I paid the taxi before Pinky’s home, and as I opened the door I saw her. She was waiting for me outside.
“You had to come now,” she said. “Do you want to spoil everything again?” She wore glasses, looked quite well, and her voice was different. I stared at her and she said, “I got you a room at the Dorchester.” I hailed another cab and we got in. I gave the driver the address of the CBS apartment over on Portland Square.
Up in the apartment, she sat down in a big chair, while I stood by the cold fireplace. Neither of us said anything. After some time, she took off her glasses and spoke in her old voice.
“Now that I see you, you don’t look any different.”
“I’m just the same. I haven’t changed.”
“I am not the same. These last two years, you’ve been having yourself a time, but I had only a wait. Now I am in love—and am loved too.”
I said it couldn’t be. It was all due to her intensity, to the stupidities of wars and passports, to the gremlins which had been following us around. “We still have our first day two years ago...and many more to come.”
“Why didn’t you talk this way before?”
I had no answer. “He is too young for you,” I said finally.
“Now I have a beautiful dream. Why do you want to destroy it?”
Again I was silent.
“Besides,” Pinky added, “Chris is no spinach.”
We made a fire in the fireplace, and then I went looking to see where CBS hid its liquor. I returned with two bottles. We sat by the fire and drank, and gradually we began to talk more freely. We sat and talked and did not eat or sleep. I argued and I pleaded, and I cursed and begged, and almost beat her. She wept and argued back, and stood for it all.
The light beyond our windows changed many times, and the second morning found us sitting on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles and a dying fire. Pinky was haggard and very beautiful, and I thought I was winning her back. I said I would go shave, and then we would have some breakfast.
While I was shaving, I heard her talking on the phone. When I came out of the bathroom, Pinky had her overcoat on, her face was made up, and she wore her glasses. She said, “I want to kiss you.” Then she walked out. In front of the door there were two bottles of milk and two newspapers. The letters on the top paper were unusually fat:
“WAR IN EUROPE OVER”