a cabinet built into the wall and put them on the table. “Scotch? Bourbon?” She looked at Paula. And Paula knew that Byrne knew she didn’t drink.
“Scotch’ll be fine,” Paula said.
Phil got ice and poured the drinks.
Paula sipped at hers and didn’t like the bitter taste. Phil took long swallows, trying to fill himself with the strength to bring up his reason for being here.
Byrne saved him the trouble. She settled herself into the couch and crossed her legs. “Now tell me, little nephew, what can I do for you? I don’t suppose you’re here to socialize with your ancient relative.”
Paula thought: Ancient? You’ll be young forever.
“Well, the truth is,” Phil eased his way slowly, “I could use a little help if you want to give it.”
“Of course.”
“There’s this paint store on the corner of Third Avenue in the Seventies. Mueller’s. Maybe you’ve heard of it. They advertise in the buses.”
“I don’t ride buses.”
“Anyway, it’s a real good thing, this store. Busy, large. And it’s established. I have a chance to buy a partnership because one of the men is selling out and his son happens to be a friend of mine. If I could get in there …”
“What do you know about the business?”
“What’s there to know?”
Paula hoped he would say something that sounded smart. She didn’t like the way he was appealing to Byrne. As though she were the man and he a child — that’s how he sounded.
“Assuming there isn’t anything to know, how much do you need?”
He took a long breath. “Ten grand.” Putting his tongue in his cheek and making it bulge, he watched to see how she would react.
“That’s a lot of money for you, my boy.”
“I’ll be able to pay it back. You’ll get a part of it every six months.”
“That’s not the point.” She set the half empty glass on her knee. “I simply hope that you’ve chosen wisely. That size investment will make a responsible citizen of you overnight. Are you sure you want to sell paint for a living?”
“I can’t be a crumby mechanic’s helper all my life,” he blurted. “This is the kind of opportunity that gives a man a chance to be something. Get himself away from those lousy tenements.”
“And give him a chance to raise a decent family,” Byrne added, glancing at Paula.
“Right!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Byrne shrugged. “You might just as well do this as anything. It sounds reasonable enough to my unreasonable mind.” She finished her drink and set it on the long table. “Sold, Philip. There’s no reason why I should give you a hard time when all this money came to me so easily.” The hint of some unrelenting memory shadowed her words.
Phil hadn’t expected her to agree so quickly. He sat on the edge of his chair, his long-winded efforts to convince her further abruptly interrupted.
“But if I were you,” she added more brightly, “I’d stock some art supplies for Paula. She may be wanting to experiment one of these days.”
Phil found himself. He came out of the chair and filled Byrne’s glass again. “Oh, you’re a pal. You’re a real pal.” He couldn’t find an expression big or grand enough. “I love you!”
Not knowing what to do, he bent over and kissed Paula. She moved back from his touch, self-conscious in the presence of this woman.
She wants me to paint, she thought. Without knowing whether I can do anything or not, she’s interested in me.
Paula looked past Phil, intensely wanting Byrne to say something more.
Byrne smiled at her, more with her eyes than with her lips, and said, “You are going to try it, you know.”
“I’d make a terrible pupil.” Paula flushed. She realized that she had practically asked Byrne to teach her.
“Perhaps.” Byrne’s eyes slowly closed and opened again, changing the grey-green depths to clear emerald. “Perhaps not.” Paula felt a tightening thrill at the somehow unnamed implication in Byrne’s voice.
To be polite Phil talked on for another fifteen minutes, exuding energy and success, the dimple flitting in and out of his cheek. He stood taller, filling the room with his dark massive physique. He told Byrne pieces of family news. She listened, obviously without interest, nodding occasionally or making some brief comment that showed Paula just how little she really cared about her family. She wondered what this woman did care about. Not money, certainly; not ambition. Without knowing why, Paula wanted this strange person to care about something, anything, to care very much.
Finally, Phil picked up Paula’s coat and helped her into it. She buttoned it slowly. Byrne walked with them to the door.
“I’m glad I met you,” Paula said in a low voice.
“Are you?” Byrne closed one button she had missed and held her hand there for a moment.
Paula held her breath till the woman released her. She took Phil’s arm and moved backward through the doorway.
In the cold darkness of Phil’s Ford, Paula shook herself, realizing that every muscle in her legs ached intensely. She shook herself and tried to stretch out the knots.
“Oh, baby,” Phil whispered. “This is it.”
“I’m so happy for you.” She let him lean across to her and put his mouth on hers. Through the coat she felt the pressure of his hand against her breast.
“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s good. I want to marry you. I’m going to love you forever and we’ll have all the good things. No struggling like our folks, honey. Just lots and lots of loving.”
He moved his head down and rested his cheek against her chest. She looked past him at the lights on the avenue.
“I’m asking you to be my wife,” he whispered. His voice seemed to come to her from far away.
She put her lips into his hair and inhaled the sweet male smell of hair tonic. “Oh, yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes.”
I’m going to be Mrs. Carson, she thought. I’m going to be the wife of this boy. But her feeling was not the fantastic delight she had always expected. With a touch of fright, she realized that this was like seeing a play by sixth graders after having been to Broadway.
She decided that she was tired; that her brain must be as numb as her body. Tomorrow she would know the full meaning of his words and her whole being would burst into the sky in overwhelming celebration.
They stayed quietly together in the darkness until she felt the cold beginning to creep back into her limbs. “Please start the car,” she
