Paradoxically, the conquest would result in her despising him. And then their friendship would cease.
She was fairly wealthy, she told him. He, as she could see, was poor. That would make no difference. She'd pay the bills. Of course, if he objected to her self-constituted dictatorship, he could throw her out. In the meantime, she would consider him as just another guinea pig, subject of an experiment.
She asked questions. She wanted to know all about him. Gray dawn silvered the city as he told her.
On his mind lay a heavy memory. Of when he could dance.
He told her about his leg injury. He did not explain why he had thrust his leg through the taxicab window. He could not have revived the emotion of that moment nor, if he had tried, could he have analyzed it in simple words. He preferred to call it an accident.
"But why worry about dancing again?" she said. "You don't have to dance for a living. I have money. Father has plenty more. If you want to, we can produce shows together."
"I don't know much about producing," he said.
"You can learn. Money will buy the knowledge of others. And we'll have fun, shan't we?"
Soon he was stronger, ready to stand on his own feet. He awoke on the fourth morning. She was not there. The News lay on a chair. A knock on the door.
"Miss Leeds," said the boy, "told me to serve your breakfast at nine. She'll be here at ten."
Grapefruit, Canadian bacon, rolls, eggs, chocolate. His appetite was good.
