A Key to the Suite by John D. MacDonald

and went on up to his room.
    He was wearily and dutifully brushing his teeth when the room phone rang. He hurried to the phone, half expecting long distance, half expecting some kind of family disaster.
    “Floyd?” she said in a small wary voice.
    “In that good school, were you by any chance on the track team?” He stretched out on the bed.
    “Tennis, swimming, field hockey. No track team. I just got home. Just this minute.”
    “Did you ever get to put your shoes on?”
    “Darling, I know you’re keeping it all very light and gay so that this won’t be an awkward sort of conversation, and I do treasure you for it. But I feel wretched, and I want you to please let me go on feeling wretched. And guilty.”
    “Why be guilty?”
    “Because it was all so damn contrived, dear. When we started out, I didn’t want to be put in a cab all of a sudden. I wanted to be kissed, and I meant to be kissed, and, damn it, I lied and fiddled around until I made sure that I did get kissed. You were like they say, a helpless pawn.”
    “We pawns make out pretty good.”
    “Floyd?”
    “Yes?”
    “It turned out to be more of a much than I’d planned on.”
    “I know.”
    “My mouth is bruised, and I keep getting these stupid trembling feelings like waves, and they go from my scalp right down to my toes and back up again.”
    “Best of luck.”
    “Tell me I did right to run.”
    “You did exactly right, Cory honey.”
    “And we have to leave it right there, don’t we?”
    “At the moment that seems like a cheerless prospect.”
    “Oh, I know. I know. But this hit a little too hard to … seem safe.”
    “Yes indeed.”
    “Somebody has to do the running.”
    “And you did it. You’re a good sensible girl.”
    “Yes, damn me. Floyd?”
    “Yes, dear?”
    “I messed myself up. I don’t want to mess you up too.”
    “Could you?”
    “Help me, darn it! Tell me to stay the hell away from you.”
    “Sure. Stay away from me.”
    “Do you think it’s going to be easy?”
    “Certainly not. Now do me the same favor.”
    “Okay. Floyd, stay away from me.”
    “I’ll give it a try.”
    “Did anything ever happen to anybody so sudden?”
    “They say it does sometimes.”
    “Never to me.”
    “Or to me, before.”
    “Floyd, darling, we’re just going to have to be terribly rational about it. Avoiding each other is just going to be tantalizing. The best thing we can possibly do is get together tomorrow, by the cruel light of day and talk it to death. What do you think?”
    “Talking should do it. I’m still a coward.”
    “What were you doing when the phone rang?”
    “Well, I didn’t catch this girl’s name, it all happened so suddenly, and it looks now as if she’s given up and gone to sleep, but …”
    “Floyd!”
    “Actually, I was burnishing my fangs and thinking of you.”
    “What were you thinking about me?”
    “Actually, I was trying to decide what to think about you. I was trying to establish an attitude, I guess. But I was, and still am, a little too dazed to make very much headway with it. You see, Cory, this doesn’t happen to Floyd Hubbard. It’s out of character. One of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen just doesn’t fall into his arms. So Hubbard isn’t ready. Right now he feels like a gay blade. Inside he’s doing some swashing and a little buckling. He’s got an imaginary waxed mustache. Hell, honey, he’s flattered all to pieces, and half convinced they drugged you in that bar, and pretty certain that by tomorrow you’ll laugh yourself sick.”
    “No, Floyd. No. Don’t ever think that.”
    “The very first time I fell in love I was eleven, and she was a saucy little redhead named Ruthie. A very advanced ten. Sophisticated. I saved a buck thirty-nine and bought one hell of a big valentine heart full of candy and went shivering to her door that Sunday morning. She came to the door and I held it out and said, ‘Duh … uh … duh …’ She snatched it away, and