He knocked on Nevada's door. No answer. He knocked again. She opened it cautiously. He could see her curly towhead. He brushed into the room before she could stop him. All she had on was a kimono over a pink chemise.
"My God," she said, "I thought you were the waiter."
He grabbed her and kissed her. "I dont know why but I feel like a threeyear old."
"You look like you was crazy with the heat. . . . I dont like you to come over without telephoning, you know that."
"You dont mind just this once I forgot."
Baldwin caught sight of something on the settee; he found himself staring at a pair of darkblue trousers neatly folded.
"I was feeling awfully fagged down at the office Nevada. I thought I'd come up to talk to you to cheer myself up a bit."
"I was just practicing some dancing with the phonograph."
"Yes very interesting. . . ." He began to walk springily up and down. "Now look here Nevada. . . . We've got to have a talk. I dont care who it is you've got in your bedroom." She looked suddenly in his face and sat down on the settee beside the trousers. "In fact I've known for some time that you and Tony Hunter were carrying on." She compressed her lips and crossed her legs. "In fact all this stuff and nonsense about his having to go to a psychoanalyst at twentyfive dollars an hour amused me enormously. . . . But just this minute I've decided I had enough. Quite enough."
"George you're crazy," she stammered and then suddenly she began to giggle.
"I tell you what I'll do," went on Baldwin in a clear legal voice, "I'll send you a check for five hundred, because you're a nice girl and I like you. The apartment's paid till the first of the month. Does that suit you? And please never communicate with me in any way."
She was rolling on the settee giggling helplessly beside the neatly folded pair of darkblue trousers. Baldwin waved
