Chapter VII
We were on the way back, almost at the end of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, along the piers and towards the bridges.
"... and now, where shall we go?" Norma had asked.
"To eat something good."
"To eat? Are you hungry?!"
"I ate almost nothing." I’d had an inspiration. Very cautiously, I had ventured: "If you know of a kitchen that’s available, I could prepare something acceptably enjoyable."
"You know how to cook? and do you like it?" Her voice smacked of surprise and amusement: "I hate it."
"I like it and at least I know what I’m eating; but where can we find a kitchen?" I had touched her arm in a very short caress.
"At my place," she had smiled.
It was a small home in the Thirty-fourth, near Herald Square in Manhattan, on the ground floor of a newly repainted vintag
