“But he ‘is’ dead? You’re sure about that?”

I told her I was sure, all right. Plenty sure. “If he ain’t, he’s the first live man I’ve ever seen who could hold still while he was getting kicked in the balls.”

Rose’s eyes lit up like I’d given her a Christmas party. Then she threw herself back on the pillows, rocking with laughter.

“Holy Jesus, so the stinking son-of-a-bitch is really dead! I’m through with the dirty bastard at last!”

“Well, sir, it sure looks that way,” I said.

“Goddam him! I just wish I’d have been there to kick him myself, the bastardly son~of-a-bitchin’ whoremonger!” she said, adding on a few more choice names. “You know what I’d have liked to do to that dirty bastard, Nick? I’d have liked to take me a red hot poker and jabbed it right up the filthy son-of-a-bitch’s—uh, what’s the matter, honey?”

“Nothin’,” I said. “I mean, maybe we ought to show a little more respect for ol’ Tom, him bein’ dead and all. It just don’t seem quite fittin’ to low-rate the dead with a lot of dirty names.”

“You mean I shouldn’t call the son-of-a-bitch a son-of-a-bitch?”

“Well, now, it don’t sound real good, does it?” I said. “It don’t sound nice a-tall.”

Rose said it sounded just fine to her, but if it bothered me she’d try to watch her tongue. “That son-of-a-bitch caused enough trouble while he was alive without fouling us up afterward. Anyway, I’d do anything to please you, sweetheart. Anything you want, darling.”

“Then, why ain’t you doin’ it?” I said. “How come you still got your dress on?”

“Goddam,” she said, looking down at herself. “Rip the goddam thing off, will you, honey?”

I started ripping, and she started helping me with my clothes. And things were getting right to the most interesting point when the phone rang. Rose cussed and said to let the goddam thing go, but I said it might be Myra—which it was—so she stalked out in the kitchen and answered it.

She talked quite a while. Or, rather, she listened to Myra talking. About all Rose got to say was a lot of well-I-declare’s and you-don’t-say-so’s and so on. Finally, she said, “Why, of course I’ll tell him, Myra, dear. Just as soon as he comes in from the field. And you and Lennie take care of your sweet selves until I see you again.”

Rose slammed up the phone, and came back to where I was. I asked her what Myra wanted, and she said it could wait, goddam it. There were more important things to do right now.

“Like what?” I said.

“Like this,” she said. “‘This!’”

So we didn’t do no talking for quite a while.

Not until afterwards, when we lay side by side, holding hands and breathing in long deep breaths. Then, finally, she turned around facing me, her head propped up on her elbow, and told me about Myra’s call.

“Looks like a day for good news, honey. First, that son-of-a-bitch, Tom, gets killed, and now it looks like you’re a cinch to get re-elected.”