39
Toronto 1961
I’d just switched off the phonograph, downed the dregs of the Canadian Club I’d been sipping and stubbed out my last cigarette of the day when I heard a knock at the door.
I opened it warily. Miryam stood on the threshold with an inscrutable expression on her face. She’d taken to wearing perfume. I inhaled it feeling like I’d come face to face with Helena Rubinstein. I transformed into a bee drunk on nectar.
“Invite me in? Please?”
I stood back to let her pass. My brain sounded the alarm, but my balls reacted otherwise.
She took off her coat and handed it to me. She wore a pale summery dress, also something new for her.
“Drink?” I asked.
“Sure.” She moved to the sofa and sat down. She seemed nervous and fidgety. She hunted around in her purse for a moment before fin
