Missing Reels Read Free Page B

the case, but the Englishman was watching Ceinwen as she twisted the tissue paper around the box and handed over the bag.
    “Have a good evening.” She couldn’t bring herself to say thank you.
    “You too,” he said, then, lower, “and good luck.” Ceinwen twitched her mouth into a half-smile and turned her back as they walked out.
    Granana would have made her say thank you. The longer she stayed in New York, the worse her manners got. Then again, he’d stood right there while his girlfriend hadn’t bothered to say thank you or please or anything else. Maybe in Mississippi she’d have been grateful. In Manhattan she’d had it with people who could act like that and worse, buy her earrings at full price.
    The hat women had left during the earring episode. At least they hadn’t taken the hats, which would have given Lily a reason to yell about security, along with punctuality and hygiene.
    There were no more customers after that. They counted out the register in Lily’s office downstairs, Lily remarking that the last sale of the night certainly helped. Ceinwen clocked out and walked home, wondering if whoever wore her dress before had had the same kind of luck with it.
    The winding stone stairs to the sixth floor might once have looked like marble before years of pounding feet had worn a slope into the middle of each. They weren’t that narrow, but they were steep even for the Lower East Side, and on a night like this she had to concentrate on not tripping. She was winded by the time she reached the top.
    Jim was in the kitchen, cigarette dangling and coffeemaker going. How he could drink coffee all day and night mystified Ceinwen. She reached into a cabinet and grabbed a half-finished bag of Dipsy Doodles.
    “Is that dinner?”
    “Yep.” She reached into the fridge for some seltzer. “I can’t help it. Lily’s been killing my appetite.”
    “You smoke too much and you don’t eat enough.” He ran his cigarette under the faucet and tossed it in the trash. “And what happened to your dress?”
    He pulled at a side seam. It had ripped about two inches straight up, showing Ceinwen’s torso almost to the edge of her bra. She didn’t know when it had happened or how long she’d been flashing skin. For all she knew, this was why the Englishman felt sorry enough to lie for her. The little match salesgirl.
    “Shit.” She was almost in tears. Jim looked alarmed.
    “It’s not that big a deal, honey. That’s what happens with these old clothes. The fabric holds up but the thread gets weak.” He patted her shoulder. “Take it off.”
    She thrust a hip forward and said huskily, “What are you saying?”
    “Take it all off, baby,” purred Jim. He examined the dress again. “I can fix this. It’s right on the seam. I’ll do it now.”
    “Thank you, Jim.” She undid the belt and the hooks on the side. Jim had seen her in her underwear or stark naked so many times that she didn’t bother with formalities. Dress halfway over her head she said, “Want to watch a movie with me while you sew?”
    A sigh. “Oh, all right. I’ll mostly be looking at the needle anyway.” He took the dress from her and turned it inside out. “I might stitch up this whole side.”
    “
The Ox-Bow Incident
? I just got it.”
    He looked suspicious. “I read that in high school. It’s a Western, right?”
    “More of a morality tale. Only,” she admitted, “with cowboys.”
    “So a Western. You know I don’t like Westerns. Neither does Talmadge. And wait, it’s got lynching, doesn’t it?”
    “Talmadge would like Anthony Quinn.”
    “No.”
    “Dana Andrews was handsome.”
    “I’m not watching a lynching Western and that’s final.”
    “How about
The Old Maid
?” He wanted to know the plot. Told that it involved Bette Davis’ sacrificial mother love, he demanded to look at her video stash himself.
    Ceinwen followed Jim through the living room where Talmadge was realigning the couch. It was a low-slung,