Fuck you, lady. Now it’s my turn to tease.
‘‘I wouldn’t think of it, Mrs. Chambers,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘I’ll drive you home.’’
And I won’t go within three feet of you. But I’ll give you a chance to worry a lot about whether or not you’re going to have to fight me off.
‘‘Would you get Dick the keys to the station wagon, Cynthia? ’’ Chesty said.
She sat as far away from him as she could, against the door of the three-year-old but immaculate Ford station wagon. He drove down New Hampshire Avenue to Washington Circle, and then down Pennsylvania Avenue.
As they passed between Lafayette Square and the White House, she laughed.
‘‘You’re not going to make a pass at me, are you?’’ she asked.
‘‘No, ma’am,’’ he said.
‘‘Because you’re afraid Mr. Whittaker or Colonel Donovan might find out? Or because you’re afraid of me?’’
He didn’t reply.
‘‘I knew,’’ she said, ‘‘Chesty Whittaker being what he is, that he would not send me home alone.’’
He looked at her as he turned down Fifteenth Street. She was fishing for something in her purse. She threw something in his lap. He felt for it. It was a hotel key.
‘‘When you come up for a nightcap,’’ she said, ‘‘try to make sure no one sees you.’’ When he didn’t respond, she added, ‘‘If I don’t appeal to you, or if you can’t work up the courage, drop it in any mailbox. They guarantee postage. ’’
He let her out in front of the Willard and started back across Washington to the house on Q Street.
He got as far as Washington Circle before he changed his mind. There he made a complete circle and went back to the Willard. He put the station wagon in a parking garage and entered the hotel.
When he put the key to the door, she pulled it open.
She was wearing a negligee and a garter belt.
‘‘I probably shouldn’t admit this,’’ she said. ‘‘But I was afraid you weren’t coming.’’
The Monroe Suite The Willard Hotel Washington, D.C. 5:15 A.M., June 5, 1941
When Canidy came out of the bathroom, Sue-Ellen was sitting up in the bed. She was even at first light a fine-looking female. Ladylike. To look at her, the fact that she was a married woman; that she had gone after him, rather than the other way around; and that she had been both so passionate and so delightfully, so wickedly inventive in the bed seemed hardly credible.
‘‘Sorry I have to run,’’ he said. ‘‘When am I going to see you again?’’
‘‘You’re not,’’ Sue-Ellen Chambers said, pleasantly but firmly.
He found his trousers and put them on. He looked across the room at her.
‘‘Was I that much of a disappointment?’’
‘‘Not at all,’’ she said, and chuckled. ‘‘You were all I thought you would be, and more.’’
‘‘But?’’ he said.
‘‘I like to quit when I’m ahead,’’ she said, matter-of-factly.
There was nothing of the magnolia blossom about her now, he thought. She was, under the drawl, about as soft as stainless steel. She had seen what she wanted, and taken it, and now it was time to make an end to the scene. Sue-Ellen was a tough cookie. Still, though she might want to stop him right here, he wasn’t willing to quit so easily.
He turned away from her to zip his fly. ‘‘Because you’re married?’’ he asked, without turning around. ‘‘Is that it?’’
‘‘Obviously,’’ she said.