Claires' living room. Gaylord immediately drew the drapes and opened the blinds.
"Kinda dark, wasn't it," he said. "Let's go to my room and I'll change."
Rogers followed him up the stairs. He liked the feel of the carpet under his boots. "This rug's as soft as cow …" he stopped and laughed.
Gaylord grinned at him … "Did you mean cow shit?"
"How'd you know?"
"That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?"
"Well … yes …"
"Say it then … it is soft, isn't it?"
"They both are," grinned Rogers.
It was an odd comparison, but it struck Gaylord as being rather clever.
In his room, Gaylord bade Rogers to make himself at home and that he would hurry. Rogers glanced from the drapes to the large nude picture. He was impressed by everything. "Durn, this is a pretty room," he said and meant every word.
"Like it, Glenn? I did it myself."
"You did?"
"Sure did."
"I didn't know you could paint and paper. Mother does, but I didn't think you could. I can't worth a darn. I help her paste though. I can do that."
"Oh I didn't do the actual work. I just chose the colors and things."
"You sure did a good job … it sure is pretty."
"Let's see," Gaylord began, opening his clothes closet and looking back at Rogers, "what in the world should I wear." He wished he would have said, "Hell."
"Anything old. There's lots of brush so don't wear anything good because you might ruin it."
Gaylord pulled out a pair of light blue gabardine slacks, said, "Guess these'll do."
"Hell, Gay," Rogers cried. "Those look brand new. Don't you have some jeans or khakis?"
