“A bar of soap. Will the amenities never end?” Laura wrinkled her nose. “When did you become such a snob? This isn’t the Waldorf-Astoria.” I noticed a stain on the ceiling above the bed the size of a placemat. “What’s that?” “A water stain, darling. Don’t you remember our first apartment?” I hefted a bag onto the bed, covered with a simple cream-colored cotton bedspread. “I never noticed, but you’ve probably seen more flaws in ceilings than I have.” “Oh!” She fired a hairbrush that narrowly missed my head. “You naughty boy.” I set about transferring clothes to the bottom two drawers of a maple dresser. Laura grew quiet. Something was wrong. As we unpacked, she eyed the phone. It was obvious she wanted to call her manager without me listening to the conversation. My guess was Paul wanted her to come back to Hollywood right away, and she didn’t want me to know. I finished unpacking, except for a leather case I slid under the bed without Laura noticing.
