The Deep Blue Good-By

Authors: John D. Macdonald

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“It gives me the sinus. I layover there and go out at ten tomorrow, and somehow Houston is always a drag, you know?" The mild misty blue eyes watched me and the mouth smiled and she waited for my move. You can run into the Tiger's Perpetual Floating House Party almost anywhere. At 28,000 feet, and at the same 800 fps muzzle velocity of a.45 caliber service pistol. Nobody leaves marks on anybody. You meet indirectly, cling for a moment and glance off. Then she would be that hostess in Houston and I would be that tanned one from Florida, a small memory of chlorinated pool water, fruit juice and gin, steak raw in the middle, and hearty rhythms in the draperied twilight of the tombcool motel cubicle, riding the grounded flesh of the jet-stream Valkyrie. A harmless pleasure.
For harmless plastic people, scruff-proof, who can create the delusion of romance.
But it is a common rudeness to refuse the appetizer without at least saying it looks delicious.
"I'd settle for Houston,' I said with a ...manufactured wistfulness.MoreLess Show More Show Less

The Deep Blue Good-By

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