"Yes it's me—you brainless infant!" Her raincape's streaming with water in the reflection of the flashlight she's waving around. "And what's the idea sleeping out here in your jalopy in the rain!"

"I was not sleeping in no rain."

"Oh shut up and come on!" And she yanks him out of the soggy seat.

Frankie feels like a bad kid being led home by his mamma. "Well, gee whiz—"

"Give me the keys!"

"Keys?"

"Never mind you went off and left them in the lock again!" So she opens the door, snaps on the light and hauls him into the dry inside of Link One. Tossing off her cape and coat, she turns on him with blue eyes snapping. "Now start taking those clothes off!"

"Yes, ma'am." Frankie peels off his jacket and stands watching her light the grill to warm the place up.

She looks up. "I said take off your clothes!"

"But—"

"Oh, sit down!"

Frankie sits and says with what dignity he has left, "Miss Mulvaney, this ain't no way for no employer and employee to act—"

She yanks off his squishy shoes and soggy sox and says, "Stand up!"

Frankie stands. "Especially when the employee of us is going to marry a pop peddler with a—"

"Take off those pants!"

"Miss Mulvan—"

"And put on my coat!" She hands it to him and turns her lovely back.

"But, Miss Mul—"

She whirls with blue eyes flashing sparks and wonderful mouth still going ninety miles a second. "I am not marrying any two-timing, double-crossing, three-faced jackass—and if you don't get those old wet pants off I'll take them off myself, and do you want to die of pneumonia or something?" She whirls and stands with her back to him again.

Frankie just blinks like he's been slapped in the map with a 

 Prev. P 11/12 next