She wasn’t really a cop, she was a clerk-cop. And she started coming in and telling me about a guy who wore a purple stick pin and was a “real gentleman.”

“Oh, he’s so kind!”

I heard all about him each night.

“Well,” I’d ask, “how was old Purple Stickpin tonight?” “Oh,” she said, “you know what happened?”

“No, babe, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Oh, he’s SUCH a gentleman!”

“All right. All right. What happened?” “You know, he has suffered so much!”

“Of course.”

“His wife died, you know.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Don’t be so flip. I’m telling you, his wife died and it cost him 15 thousand dollars in medical and burial bills.”

“All right. So?”

“I was walking down the hall. He was coming the other way. We met. He looked at me, and with this Turkish accent he said, ‘Ah, you are so beautiful!’ And you know what he did?”

“No, babe, tell me. Tell me quick.”

“He kissed me on the forehead, lightly, ever so lightly. And then he walked on.”

“I can tell you something about him, babe. He’s seen too many movies.”

“How did you know?”

“Whatchamean?”

“He owns a drive-in theatre. He operates it after work each night.”

“That figures,” I said.

“But he’s such a gentleman!” she said. “Look, babe, I don’t want to hurt you, but—”

“But what?”

“Look, you’re small-town. I’ve had over 50 jobs, maybe a hun– dred. I’ve never stayed anywhere long. What I am trying to say is, there is a certain game played in offices all over America. The people are bored, they don’t know what to do, so they play the office-romance game. Most of the time it means nothing but the passing of time. Sometimes they do manage to work off a screw or two on the side. But even then, it is just an offhand past-time, like bowling or t.v. or a New Year’s eye party. You’ve got to understand that it doesn’t mean anything and then you won’t get hurt. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I think that Mr. Partisian is sincere.”

“You’re going to get stuck with that pin, babe, don’t forget I told you. Watch those slicks. They are as phony as a lead dime.”

“He’s not phony. He’s a gentleman. He’s a real gentleman. I wish you were a gentleman.”

I gave it up. I sat on the couch and took my scheme sheet and tried to memorize Babcock Boulevard. Babcock broke: 14, 39, 51, 62. What the hell? Couldn’t I remember that?