are gonna rattle tonight."
"Mmm," said Eddi, concentrating on her pizza. It was natural to feel a momentary pang of jealousy. She felt it every time she saw another band play when she couldn't. It was a habit now, and would go away soon. A few months, at most.
"How are you gonna go about it?" Carla asked.
"About what?"
"Finding a job."
"The usual ways."
"Uh-huh. What are you going to tell 'em when they ask about your skills?"
Eddi regarded her bleakly. "I guess I'll have to tell them I can type."
Carla looked sympathetic. "And answer phones, don't forget. You answer a mean phone."
"Want to go apply for food stamps with me?" Then Eddi saw the phouka's smile. "What's your problem?"
"Why, nothing at all. In fact, this sounds amusing, and even educational."
"Not for you, buster," Eddi said, but she felt a cold spot growing in the pit of her stomach.
"No, really. I've never applied for food stamps—or employment, for that matter. Where do we go?" He tipped his head to one side and gave her one of the innocent, clear-eyed looks that she was beginning to dread.
"I can't find a job with you along," she said slowly.
"I promise to be on my very best behavior."
Eddi clasped her hands firmly under the table. "No matter what behavior you're on, you can't go with me. You don't go job hunting on the buddy system."
"Oh." He wasn't disappointed; he was . . . speculating. "Tell me, then—what will you do if someone offers you work?"
Eddi identified the cold spot in her stomach. Her jaw clenched as she stared at him, as he stared back.
"As I said to Carla, you must think of us as new lovers, my primrose. I can hardly be parted from you for minutes. I'm afraid separation for all the daylight hours is out of the question."
Eddi felt her anger pushing the tears up behind her eyes, and she shook her head hard and turned away. She would hate to let him see her cry, even from frustration. She rubbed her eyes, and winced when her fingers met the bruise that Stuart's blow had left.
God
, she thought,
I suppose I look like a battered woman
.
Carla was scowling at the tabletop, but the phouka was watching Eddi. "What are you thinking?" he asked suddenly.
"Me? Thinking?" Eddi said.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist lightly. "You. Thinking. I would very much prefer that you not cause me trouble over this."
"Let me go. Please." She said it a little louder than necessary, and saw the couple at the next table turn to look. Carla was looking, too, and frowning.
Follow my lead, kid
, Eddi prayed.
"No," said the phouka softly. "I suspect you'll do something foolish if I do."
Eddi pulled against his grip. "Please, you're hurting me!" He wasn't, but for an instant his fingers loosened. She stepped back, knocking her chair over.
The cafe manager appeared behind the phouka. "Do you need any help?" he asked Eddi, and rested a restraining hand on the phouka's shoulder.
She reached to touch her bruise and hoped it looked like an unconscious gesture. It was easy to draw a shaky breath. "Yes," she said. Then she met the phouka's eyes, and saw them widen. "I won't go back with you," she said loudly, and hoped it would carry. "I won't let you hit me again."
For an instant the phouka sat wide-eyed. Then he rose out of his chair with a snarl. Carla yelled, "Stop him! He'll kill her!"
As Eddi turned and ran for the door, she saw the manager grab the phouka's arms as a broad-shouldered patron stepped in front of him.
She twisted through the crowd lined up at the serving counter, thinking,
There's a taxi stand across from the Cedar Theatre. Oh, God, let there be a taxi there. . . .
She would go as far as she could afford to, and worry about a destination later.
The sky over Cedar Avenue was indigo, and the night air was a welcome slap against her skin. She sprinted across Riverside Boulevard, dodging traffic. Far down the street she could see the roof light of a taxi. Past the flower stand, past the bank—
From the inset doorway of a shop,
"Mmm," said Eddi, concentrating on her pizza. It was natural to feel a momentary pang of jealousy. She felt it every time she saw another band play when she couldn't. It was a habit now, and would go away soon. A few months, at most.
"How are you gonna go about it?" Carla asked.
"About what?"
"Finding a job."
"The usual ways."
"Uh-huh. What are you going to tell 'em when they ask about your skills?"
Eddi regarded her bleakly. "I guess I'll have to tell them I can type."
Carla looked sympathetic. "And answer phones, don't forget. You answer a mean phone."
"Want to go apply for food stamps with me?" Then Eddi saw the phouka's smile. "What's your problem?"
"Why, nothing at all. In fact, this sounds amusing, and even educational."
"Not for you, buster," Eddi said, but she felt a cold spot growing in the pit of her stomach.
"No, really. I've never applied for food stamps—or employment, for that matter. Where do we go?" He tipped his head to one side and gave her one of the innocent, clear-eyed looks that she was beginning to dread.
"I can't find a job with you along," she said slowly.
"I promise to be on my very best behavior."
Eddi clasped her hands firmly under the table. "No matter what behavior you're on, you can't go with me. You don't go job hunting on the buddy system."
"Oh." He wasn't disappointed; he was . . . speculating. "Tell me, then—what will you do if someone offers you work?"
Eddi identified the cold spot in her stomach. Her jaw clenched as she stared at him, as he stared back.
"As I said to Carla, you must think of us as new lovers, my primrose. I can hardly be parted from you for minutes. I'm afraid separation for all the daylight hours is out of the question."
Eddi felt her anger pushing the tears up behind her eyes, and she shook her head hard and turned away. She would hate to let him see her cry, even from frustration. She rubbed her eyes, and winced when her fingers met the bruise that Stuart's blow had left.
God
, she thought,
I suppose I look like a battered woman
.
Carla was scowling at the tabletop, but the phouka was watching Eddi. "What are you thinking?" he asked suddenly.
"Me? Thinking?" Eddi said.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist lightly. "You. Thinking. I would very much prefer that you not cause me trouble over this."
"Let me go. Please." She said it a little louder than necessary, and saw the couple at the next table turn to look. Carla was looking, too, and frowning.
Follow my lead, kid
, Eddi prayed.
"No," said the phouka softly. "I suspect you'll do something foolish if I do."
Eddi pulled against his grip. "Please, you're hurting me!" He wasn't, but for an instant his fingers loosened. She stepped back, knocking her chair over.
The cafe manager appeared behind the phouka. "Do you need any help?" he asked Eddi, and rested a restraining hand on the phouka's shoulder.
She reached to touch her bruise and hoped it looked like an unconscious gesture. It was easy to draw a shaky breath. "Yes," she said. Then she met the phouka's eyes, and saw them widen. "I won't go back with you," she said loudly, and hoped it would carry. "I won't let you hit me again."
For an instant the phouka sat wide-eyed. Then he rose out of his chair with a snarl. Carla yelled, "Stop him! He'll kill her!"
As Eddi turned and ran for the door, she saw the manager grab the phouka's arms as a broad-shouldered patron stepped in front of him.
She twisted through the crowd lined up at the serving counter, thinking,
There's a taxi stand across from the Cedar Theatre. Oh, God, let there be a taxi there. . . .
She would go as far as she could afford to, and worry about a destination later.
The sky over Cedar Avenue was indigo, and the night air was a welcome slap against her skin. She sprinted across Riverside Boulevard, dodging traffic. Far down the street she could see the roof light of a taxi. Past the flower stand, past the bank—
From the inset doorway of a shop,
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