? Yeah, I’m behind . • ■ “’ey onlo jOjfl ovcr R. ann. J>uls phone on S1'iPy ‘Xlds receiver.) Yeah ... the old place is pretty empty sofa and holds rece u Rjcky without you. •• • hasn,( done that for a iong time. It was Go°d,,' excitement. He’s all right now? That’s nice. PrObaMy fd n’t Who DID you meet at he A & P? What’s T ■ M0,'rKen-ie’doing up there? (Sitting up straight.) Look, my Xe to you is avoid Tom Mackenzie like the plague. If you keep on meeting him in the A & P switch to Bohack s. Look, are you sure everything else is all right? Good. . . . Me too. I’m pretty tired myself. Good night. Night. (He hangs up phone . . .Lis it on sofa table . . . sighs.) I might as well go to sleep my self But I’m not sleepy. 1 suddenly realize that 1 am not even a little bit sleepy. (Picking up telephone and putting it m lap.) Maybe I could call up Charlie Peterson. ... No. That’s a real bad idea. (Puts telephone beside hint on sofa.) Under no circumstance should I call up Charlie Peterson. I’ll get in bed and read. I’ve got enough junk here I’m supposed to read. (He picks up briefcase from sofa table and puts it on coffee table. Crosses to piano for galleys. Sits R. end of sofa.) I’ve got a conference with Dr. Brubaker tomorrow night. It might be amusing if I’d finished his miserable book before I talked to him about it. I don’t know why every psychiatrist in America feels he has to write a book. (Opens briefcase, takes out "The Scarlet Letter.") And let’s see what else. “The Scarlet Letter.” I read that in school. I don’t have to read that again. But I better. (Holds up galleys and "Scarlet Letter"—one in each band.) Dr. Brubaker and “The Scarlet Letter.” It looks like a big night. (Picks up soda from coffee table.) One more of these for a night cap and we’re all set. (Rises, crosses to kitchen, carrying empty bottle of soda. Mumbles:) Citric acid, corn, syrup, artificial raspberry flavor. . . . (Leaves empty bottle on window-sill, taking another bottle of soda from refrigerator. Opening it on wall bottle-opener, mumbles:) If you don’t get ulcers one way, you get them another. (Walks back toward the terrace, sits on chaise, turns on radio.)