weeks? His surprise phone call had come a few days after Christmas and she had accepted the dinner invitation because she was lonely and no one else had phoned. Rad could not have been nicer. They had gone to an Italian restaurant in the Village he thought she would like because he had heard it was quite a literary hangout. He had thought it more unusual than she had because he was not used to cheap places, and she had been touched by his enjoyment. He had been even nicer than at Figente's and flatteringly pleased to be with her. He was tall, blond, and very handsome, and she determined not to mention Lucy to make it a special evening without Lucy on her mind. But before long she had spoken of Lucy, and Rad had seemed completely disinterested. He had handed her a carnation from the vase on their table saying her cheeks were its pink and that she herself had the flower's fragrance. The night was beautiful with dry soft snowflakes and he had suggested, or was it her idea, that they walk back uptown. At Madison Square the big clock chimed the three-quarter hour and he said it was chilly and hailed a cab. The ride had been strained because she had worried about how to get out of inviting him upstairs. She had invented a silly story about a visiting cousin in town for the night and he left and she thought she would not see him again. Then the day after New Year's he phoned and they had dinner again and he had insisted on following up to the room. She had been scared, and embarrassed too, because he took it for granted she had done it before. She did not want him to make love to her even if she had, not then, not only because she didn't want to but because she didn't have on her best underthings, and she kept thinking how Lucy had said "You never can tell" when changing hers to go to Simone's. Lucy had said too that men often seemed more excited by underclothes than by what was underneath. At last she had had to put him out and had thought this surely would be the end. She had been sorry because it had been fun to be with him, and not so lonely because the one she had hoped would phone after Figente's party hadn't.
But her refusal had only made Rad more insistent. The next day he sent dozens of carnations and a sweet note of apology and said he hoped she would let him see her again. When he came, her impulse had been not to answer the bell but it seemed rude after the note and flowers. But when he had come up she had felt trapped because she didn't know how to get out of something she hadn't resisted enough. In a way she hadn't wanted to get out of it because it was something she had to face sooner or later. One had to be a
