The Slipper Read Free Page B

dream,” Carol said quietly, gazing down at her dessert plate. “I should have known it—it would never come true. My Aunt Jessie says going to college is nonsense. She says I should meet a nice young man and get married as soon as possible. Uncle Edgar thinks I should go to work at his drugstore immediately. Good clerks are hard to come by. I’ve helped out there several times.”
    â€œYou don’t want to get married?” he asked.
    â€œI—I want to do something with my life,” she said, and there was a passionate tremor in her voice. “I want to be somebody, accomplish things. Most people—most people exist. I want to live.”
    Norman Philips heard that passionate tremor in her voice, that conviction found only in the very young before life has stripped away so many illusions. It saddened him, for those full of passion and conviction were invariably hurt by life, and he didn’t want this girl to be hurt. She was so very beautiful, so radiant, and there was a touching vulnerability as well. How long would that last out in the cold, cruel world? Trapped in a loveless marriage all these years, blessed with all the material comforts and plagued with a sense of time gone by, opportunities lost, potentials unfulfilled, he longed to warm himself at the altar of her youth, longed for the temporary reassurance a girl like this could give, but his decision was already made. Life might hurt her, but he didn’t intend to.
    â€œFinished?” he inquired.
    Carol nodded. He signaled the waiter and paid the bill and helped her to her feet. “Some Enchanted Evening” was playing on the jukebox now. Norman Philips felt a tightness at the back of his throat. Fingers curled about her elbow, he led the girl toward the door. She was just a little unsteady on her stockinged feet. How easy it would be. How easy. There had been so many young women in his life—smooth, sleek, pretty creatures who accepted his expensive presents with greedy eyes and hinted for more while dispensing their favors—but there had never been one like this, one so innocent, so young. His manner became brusque as they stepped outside. The air was almost chilly. He was grateful for that. It helped.
    â€œI’ll take you home now,” he said, guiding her toward the car.
    â€œNo,” she said.
    â€œWhat do you mean—‘No’?”
    â€œI told you earlier. I can’t go home.”
    â€œThat’s nonsense. Your aunt and uncle—”
    â€œI humiliated them today. Aunt Jessie will never live it down. Uncle Edgar couldn’t care less what I do. They—they’ll be glad to be rid of me at last.”
    â€œYou’re drunk, Carol.”
    â€œNo. I may have been. I’m not now.”
    â€œWhat will you do?”
    â€œI—I’ll go to Wichita and get a job. I’ll work at the Dairy Queen. I worked at the Dairy Queen in Ellsworth last summer. I—somehow I’ll earn some money and—and if I can’t go to Claymore I’ll go to Kansas State, wait on tables, do anything I have to do to—to escape.”
    â€œAnd tonight?” he asked.
    â€œI’ll go home with you. You said your wife is in Europe.”
    â€œShe is, but—”
    Carol steadied herself against the side of the car and looked up at him with imploring eyes.
    â€œYou care,” she said, and that tremor was in her voice again. “I sense that. You—you actually care what happens to me. You’re kind. You’re compassionate. I sense that, too. It—it’s been so long since anyone actually cared. Please let me go with you. I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”
    â€œYou don’t know what you’re doing, Carol.”
    â€œI think so. I think I do.”
    Philips hesitated, his throat so tight he could hardly speak. The girl looked up at him, fragile, lovely, hair spilling over her shoulders in the moonlight. Music