Page 310 - tender-is-the-night

‘I was just a little girl when I met you, Dick. Now I’m a
woman.’
‘I want to hear everything about you.’
‘How is Nicole—and Lanier and Topsy?’
‘They’re fine. They often speak of you—‘
The phone rang. While she answered it Dick examined
two novels— one by Edna Ferber, one by Albert McKisco.
The waiter came for the table; bereft of its presence Rose-
mary seemed more alone in her black pajamas.
‘... I have a caller... . No, not very well. I’ve got to go to the
costumer’s for a long fitting... . No, not now ...’
As though with the disappearance of the table she felt re-
leased, Rosemary smiled at Dick—that smile as if they two
together had managed to get rid of all the trouble in the
world and were now at peace in their own heaven ...
‘That’s done,’ she said. ‘Do you realize I’ve spent the last
hour getting ready for you?’
But again the phone called her. Dick got up to change
his hat from the bed to the luggage stand, and in alarm
Rosemary put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.
‘You’re not going!’
‘No.’
When the communication was over he tried to drag the
afternoon together saying: ‘I expect some nourishment
from people now.’
‘Me too,’ Rosemary agreed. ‘The man that just phoned
me once knew a second cousin of mine. Imagine calling
anybody up for a reason like that!’
Now she lowered the lights for love. Why else should she

310 Tender is the Night