Found in the Street

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Authors: Patricia Highsmith
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was thinking that there was room for the little women in the drawing now, and it might be a good idea.
    Natalia laughed, rising on her toes, closing her eyes. She was still with Louis and Sylvia, and Isabel Katz had joined them, but only to say good night, it seemed. She left with the man to whom Terry had been talking.
    â€œGood night, Jack. Thank you,” Isabel said. “Don’t get up!”
    Before long, Jack had managed his exit too. “I’m going down with Joel,” he said to Natalia, and with a glance at Sylvia and Louis. “See you.”
    Joel and Terry, who worked at CBS too, had to watch a program at 11 tonight. Jack walked with them toward Seventh Avenue where there was the best chance for a taxi.
    â€œCan’t tell you how I’ve enjoyed it, Jack,” said Terry, beaming at him. “What a terrific apartment too! Bye!”
    They had found a taxi. A wind swirled, and Jack felt the first drops of rain hit his face. The hell with the rain, he thought, he’d walk for half an hour, and come back and find Natalia and Louis ensconced on the sofa, probably drinking espresso, of which Louis was very fond, even if the doctor had banned it. Susanne would have gone home, after sticking all the glasses she could in the dishwasher and starting it. And Natalia would sit till maybe 2 in the morning, because it was her birthday and she could indulge herself with her soulmate, the whole sofa’s length between them as each lolled back against a sofa arm.
    Jack licked rainwater from his upper lip. His shoes were starting to feel squishy. Where was he? Way below West Houston now. He turned back and walked fast. The few people who were out in this downpour were either running or had umbrellas. Jack shoved wet hands into his pockets, lowered his head, and trotted uptown. In his right hand pocket, he felt coins, enough for a coffee somewhere, at least, to wait it out for a few minutes. The streetlights, shopfront lights made a glare on the surface of Seventh Avenue. Jack crossed when a red shimmered. He had spotted a coffee shop farther up on the other side of the avenue.
    Jack pulled his hands down his face, stomped his feet and went in. The place smelled of hamburgers, onions and steam and had a bright yellowish illumination, but at least it was dry. Jack stood by one of the stand-up counters fixed to a wall. Other people were coming in out of the rain, talking about the downpour. Jack finally went up to the counter which had a couple of curves to accommodate as many stools as possible. All the stools seemed taken. Jack ordered a coffee white when he got a waitress’s attention, paid, and carried the mug back to the stand-up counter.
    â€œ You look like it’s raining outside!” the blond waitress had said to him as she handed him his coffee.
    Jack was still smiling at that. The girl had a friendly voice, not like a New Yorker’s voice. Jack watched the blond girl whizzing about her tasks, serving a Danish on a plate, plopping ketchup down in front of somebody else, smiling, laughing, but he couldn’t hear her laugh in all the noise. She had a word to say to nearly everybody. Her energy held Jack’s eyes. He could see the other customers responding, smiling back at her. There were a couple of other girls working behind the long counter, not in the least eye-catching compared with this little blonde who looked about sixteen.
    â€œ Whee-yoo ! ”said a tall black fellow coming in with a pal, and they both stamped their feet on the now grimy tile floor. “ Man ! ”
    Both the blacks looked high on something. They drifted to the back of the place, chattering in shrill voices.
    Jack sipped from his mug of weak coffee, and looked again for the blond girl. Now she was bent over the counter far to his left, pink lips parted. She shook her head quickly, then laughed again, started to move off, but looked back at the man who was talking to her from a stool. He was

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