She was still early for dinner but nonetheless found Will waiting for her in the restaurant. The booths were screened off from the clamor of the gaming floor by wavy, orange glass. Yet Will’s eyes were on her as soon as she came round the partition, as if he had somehow already seen her. She smiled at him. Then froze mid-step.
Sitting across from Will in the booth was a second man, a stranger. She inwardly said an unladylike word, the sort that never escaped the parentheses of her frankest feelings.
Several times previously Will had introduced young men to her, all of them of inelegant appearance, small prospects, limited education, and unappealing manners. Even seen from an oblique angle, on first glance this one appeared to be of the type. Although sitting, he was half a head taller than Dubykky. And hulking.
Probably loutish.
She paced her progress toward the booth to look him over. There was nothing to alter her first impression. His dark hair was crew-cut, a style she disliked as too square, too collegiate. His face was round and small, although the eyes were large and under brows surprisingly slender for a man. His ears stuck out. His lips were full to the point of babyishness, his nose unremarkable. Overall, he looked pleasantly plain, if immature. His expression was expectant, which made Mildred impatient. The nerve! Will was fixing her up again, and she wouldn’t have it. She was perfectly capable of finding a man on her own. She hesitated at the front of the booth, then sat on Will’s side.
“Hello, Milly,” Will said easily and, as was characteristic of him, without smiling. “I’d like you to meet my new partner, Milton Cledge.”
Partner? Another attorney in Will’s practice? Mildred’s attitude shifted. Brightened. She smiled shyly and, removing her gloves, extended her hand. Cledge’s grip was warm and gently firm, his smile charming. But, she realized, even despite the charming smile Cledge was still homely and he had a surprisingly rough hand, like a working man’s.
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Cledge said.
Mildred’s attitude dimmed once more. Not only was it a stilted greeting but his voice was too creamy. Large light-brown eyes, round head, creamy voice—Mildred thought of Guernsey cows. She let the smile relax from her face. She shot Will arch looks as the three of them went through the pleasantries and background inquiries typical upon meeting someone for the first time.
Cledge, a graduate of McGeorge School of Law in Sacramento, had just passed the bar, Will explained, and was joining the office to specialize in land and tax law. At that point Mildred, losing interest in the conversation, largely ceased paying attention. The men talked law and local politics, to which, out of politeness, she added vague murmurs now and then while reading the menu. Or pretending to. It was short, and she had long had it by heart. What she was really doing inwardly was deciding how much anger she should reveal to Will later. Somehow she would have to tell him never to try fixing her up again but do it without alienating him.
The waitress appeared, old blobby Bobbie Rooney, and Will ordered a martini and Milton a whiskey soda. “And Milly will have a glass of Chianti,” Will told Mrs. Rooney. He winked at Mildred’s astonishment. “I called Gladys,” he assured her, “and it’s all right if you have just one glass.”
She was very pleased. She liked red wine. More than that she liked it that Will had gone to the trouble to make her feel at ease by getting permission from her mother first. Yet Mildred was also embarrassed. To say such a thing in front of a stranger! Milton Cledge couldn’t have been above three years older than Mildred, and here she was being made to look like a teenager who had to check in with her mother over every little thing.
Mrs. Rooney huffed and informed them that there was no chicken or pork available that night, only lamb and beef. So a chop and two steaks were the orders, and Mrs. Rooney hobbled away wearily, as if the food were already weighing her down. Now that Hawthorne had passed two thousand population—again—there were more outsiders, like the two lawyers, for a local gal to make time with. Rooney had always liked silly Milly Warden, so good luck to her. Except it would be better if these two were the tipping type of lawyers rather than the skinflint type.
Dubykky and Cledge spoke of Hawthorne, the ammunition depot at Babbitt next door, and Mineral County, including the Paiute reservation twenty-five miles north of Hawthorne in an elbow of the Walker River at Schurz. All from the angle of legal work. Dubykky looked more at Mildred than at Cledge, even though the discussion was meant for him. He was expecting her to chip in information, such as historical tidbits or local color, about which she was an authority. But she wasn’t having it. It was a bald ploy to make her be friendly to Cledge.
Finally, Dubykky said to her pointedly, “I talked to Dale Remus today, Milly.” He waited.
Mildred could not help herself. She stifled a giggle and had to cover it by asking, “What now?”
Dubykky was deadpan, something he did superbly, but there was a merry crinkle by his eyes. “Dale said there was another test shot this morning.”
Mildred replied airily, “Anybody would know that. It was announced in the papers.” Then Dubykky and Mildred burst out laughing.
The test detonation of an atomic bomb at the Nevada Proving Grounds two hundred miles to the south was always announced beforehand as a public service. Some people in Las Vegas liked to climb on top the tallest casinos and watch the mushroom cloud billow up from the desert.
“What’s so funny?” asked Cledge.
Mildred tried to keep a straight face as she replied, “Dale Remus forgot how to read almost as fast as he learned sixty years ago.”
The answer brought an odd expression to Cledge, part perplexity, part admiration and a dose of wariness. To Mildred it was cute. Dubykky explained about the atomic explosions and how they were a great point of controversy locally. He pointed to a sign near the restaurant entrance. It read, “This air filtered for your protection.” Some locals worried about atomic fallout, even though the government insisted there was no danger at all.
“I wondered about that,” said Cledge. “Then why wouldn’t this Remus fellow …?”
“He’s also deaf as a mule,” Mildred interrupted and laughed again.
“Then how …?”
Dubykky explained, “Dale claims he can feel the radiation pass through his body. That’s the way he knows when there’s been a test.”
A strange expression flitted across Cledge’s face. He suspected he was being made the butt of a joke. “No,” he said uncertainly.
“Fact.” Mildred grinned. “Oh, there are nuttier characters around here than Mr. Remus,” she went on. “Odder, old and young,” she added after a hesitation.
Dubykky eyed her curiously.
Noting it with satisfaction, Mildred began, “At the library today, well, you know how windy it’s been? I hope it doesn’t blow any radiation our way. Ha, ha. Well, there I was and … this was late afternoon …”
“Milly,” Will interrupted, a touch of scolding in his voice.
“Yes, of course.” Mildred had a tendency to wander. She concentrated. “There was this boy. I was reading the latest Saturday Evening Post, an article about Cocteau—no, wait, maybe that was two weeks ago in the March fifth issue. It really was a disappointing article, and all the disappointing articles sort of run together in my head, and I don’t like the man’s films at all anyway.” At a look from Dubykky, she said hastily, “Oh, yes. Certainly. The boy. Imagine! The wind is so shrieky I can hardly hear over it, and I look up. There he is. Abracadabra! Smack in front of my desk. I didn’t hear a whisper of him coming in. It was just like that, there he is, and, oh, Will, he was such an odd little boy.”
Mildred described the boy minutely, dwelling especially on the four-digit hand