"Going?"
"No. Here's a laugh. She didn't invite me."
"No kidding."
"I swear she didn't. Isn't that a scream? She borrowed a dozen forks and turned down my best tablecloth—because it wasn't white; it's ecru openwork lace, you know—and didn't invite me."
"Who's going? Have you any idea?"
"Yes. Friends of Billy's."
"Radio people?"
"Well, that's what Louise wanted me to believe, but I think they're paint salesmen. She's in a new apartment, you know."
"Oh, yes. Where?"
"West side. Bennett Avenue."
"That's fine. I'll go see her often."
"Yes. You and me both. I hope I get my forks back."
"You won't; so don't worry about them."
"I won't, heh? You don't know me."
Yes, Theresa did look pretty capable and prosperous, too. Of course an Essex wasn't a Packard. Still, Theresa got everywhere she wanted to go and wasn't starving to pay garage rent. Lillian liked the way her friend was dressed today. She had on a white flannel pleated skirt, a white sweater, and a white felt hat that was cut high above the eyebrows and low on the neck. Then on her feet were bright green kid pumps. Theresa had white pumps, but it amused her to wear the unexpected. When she did that she felt that she was outwitting the part of her nature that wrangled with fruit dealers over a nickel.
