Fletch and the Widow Bradley Quotes

“What do you like?" Fletch asked.
She stared down at him.
"Do you like chocolate?"
She turned her head back into the wind, the dark, back into space, and said something.
"What?" Fletch asked. "I didn't hear you."
She turned her head back to him, annoyed.
"What do you like? she asked. "Tell me that."
"I like chocolate," Fletch said. "I like to see birds hopping on the grass. Do you like to see little birds hopping on the green grass?"
She said something that was lost in the wind.
"What else to you like?" Fletch asked. "Who do you like on television?"
There was no answer.
"Mike Wallace? Merv Giffin? How about As the World Turns? Do you ever watch that?"
No answer.
Fletch's throat was dry.
"Hey," he said, "do you remember the smell of a brand new car? Really new?"
No answer.
"How about the smell of brownies baking? Isn't that the greatest?"
From above she was staring down at him.
"What kind of sounds do you like?" he asked. "Harmonica? Violin? Guitar?"
No answer.
"You know what I like?" he asked. "I love seeing a newspaper page blowing along a city street. I love to hear rain-really hard rain-when I'm in bed. The yap of a puppy. Do you like to hear the yap of a puppy sometimes?"
"Hey," the woman said. "Kid."
"Yeah?"
"Take my hand, willya? I'm scared shitless."
"So am I," Fletch said.
...
"Just sit down," Fletch said. "Right where you are. Slowly, carefully."
Slowly, carefully she sat down on the cable, facing the bridge. The green plastic slipper dangled from her foot.
"Hold onto me," she said.
Fletch took her hand.
"Wait for the cops," Fletch said. "We'll wait for the cops."
"What the fuck we doing out here?" the woman asked.
"I don't know," he answered. "Sometimes we find ourselves places like this."
She was shivering then. "It's not my fault, you know. It really isn't."
"I'm sure it isn't," Fletch said. "Tell me what you like. What's the nicest book you ever read?"
"That's a funny question."
"Well, what is the nicest book you ever read?"
"BIach Beauty," the woman said.
"Tell me about it."
The woman thought for a moment. "I don't remember nothin' about it," she said, "'cept that I liked it."
"Hey, great," Fletch said. "You get to read it again"
"This really isn't my fault," the woman said. "Believe me."
"I believe you," Fletch said. "Believe me I believe you.”
― Gregory McDonald, Fletch and the Widow Bradley

“What do you like?" Fletch asked.
She stared down at him.
"Do you like chocolate?"
She turned her head back into the wind, the dark, back into space, and said something.
"What?" Fletch asked. "I didn't hear you."
She turned her head back to him, annoyed.
"What do you like? she asked. "Tell me that."
"I like chocolate," Fletch said. "I like to see birds hopping on the grass. Do you like to see little birds hopping on the green grass?"
She said something that was lost in the wind.
"What else to you like?" Fletch asked. "Who do you like on television?"
There was no answer.
"Mike Wallace? Merv Giffin? How about As the World Turns? Do you ever watch that?"
No answer.
Fletch's throat was dry.
"Hey," he said, "do you remember the smell of a brand new car? Really new?"
No answer.
"How about the smell of brownies baking? Isn't that the greatest?"
From above she was staring down at him.
"What kind of sounds do you like? he asked. "Harmonica? Violin? Guitar?"
No answer.
"You know what I like?" he asked. "I love seeing a newspaper blowing along a city street. I love to hear rain-really hard rain-when I'm in bed. The yap of a puppy. Do you like to hear the yap of a puppy sometimes?"
"Hey," the woman said. "Kid."
"Yeah?"
"Take my hand, willya? I'm scared shitless."
"So am I," Fletch said.
...
"Just sit down," Fletch said. "Right where you are. Slowly, carefully."
Slowly, carefully she sat down on the cable, facing the bridge. The green plastic slipper dangled from her foot.
"Hold onto me," she said.
Fletch took her hand.
"Wait for the cops," Fletch said. "We'll wait for the cops."
"What the fuck we doing out here?" the woman asked.
"I don't know," he answered. "Sometimes we find ourselves places like this."
She was shivering then. "It's not my fault, you know. It really isn't."
"I'm sure it isn't," Fletch said. "Tell me what you like. What's the nicest book you ever read?"
"That's a funny question."
"Well, what is the nicest book you ever read?"
"BIach Beauty," the woman said.
"Tell me about it."
The woman thought for a moment. "I don't remember nothin' about it," she said, "'cept that I liked it."
"Hey, great," Fletch said. "You get to read it again"
"This really isn't my fault," the woman said. "Believe me."
"I believe you," Fletch said. "Believe me I believe you.”
― Gregory McDonald, Fletch and the Widow Bradley