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It was from Jacky Jakes. It gave a phone number and just said Not between 1 and 3.
Suddenly Greg could not wait to get rid of Rita. "What time are you expected home?" he asked unsubtly.
She looked at her watch. "Oh, my gosh, I should be there before my mother starts looking for me." She had told her parents she was staying over with a girlfriend.
They got dressed together and left in two cabs.
Greg figured the phone number must be Jacky's place of work, and she would be busy between one o'clock and three. He would phone her around midmorning.
He wondered why he was so excited. After all, he was only curious. Rita Lawrence was great-looking and very sexy, but with her and several others he had never recaptured the excitement of that first affair with Jacky. No doubt that was because he could never again be fifteen years old.
He got to the Old Executive Office Building and began his main task for the day, which was drafting a press release on advice to Americans living in North Africa, where British, Italians, and Germans fought backward and forward, mostly on a coastal strip two thousand miles long and forty miles wide.
At ten thirty he phoned the number on the message.
A woman's voice answered: "University Women's Club." Greg had never been there: men went only as guests of female members.
He said: "Is Jacky Jakes there?"
"Yes, she's expecting a call. Please hold on." She probably had to get special permission to receive a phone call at work, he reflected.
A few moments later he heard: "This is Jacky, who's that?"
"Greg Peshkov."
"I thought so. How did you get my address?"
"I hired a private detective. Can we meet?"
"I guess we have to. But there's one condition."
"What?"
"You have to swear by all that's holy not to tell your father. Never, ever."
"Why?"
"I'll explain later."
He shrugged. "Okay."
"Do you swear?"
"Sure."
She persisted. "Say it."
"I swear it, okay?"
"All right. You can buy me lunch."
Greg frowned. "Are there any restaurants in this neighborhood that will serve a white man and a black woman together?"
"Only one that I know of--the Electric Diner."
"I've seen it." He had noticed the name, but he had never been inside: it was a cheap lunch counter used by janitors and messengers. "What time?"
"Half past eleven."
