“I see you still don’t like subways.”
“Hate ’em,” I said. We’d climbed back to the street near Washington Square, were crossing it now and watching the old men in overcoats and scarves feeding peanuts to the pigeons.
Stephanie wore one of those nubby coats pinched tight at the waist and flaring below it. A beret perched jauntily atop her head. “I don’t want you to think it’s too awful,” she said. “Me modeling like that.”
“Fifteen bucks an hour minimum, isn’t it? Even Pop shouldn’t complain about that.”
“Jason. Pop isn’t so bad. You two never got along, did you?” Her lips worked, as if she couldn’t make up her mind whether to go on talking. Then she blurted, “It isn’t the money. I used to do free-lance modeling for ad agencies, at the same pay. I don’t need this.”
“So?”
“So…I can’t te
