George reached over to help with Casey’s packages. She was holding a large hatbox and two tote bags, one stuffed with papers from work and the other with millinery supplies.
“Give you a hand?” he asked.
“No, no, it’s okay,” she answered, readjusting a long-handled cloth bag sloping off her shoulder. It was less than half a dozen steps to the elevator. “Thank you, though. You’re a sweetie—but can you buzz me up?”
“He knows you’re coming. The apartment door will be open. He was taking a shower about ten minutes ago. Said to send you up.” George winked. “Guess he’s cleaning up for you.”
“Well, that’s good.” Casey laughed. “Soap is a nice thing. We girls like clean.”
“Don’t get me started.” Kathleen made him scrub his nails with a little brush before dinner.
Casey smiled at him. He was a nice man.
George watched her walk away, then step into the elevator. Not enough bounce in the rear, he thought. The bigger the cushion, the better the pushin’。
Casey nudged the door open. Unu had grown up in Dallas, the youngest of four—with two brothers and a sister. He’d attended the St. Mark’s school and was president of his fraternity at Dartmouth. Member of the golf team and blackjack aficionado. Walter and Hugh, who covered Unu, a buy-side analyst, said that he was crazy smart, but not very flexible in his market calls. The only thing Casey didn’t get about Unu was his divorce. The other aspects of his life made sense to her. She was admittedly curious about the former wife who’d left him for her childhood boyfriend. They had no contact, but he didn’t appear bitter about her.
Unu walked out of his bedroom, wet hair combed, wearing faded khakis and a clean white undershirt. His feet were bare, and short black hairs sprouted from his toes.
“You left the door open,” she said.
“Baby, take whatever you want.” He waved his arms out like a modest game show host before a stage filled with prizes. Unu had no regard for crime or theft, leaving valuables out in the open and bundles of cash unlocked in drawers.
Casey pretended to case the apartment. She put down her tote bags on the nearest chair and placed her free hand on her hip.
“Hello there,” he said, and came over to kiss her. “Good dress.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
Casey liked the way he kissed. He had this way of putting her lower lip or upper lip between his tenderly, while his left hand would recede to the back of her neck, his fingers playing in her hair. He closed his eyes when he did this.
“Mmm. Thank you,” he said. Unu removed her hat and held her close to him.
“For what?” She laughed.
“For coming by. For wearing your perfume. I looked forward to seeing you today.”
Casey smiled. What was she to make of him? He wasn’t her boyfriend really. They didn’t call each other that. She had no idea what she was to him exactly. They never spoke about love or the relationship, but he’d been quite clear that he’d never marry again, and Casey, twenty-five years old, about to start B school in the fall, had no interest in marriage herself. But they had something between them, and all of their restraint and refusal to make explicit commitments had given their meetings a kind of inadvertent mystery; perhaps it could even be called romance. It was as if at any moment, each could decide to vanish. Expect nothing and never disappoint; never harm and be kind. Enjoy the moment. Those precepts seemed to govern their behavior. It was an interesting way to run a relationship and unfamiliar to both of them. Casey liked the freedom and spontaneity of their arrangement, but at times it was downright odd and hard to explain to others （the boys at the desk were often asking their status）。 Also, now and then she wanted to know what to call what they had, in light of what seemed to her to be real feelings.
“What are you holding in your other hand?”
“I have a present for you.” Casey lifted up the hatbox by its cord handle.
“It’s not my birthday or Christmas.”
“Shall I return it?”
“No.” He took it from her, a big grin spreading across his face.
Casey watched him open the hatbox. She loved to give presents. If she had pots of money, she’d never be able to stop.
“It’s amazing,” he said. Unu put the gray fedora on his head. It had a conservative brim and an anthracite-colored, tailored-bow band. Size 7?.
“How’s the fit?” Casey tilted her gaze to check his profile. He looked wonderful, like a Chinese movie star from the forties.