The dark lady in the jodhpurs handed me a glass and perched on the arm of my chair. "You may call me Dolores if you wish," she said, taking a hearty swig out of her own tumbler.
"Thanks."
"And what may I call you?"
I grinned.
"Of course," she said, "I am most fully aware that you are a God-damn liar and that you have no stills in your pockets. Not that I wish to inquire into your no doubt very private business."
"Yeah?" I inhaled a couple of inches of my liquor. "Just what kind of bath is Miss Weld taking? An old-fashioned soap or something with Arabian spices in it?"
She waved the remains of the brown cigarette in the small gold clasp. "Perhaps you would like to help her. The bathroom is over there -- through the arch and to the right. Most probably the door is not locked."
"Not if it's that easy," I said.
"Oh," she gave me the brilliant smile again. "You like to do the difficult things in life. I must remember to be less approachable, must I not?" She removed herself elegantly from the arm of my chair and ditched her cigarette, bending over enough so that I could trace the outline of her hips.
"Don't bother, Miss Gonzalez. I'm just a guy who came here on business. I don't have any idea of raping anybody."
"No?" The smile became soft, lazy and, if you can't think of a better word, provocative.
"But I'm sure as hell working up to it," I said.
-- The Little Sister, 1949
Comments