It's the way you
tell it."
"No problem. I'm still amused by the Rick and Jeannette Show."
From out of nowhere came a pout. Then: "But I'm not goin' to live
my life like they did." She sniffed deeply. "Um, I'll be right
back."
Had he offended her? He'd meant no harm in laughing. He was just
amused by her deadpan delivery. While she excused herself, Peter
got up from the table. Her talk about the Sixties had aroused
some vague sentiment in him. Whatever. All of the sudden the
place seemed too quiet. While she was away from the table he got
up and loaded a compact disc into his stereo system. The first
track was a folksy acoustic number.
Ivy returned to the table smiling. "Want more stew?"
"I'm stuffed," Peter said.
She sat down.
"Here." He poured more wine into her glass, trying for an apology
if it was in fact called for. He had no idea.
The instrumental ended, then a lovely female voice filled the
room with song. It was his absolute favorite. His eyelids lowered
slowly, automatically, and a smile washed across his face. The
artist's sensual voice had an effect on him that was like easing
into a warm bath. He sat there like that for a little bit,
forgetting Ivy and his dinner and everything else.
Ivy turned her head to the source of his evident pleasure. Her
frown went unnoticed.
Peter had met the vocalist one afternoon at a Sierra Club
luncheon thrown in his honor after Wallaby had donated several
computers to the noted environmental organization.
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