Dirt

hair and was very beautiful. “Hello, Arrington,” he said.
    “I camped on your doorstep,” she said, sounding just a little drunk.
    “I’m flattered. Come camp inside awhile.”
    She got to her feet and followed him into the house, back to his study.
    He hung their coats in a closet and showed her to a sofa. “How about some coffee?”
    “How about a drink?” she said.
    “You’ve already had a drink or two,” he said. “I like my company reasonably sober.”
    “Oh, all right, coffee then,” she said wearily, and began to cry softly.
    He sat down next to her. “Want to talk about it?”
    “You make the coffee, and I’ll stop crying, I promise.”
    He went downstairs to the kitchen, made a pot of coffee, and came back upstairs with a tray. He set it on the coffee table and poured some for her.
    “Black will do,” she said, picking up the cup.
    Stone poured himself a cup. “So, how have you spent your evening?”
    “Getting rid of Tarzan,” she said.
    “I thought there wasn’t a Tarzan.”
    “There isn’t anymore; I was a bit previous the other day, that’s all.”
    “Having regrets about cutting the vine?”
    She shrugged. “There was a time when I thought it might go somewhere. I’ve known for a while that it wouldn’t; I guess I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”
    “Did all this take place in the neighborhood? Is that why you stopped by here?”
    “It took place way uptown,” she said, sipping her coffee. “You weren’t on the way to anywhere. I just wanted to see you.”
    “I’m glad you did.”
    “I behaved stupidly tonight. I went over to his place to tell him it was all off, and quite to my humiliation, there was somebody else there with him.”
    “Oh. So you didn’t have that final satisfaction of telling him where to get off.”
    “Exactly. You see, I wasn’t crying because I’m sad, but because I’m angry. I set myself up for that, and it annoys the hell out of me.”
    “I get the picture. I’ve had pretty much the same experience in my time. It gets funny later.”
    She giggled. “It’s already funny,” she said. “Listen, I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Can I stay here with you?”
    “Sure you can.”
    “I don’t want to make love or anything; I just want somebody next to me. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
    “Delighted to have you — I mean, to be your host.”
    “Have you got something I can sleep in?”
    “Sure.”
     
     
    He gave her one of his nightshirts. She went to the bathroom, washed her face, and came back wearing the nightshirt, the sleeves rolled up.
    Stone was already in bed. He lifted the covers for her, and she crawled in next to him, snuggling on his shoulder. He reached over to turn off the light, and when he turned back, she was sleeping like a child. He extracted his arm from under her so it wouldn’t go numb, put a pillow under her head, and tried to go to sleep himself. He shouldn’t have had that coffee so late, he reflected.
    It took at least two hours of staring at the ceiling and thinking about the girl next to him, but he finally dozed off.
     
Chapter 23
     
    When Stone awoke, Arrington was in the shower. He put an extra pillow under his head and waited, hoping; a moment later, he was rewarded with the sight of her stepping out of the stall, water running down her tall body, not bothering with a towel. She stood before the mirror, squeezing water out of her hair, then reached for the towel, disappointing Stone. But his luck was holding; she wrapped it around her head and began brushing her teeth, her long back arched over the sink, her breasts dangling, her trim buttocks protruding. Stone began to get an erection.
    His first impulse was to get up and take her from behind, but he stopped himself. He wanted this to go well; if it did, no doubt he would have the opportunity of jumping her on some other occasion.
    She came out of the bathroom rubbing her hair with the towel, apparently not conscious of her nudity. “You’re awake,” she said. “I’ve been awake since six.”
    Stone looked at the bedside clock; it was after nine. “I got to sleep later than you did,” he said.
    “How much later?”
    “A couple of hours. The coffee, I expect.”
    “Poor Stone.” Her hair as dry as she could get it, she began toweling her body.
    “Just for the record,” he said, “you’re a beautiful girl.”
    “Woman. Thank you.”
    “I know you’re too accustomed to being told that, but I thought you ought to