Her hair hung in a fat glossy braid and she clasped her hands behind her neck looking wise. “I could have told you six months ago you wanted her …”
She did not know what six months could hold. Vera haunted the corner of his eye by flashes: barefoot in pants and loose olive sweater. He felt removed from Sam and patient.
A goldbrown shirt brought out the blood in her cheeks. “Now you’ve let her move in with some guy and then you complain you can’t reach her. All this static. I can’t figure you both out. Are you looking for an excuse to give up?”
“Not hardly. But you don’t patch up with someone by twisting her arm.”
“I don’t see why not.” Sam looked with private meaning at Gino slumped against the wall. “If you do it nicely.”
“You want her to come to you.” Gino squinted up through the bottom of a popbottle. “Why should she? She has a scene going.”
“But she always does have.” In which she was just like him.
“Because she’s open.” Gino scratched his crotch.
