“I don’t suppose,” he said, “you would go upstairs and get me a drink.” “You shouldn’t be drinking on top of those pills.” “I’ve been drinking already.” “I know that.” There was a brief silence. “Look,” he said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “I want a Scotch and soda. In a tall glass. Heavy on the Scotch, light on the soda, lots of ice, a glass of plain water, no ice, on the side. That’s what I want.”
