“Tonic will be fine.”
“Would you rather have juice?”
“Tonic.”
“You’re not a drinker, are you?”
“No.”
“Come on in the kitchen.” She opened the refrigerator. “How about . . .”—she made a quick inventory with her hands—“a piece of pie, then? Karo pecan, it’s dynamite.”
“Fine.”
She took a whole pie from the icebox and put it on the counter.
Hands pointing straight down, she spread her fingers along the edge of the pie tin until its circumference told her that her middle fingers were at nine and three o’clock. Then she touched her thumbtips together and brought them down to the surface of the pie to locate its exact center. She marked the center with a toothpick.
Dolarhyde tried to make conversation to keep her from feeling his stare. “How long have you been at Baeder?” No S’s in that one.
“Three months. Didn’t you know?”
“They tell me the minimum.”
She grinned. “You probably stepped on some toes when you laid out the darkrooms. Listen, the techs love you for it. The plumbing works and there are plenty of outlets. Two-twenty wherever you need it.”
She put the middle finger of her left hand on the toothpick, her thumb on the edge of the tin and cut him a slice of pie, guiding the knife with her left index finger.
He watched her handle the bright knife. Strange to look at the front of a woman as much as he liked. How often in company can one look where he wants to look?
She made herself a stiff gin and tonic and they went into the living room. She passed her hand over a floor lamp, felt no heat, switched it on.
Dolarhyde ate his pie in three bites and sat stiffly on the couch, his sleek hair shining under the lamp, his powerful hands on his knees.
She put her head back in her chair and propped her feet on an ottoman.
“When will they film at the zoo?”
“Maybe next week.” He was glad he had called the zoo and offered the infrared film: Dandridge might check.
“It’s a great zoo. I went with my sister and my niece when they came to help me move in. They have the contact area, you know. I hugged this llama. It felt nice, but talk about aroma, boy . . . I thought I was being followed by a llama until I changed my shirt.”
This was Having a Conversation. He had to say something or leave. “How did you come to Baeder?”
“They advertised at the Reiker Institute in Denver where I was working. I was checking the bulletin board one day and just happened to come across this job. Actually, what happened, Baeder had to shape up their employment practices to keep this Defense contract. They managed to pack six women, two blacks, two Chicanos, an Oriental, a paraplegic, and me into a total of eight hirings. We all count in at least two categories, you see.”
“You worked out well for Baeder.”
“The others did too. Baeder’s not giving anything away.”
“Before that?” He was sweating a little. Conversation was hard. Looking was good, though. She had good legs. She had nicked an ankle shaving. Along his arms a sense of the weight of her legs, limp.
“I trained newly blind people at the Reiker Institute in Denver for ten years after I finished school. This is my first job on the outside.”
“Outside of what?”
“Out in the big world. It was really insular at Reiker. I mean, we were training people to live in the sighted world and we didn’t live in it ourselves. We talked to each other too much. I thought I’d get out and knock around a little. Actually, I had intended to go into speech therapy, for speech-and-hearing-impaired children. I expect I’ll go back to that, one of these days.” She drained her glass. “Say, I’ve got some Mrs. Paul’s crab-ball miniatures in here. They’re pretty good. I shouldn’t have served dessert first. Want some?”
“Um-hmmm.”