Playdate
The maid had gone out on some errands, so when the bell rang, Dora Cohn herself had to answer. She opened the door and stared into the handsome face of a DC official whom she was supposed to scorn, as he held profoundly Democrat views. But it was clear that he had only come on an informal visit. He was wearing a white tennis sweater, matching trousers and linen shoes and clutching a football. ‘Well, well, it’s Mr. Fuller!’ she cried.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs. Cohn,’ Mr. Fuller smiled. ‘I was wondering if Roy could come out and play. The sun is shining and…’
Dora Cohn could never resist a Southern accent, especially if it came from a beautiful human specimen like Hawkins Fuller. I wish my son had this man’s looks, she thought.
‘Roy has a business meeting in town at four,’ she said. ‘But there’s still time. He could do with a bit of fresh air anyway. Do come in – oh, wipe your feet, young man, the maid vacuumed the rug this morning.’
While he stood holding the football in the hallway, she positioned herself at the bottom of the staircase and roared: ‘Ro-o-oy!! Come here, you’ve got a visitor!’
‘Who?’ it sounded from upstairs, irritable, hostile.
‘It’s your friend from the State Department!’ she bellowed. ‘Put on some old clothes, the two of you are going to play in the garden, not in the house, understood?’
Her son grumbled some words of reluctant consent. She sighed with relief and then offered Mr. Fuller a glass of lemonade and some cookies, which he could have at leisure while Roy got changed.