She wore two shades of blue that had been selected because of those eyes. The hair curling from under her blue hat was darkly red, her full lips more brightly red. White teeth glistened in the crescent her timid smile made. Essie said, "Mr. Shovel this is Miss Wenderly."
Essies voice underlined the Miss...subtly...but taking a shot
gay indian men at Shovel in a manner known only to them. A shared inside joke.
Shovel was unruffled, he rose and bowing, indicated the oaken armchair beside his desk. He was quite six feet tall. The steep rounded slope of his shoulders made his body seem almost conical- no broader than it was thick- and kept his freshly pressed grey coat from fitting very well.
Miss Wenderly murmured, "Thank you," softly. She sat on the edge of the oak seat, and crossed fantastic legs. Shovel missed not a thing. He sank into his swivel chair, made a quarter turn to face her, and make looking up her skirt easier, and smiled politely. His smile did not make his lips separate, but did make his face grow longer.
The silence grew longer, broken only by the tippity-tap-tap of Essies typing from the outer office. Shovel was content to eye her stocking covered thigh, and wait.
Miss Wenderly watched the ashes from many hand-rolled cigarettes idly blow across the blotter on Shovels desk, and her eyes rabbited around the room.
They were uneasy. She scooted to the very edge of her chair, one foot flat on the floor, the other crossed, she did not seem to know that she was exposing her thigh almost to
gay indian men the point where her garter belt attached to her stocking. Her hands in dark gloves clasped a flat dark handbag in her lap.
He decided enough was enough, and asked, "Now what can I do for you, Miss Wenderly?"
She caught her breath and looked at him. She swallowed and said hurriedly: "Could you--
gay indian men? I thought I - that is- " Then she tortured her lower lip with glistening teeth and said nothing. Only her
gay indian men eyes spoke now, pleading.
Shovel smiled and nodded as if he understood her, but pleasantly, as if nothing serious were involved. He said, "Suppose you tell me about
gay indian men it, from the beginning, and then well know what needs doing. Better to begin as far back as
gay indian men you can."
Miss Wenderly began a long involved tale involving her younger sister, who
gay indian men had run off from New York with a married man, fled here to California, and Miss Wenderly wanted to find her before their parents
gay indian men returned from Europe.
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