Read Online Carla by Lawrence Block - Free Book Online

shifting uneasily from foot to foot while he waited. At last the door was opened by a stunning Negro girl in a maid’s uniform. The man took a good long look at the girl’s body; then, remembering where he was and why he had come, he flushed guiltily.
    â€œIs Mrs. Macon home?”
    â€œNo,” said the girl.
    â€œI see. When do you expect her? You think she’ll be home in a few minutes or so?”
    The girl considered, her eyes twinkling as she watched the young man struggle to keep from ogling her. “Yes,” she said suddenly. “Yes, Mrs. Macon should be home any minute. Why don’t you come inside?”
    After a second’s hesitation the man followed her into the house. He glanced around automatically, his eyes taking in the almost regal splendor of the living-room. His feet sank into the carpet with every step. The girl pointed to an armchair and he sat down in it, his eyes still flitting continually from one object to another.
    â€œYou wait right here,” the girl said. “Mrs. Macon ought to be home soon and I’ll tell her you’re here.”
    â€œSwell.”
    â€œAre you the party who’s been trying to reach Mrs. Macon on the phone?”
    He started. “Why, yes. How did you know?”
    â€œI answered the phone every time, so how could I miss knowing? I recognized your voice the minute you opened your mouth. Mrs. Macon’s all upset, not ever being home when you call and you not leaving a name or anything.”
    â€œI suppose I should have realized that.”
    She didn’t answer, and at the same time made no move to leave. Unwillingly his eyes returned to her body, trying to imagine just how she would look without the protection of the uniform. The maid’s uniform, a rather shapeless affair of white cotton, was unable to hide entirely the curves of her body. The skirt ended a few inches below her knees, and his eyes caressed what they could see of her legs and imagined the rest. Her arms were equally perfect—slender and chocolate in colour. Several times he forced his gaze away from the silent, motionless girl, and each time his eyes returned to wander over her body. Once his eyes caught hers and held them, and he was blushing slightly when he finally tore his eyes free.
    â€œYou wait right here,” she repeated, standing up suddenly and walking from the room. His eyes followed her until she was gone. Then he glanced once more around the room until he became more or less accustomed to the furnishings.
    Only then did he realize how tired he was. He hadn’t slept well for nights—too many nights. He tried to lose himself in his work, but that had helped only a little and left him more tired than ever. He leaned back in the armchair, wondering how long it would be before Mrs. Macon returned.
    Charles recommended the Chicken Paprikash. It was good, but this didn’t surprise her any more than the fact that the wine was excellent and the perfect dessert came as a surprise. Perfection was perhaps the best summation of Charles Butler, she thought. He always did exactly the right thing, even if he didn’t seem to have any particular feeling for it. How could any man care so much about art, music, food, wine—almost everything there was to care about? It seemed to her that he didn’t really care that desperately, that he was more concerned with “being right” than with the final result.
    â€œWhat’s the trouble?”
    â€œNothing,” she replied, looking up at him and smiling automatically across the tiny marble-topped table. “I was just thinking.”
    â€œWhat about?”
    â€œThings.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Mysterious tonight, aren’t you?”
    â€œA little. I was just thinking how nice it is to have dinner with you.”
    â€œI’m glad you’ve enjoyed it.”
    She put a cigarette between her lips and started to reach for a match, then stopped