A Key to the Suite

Eight

Rooms 852 and 854 were interconnecting, but the door was closed and locked between them when Dave Daniels led Fred Frick into 852 and shut the door.

“Now we’ll have a nifty little drink,” Dave said.

“Damn it, Dave, I’ve been telling you, I got a lot of things to do. Unless I keep on top of things every minute...”

“Stop flapping around, for Chrissake! Here’s your drink.”

“I’ve had enough, and you’ve had enough,” Frick said, taking the glass and sitting on the bed. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Dave, for your own good.”

“Yes, father.”

“Take it seriously, boy, because it is serious. You’ve got the Chicago setup, and you’ve done a good job, which I’ll be the first to admit, but the way you’re acting around here, you can bitch the whole thing. People are talking about it, Dave.”

“Screw them all, every one.”

“But you’re not doing Jesse any good. Don’t you have any loyalty? He’s given you your break. Maybe you don’t care what you do to yourself, but you’re hurting Jesse in front of this Hubbard.”

“Screw that little Greek too.”

“Who says he’s Greek?”

“He looks Greek. And you look like a Swede pimp. You know that, Freddy? Just like a Swede pimp.”

Frick stood up. “You’re too drunk to make any sense. I didn’t come in here to...”

“Sit down or I’ll sit you down!” Dave Daniels roared. His voice softened. “Okay. So maybe I’ve been a little bit out of line. I’m willing to admit it.”

“So?” Frick said warily.

“What’s got me so all messed up, old buddy, is that little Barlund broad, and that’s what I brought you in here about. She keeps brushing me off, and I want her so bad it makes my teeth ache. You’re in charge of arrangements, Freddy, and this is one arrangement you’re going to help me make, by God, or I’ll spread pieces of those big yellow teeth of yours all over this goddam hotel.”

“But...”

“I don’t care how we work it, just as long as we work it. If I could just get her into this room and get ahold of her before she turns to run, I’ll carry on from there, and she’ll love every minute of it. But what you got to do, you got to think up some kind of story conference on this thing she’s writing, and then...”

“You shouldn’t get yourself so worked up about that little prostitu...”

“What was that, Freddy? What was that you said?”

“Just a manner of speaking, Dave. Honest. That’s all.”

Daniels stared at him. Frick looked uneasily at the bloodshot eyes, and at the long, heavy, leathery face and the brute hands. Daniels said, “That little girl wouldn’t be a whore, now would she?”

“What’s the matter with you, Dave? That’s a silly question.”

A big hand grabbed the front of Frick’s suit, lifted him lightly off the bed, and ran him backwards into the far wall. He hit so hard it dazed him. Daniels’ big face was inches from his. “You don’t lie worth a damn, Frick. What do you know that I don’t know?”

“Honest, Davie, there’s nothing at all that...”

The big fist slammed him in the stomach. Frick fell onto his hands and knees and gagged helplessly. Daniels picked him up and stood him against the wall again.

“Are you nuts?” Frick shouted. “I’m not a well man. I got an ulcer. You could kill me doing that, you silly bastard!”

Daniels hit him again, picked him up again and held him against the wall. He grinned at Frick and said, “Honest to God, Freddy, I’m so drunk I don’t know what I’m doing. I just might stand here and belt you until I’m worn out.”

“Wait! Hey, wait!”

Daniels lowered his big fist. “Going to talk?”

“Okay. Yes. But let me sit down. Damn you! You ought to be locked up.”

“You start kidding around, Freddy, and you get it again, maybe a little lower.”

Fred Frick sat on the bed and made a grimace of pain. “You better not tell Jesse I told you. Cory is a call girl. We lined her up through an old friend of mine and Jesse’s. She’s as high class as anything you can find this side of New York. This story thing is a fake. We sicked her onto Hubbard.”

“Onto Hubbard?”

“The idea being that she gets him to make an obvious damn fool of himself, and if he doesn’t, she’ll pull one hell of a scene in front of everybody that’ll give him a different kind of reputation with AGM than the one he’s got. Then he won’t be so anxious to slip the knife to Jesse, and if he does, they’re going to maybe take it with a grain of salt, because word will get back about how he got a little carried away at the convention.”

“What makes you think that’ll do any good?”

“What else is there to try?”

“Remember that auditor in St. Louis? They gave him a mickey and stripped him raw and turned him loose in the lobby, and it didn’t do those boys at UFA a damn bit of good. All they got was a new auditor.”

“Jesse thought it was worth a try.”

“So Hubbard is getting it? I get near him and get a little kicking room, and he won’t want any more of it for a long time.”

“Now, dammit, Dave, you stay the hell out of this.”

“Dave Daniels doesn’t get brushed off by a whore.”

“Dave, listen to me. This girl isn’t any twenty-dollar trick. I know all about her. She’s as choosy as if she was a debutante. She takes the business she wants to take and that’s all. You knowing the score won’t make any difference to...”

“Freddy old Frick, it’s going to make a lot of difference, a hell of a lot of difference.”

“Please, Dave, don’t mess it up. You don’t need her. Listen, fella, let me line you up something that’ll make her look like...”

“No thanks.”

“She’s a scrawny kid, Dave.”

Dave grinned at him. “Yeah. Isn’t she though?”

“Don’t mess me up with Jesse. And don’t mess Jesse up. And there’s another thing, Dave. If you give Hubbard a hard time, how long do you think you’ll stay with AGM?”

“You’re scaring me. I got a place I can go any time, for more money. In fact, pal, I’m sending in my resignation as soon as I get back. So what do I owe you, or that slob Jesse Mulaney, or that Hubbard shit?”

“I took a hell of a chance telling you all this, Dave.”

“You would have taken a worse chance not telling me. You would have been carrying your guts in a hand basket, Freddy.”

Frick got up hastily, moved out of Daniels’ reach, and sidled to the door. “Just be reasonable,” he begged.

Daniels laughed at him. “I know why you’re in a big hurry. You want to find her and warn her. It won’t do any good.”

“You ought to be locked up. You go crazy when you drink.”

Daniels faked a lunge toward him. Frick popped out into the corridor and slammed the door and ran a half dozen steps before slowing down. He wiped the palms of his hands on his handkerchief. With each deep breath he tried to take, his stomach hurt, and he felt slightly nauseated.

He stopped and leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat off his face. In a few minutes he was able to think more calmly and logically. He went to one of the bedrooms of the hospitality suite, found a number in his notebook and called it.

“Al, boy? Fred Frick. How’s everything with you? That’s good to hear. Al, I’m at a convention at the Sultana, and I’ve got a little problem maybe you can help me on. One of our crowd is heading for trouble. A nice guy, but he doesn’t drink good, you know? So I want him taken out of the play before he can do himself some real harm. No, I think he might talk himself out of there too fast. He looks like he’s handling it better than he is. I was thinking in terms of that ward at the hospital, and some shots to keep him quiet until... maybe Sunday? What’s that? Oh, sure, you clear it with the hotel people. I understand. They don’t want a fuss any more than I do. Dave Daniels, his name is. Chicago, Illinois. Al, one thing, he’s a big son of a bitch. Yes. And use an ambulance? Sure. Do it any way you think best. Not until when? Al, I was hoping for a little faster service on this. It’s seven-fifteen now. Well, I guess all we can do is keep our fingers crossed until ten. I’ll make it a point to be right here in the suite at ten o’clock then. Eight sixty. You fellows come right on up. Yes, I’ll take full responsibility. Dave will thank me when it’s all over. Thanks loads, Al boy.”

When Hubbard went into his room after coming from the cabana party, he was becoming increasingly curious about Cory Barlund. He could not quite believe she had given up. Dusk had brought shadows into the room. He turned the lights on. The maid had turned both beds down. He tossed the towel in a corner of the bathroom, pulled the swim trunks off, kicked the sandals off, and adjusted the shower to his liking. A few moments after he was under the hard spray, without any warning, slim arms clasped him around the waist. He made a reasonable attempt to jump out of his skin. “Guess who?” she called gayly.

He pried her clasped hands apart and turned toward her. She wore her swim cap, and it made her face look like the face of a young, sensitive boy. She looked impishly at him, snatched the soap from the tray and began to industriously lather his chest. He took the soap away from her. “How did you get in here?”

“I just opened the glass door, darling, and stepped in.”

“How did you get into the room?”

“I asked the maid very politely, and gave her a tip, dear. Did I do something wrong? This is a convention, remember, and the rules are a little different. Oh, I’ve been here a long time. What kept you?”

“Where were you when I came in?”

“Skulking in the back of the closet. I ducked in there when I heard your key in the door. You see, dear, I thought you’d go right back into that stern and righteous routine and make everything as difficult as possible, so I thought this would save a hell of a lot of time, actually. Now you may scrub me sweetly and tenderly, and take me to bed.”

“No, Cory.”

She looked at him with a sly amusement. “No?”

He thrust her hand away. “Any other evidence is meaningless, Cory. The answer is no.”

“Why are you wasting all this sterling character on a hopeless situation?”

He took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and thrust her out into the bathroom. “Go put something on.”

“Yes, dear. Of course, dear. Anything you say, dear.”

The only clothing he had brought into the bathroom were fresh shorts and socks. When he had them on, he went into the bedroom. She had left one lamp on. She had arranged herself with due care to lighting. “I’m trying to look like that Spanish postage stamp, lover. But I don’t have the weapons she has. Come here.”

He put on a white shirt and trousers. As he was buttoning the shirt he moved closer to the bed and looked at her without any expression.

“You do mean it, don’t you?” she asked in quite a different voice, a small and rather wary voice.

“For a while the issue was in doubt. But not any more, Cory. You make it so damn difficult. I’m not trying to say I’m any better than you are. I’m not, for the love of God, saying you aren’t desirable. And I couldn’t ever say that this is an easy thing to do. But I can manage it. I’m fighting for survival, Cory. It’s a strong instinct. If today became another yesterday, I think I’d be destroyed.”

“Am I destroyed?”

“I don’t know. In one sense, possibly. I don’t know enough about you.”

With a sudden smooth economy of movement she slid under the sheet and single blanket and covered herself to the chin.

“Please turn off the light, Floyd.”

“But I’m telling you that it...”

“This is something else. Please. Then come and sit by me, and hold my hand.”

“But...”

“It won’t cost you anything to be kind, will it?”

He turned off the light. Some of the outside lighting made a faint glow on the ceiling. He took her hand when she reached toward him, and he sat on the bed.

“Maybe I can talk to you as a person, Floyd. I don’t know.”

“I like you, Cory. Does that help?”

“Yes. That helps. I was here alone for a long time. I read Jan’s letter.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “You had no right, you know.”

“I know. She seems very nice. She seems sweet and wise. Wives should be both, I guess, but not overly sweet, and not conspicuously wise. I tried to be that way with Ralph. I was quite good at it, too. Everyone seemed to think so. Even Ralph. I was an adorable little wife, Floyd. I had the constant image of myself being an adorable and adoring little wife, and I relished it. It was a game, I guess. Trying to do as well as the grownups. Do you know?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Ralph was a properly boyish husband, with a good job. We agreed we’d have one year of just each other, and then start a baby. That’s just what we did. The bed part was good, dear. Not like yesterday with us. Sweet and melting. All he had to do was reach out toward me, and my head would get so heavy I couldn’t hold it up. I was very earnest about being everything he could ever want. He’d tell me I was all the women in the world. Isn’t that sweet?”

“I guess it’s supposed to be that way.”

“When I was three months pregnant, he had to go to Havana on a business trip. When he came back, I gave him a loving welcome. Oh, very loving indeed. But the poor dear had picked up a little packet of syphilis from a Cuban whore. By the time there was a sore, he’d infected me. The doctor he went to called me up and had me come in. He was very jolly. It didn’t have to be a tragedy. Not in this day and age. They’d knock it right out with massive doses of penicillin. But I got a bad reaction to the penicillin, and ran a high fever, and later they explained to me that it was the fever, not the infection, which turned my baby into an idiot. The third month is a bad time to have fevers, you know. So I was almost all women to my boyish husband. He needed a Cuban whore to fill out the ranks.”

Her hand tightened convulsively on his, then became inert. The silence was long and clumsy.

“There isn’t much to say, Cory. Bad luck? What can anybody say?”

“Oh, I think you need the rest of it before you make any comments. By the way, I’m a clean girl now. Don’t be alarmed.”

“You didn’t have to say that, you know.”

“I got the fastest divorce on record, dear. The baby is in a place in Maryland. It’s over five years old now. It will never speak or walk or recognize anything or anyone. He pays the freight. Two fifty a month. That’s the only settlement. They say they usually die in their early teens when they’re like that. After the divorce I was trying in an amateur way to prove to every man in the world that I was more useful than every whore in Havana, until a domineering old slob of a woman named Alma Bender took me home and nursed me back into decent physical condition, and taught me the trade.”

“The trade?”

“I’m on call, darling. All night stands only. A bill and a half, split ninety to me and sixty to Alma, because I maintain my own place. I’m twenty-eight years old, darling, and I average eight tricks a month, or a hundred a year, and I’ve had four fine years, and I think I can promise myself another ten or eleven. I take care of myself. Fifteen hundred men would be a nice memorable figure, don’t you think? I’m choosy, you know. Want to know my stipulations?”

“Should I?”

“They have to be reasonably youngish, intelligent, fairly sensitive, married and... there should be a slight boyishness about them, just enough to remind me of Ralph. Then do you know what I do?”

“I think I have a clinical idea.”

“No, darling. Beyond that. What I do is spoil them, so that they’ll spend the rest of their lives knowing they’ll never have it so good again. I clobber them so completely, they’ll be forever wistful as they lie beside their little oatmeal wives and remember how it was.”

“Revenge?”

“Of course. I’m their Havana whore. I’m the sword of justice. I give them the disease no drug can ever cure. I give them the ultimate experiences, lover, so that from that night on, nothing will ever completely satisfy them again. When they’re moaning and shuddering and gibbering, I’m laughing inside. When they want to buy a woman, and they buy me, they never stop paying for it. Sometimes I let myself enjoy them. Like with you. But almost always I fake. I put on a hell of a production, lover. It may even be better than the real thing. When it’s real, I lose track a little.”

“Do you tell all of them this?”

She pulled her hand away. “I’ve never told any of them this. All whores have hearts of gold. Haven’t you heard? Haven’t you met Suzie Wong? I enjoy my work, dear. I despise all you slobs, every one. Even you, lover. But you see, this is just a little different, because you didn’t come waving your money. You’re not technically the sort of customer I’m accustomed to.”

“Technically? What the hell, Cory! What is this?”

“Oh, you’re sort of the gift certificate type. I shouldn’t tell you, but I don’t expect it matters much one way or the other. You’re the guest of Frick and Mulaney, dear. So enjoy. It’s such a special deal, lasting so long, dear Alma clipped them for seven and a half, but only four hundred to me.”

He stood up and paced to the terrace door. “But why?”

“Is that so hard? I’m going to make a big ugly public scene over you before this clambake is over. A horrid type named Amory has cautioned me to take it easy in the public rooms of the hotel when I go dramatic. You’re going to be hung as a sheep so you’ll ease off on Mr. Mulaney, obviously. And since you are going to be hung as a sheep anyway, dear, why don’t you come to bed like a lamb?”

“Those silly bastards!”

“I probably talked too much. You’re too easy to talk to, do you know that?”

“I’ve cultivated the talent.” He sat beside her again. “On my word of honor, Cory, scene or no scene, I still give Mulaney the business. I’ve committed myself. Now the only thing such a scene could do is hurt me with the people I work for. So how about giving it up?”

“Don’t be silly! I promised, and I was paid.”

“But it won’t do any good!”

“Lover, I couldn’t care less.”

“A heart of gold. Dear God!”

“You’ll never, never forget me, Floyd. Every time you mount your darling Jan, I’ll be riding your shoulders like a witch, jeering at you, boy.”

“It won’t be that way, believe me, but why the big boot out of punishing me? I didn’t buy you. I was a damn fool, thinking I was irresistible.”

“You cheated on your marriage, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it was...”

“So you get a little more than you asked for. And the fee is paid, lover. So you might as well get the use of it. So go walk around if you have to. Go have a drink or two. Think of me. I’ll be right here in your bed, cozy and warm and ready, waiting for you.”

“Why don’t you get dressed and go home?”

“Why should I make it easy for you, you sanctimonious bastard? You’re crawling with guilt and you think you can lighten the burden by refusing a second chance. You can’t get clean that easy, not after yesterday. If the murderer lets his next victim walk away, does that turn him into a saint?”

“Maybe it’s just that all of a sudden the merchandise looks shopworn.”

“You tried the low blow, boy, and it doesn’t work.”

He dressed slowly. By the time he was finished, she was asleep. She had turned onto her side, and in the reflected light she looked small and girlish in the bed, innocent and uninvolved. Her perfume lay on the quiet air. So get out, he told himself. Pack and check out. The job here is done, so why stay? You know where the trip wire is, so back off. Your luck is still running good. Good? Let’s call it just fair. But a good knock is in order, for the steady nerves, the morale of the hatchetman. He went slowly to the end of the corridor and walked into the suite. Bobby Fayhouser put a magazine aside and stood up. “Hi, Floyd! They’ve all gone down to dinner. Almost all of them.”

Hubbard nodded and went to the bar. He made himself a heavy highball. “To conventions,” he said. “To jackasses.”

“That’s a toast to the whole human race, isn’t it?”

“Cynicism is a privilege of the very young, Robert. Now that I’m older, I’m becoming one of the boys, earnest and folksy.”

“Are you sore about something?”

“Nothing terribly specific, I guess. Keep it to yourself, Bobby, but I am departing. This large knock and the one to follow are in the nature of farewell toasts.”

“Are you figuring on getting smashed? I mean, it’s none of my business, but I thought you’d play it cool all the way, Mr. Hubbard. But I guess, if you’re going, you can chug-a-lug a few. I guess you wouldn’t have wanted to get too loose in front of everybody while you still... you still had work to do.”

“So good reports would go back?”

“I guess so.”

Hubbard finished the drink and dropped another cube in the glass and picked up the bottle. “Let’s just say that suddenly I’ve become highly nervous, Bobby. I’m so nervous I’m forgetting to be smart. I’ve got an unused gift certificate. Everybody reads my mail. I hit white-haired ladies between the eyes. My sunburn itches. I’m stronger than I would want to be, given the choice. I didn’t take a very good shower this evening. When the world is turning, you should be able to run fast enough to stay in the same place.”

Fayhouser looked slightly alarmed. “You lose me with no trouble, sir.”

“Losing myself comes next. Cheers.”

“Excuse me and all that, but you’re setting a pace. Thirty minutes you might last. Take it out of gear right now, Mr. Hubbard, and you could coast quite a way.”

Hubbard smiled at him. “You are so right, Bobby. I should coast, shouldn’t I? If I pass out, I can’t do the damage. I have to be able to keep walking and talking, or I’ll skip my chance to become a figure of fun. My God, you should have seen good old Floyd Hubbard at that convention!”

Fayhouser said, “Don’t get me wrong in the way I mean this, Floyd, but is there anything I can do?”

Hubbard put the empty glass down. The decorator colors were brighter. His lips felt rubbery. “You are a good man, Fayhouser. Keep your head down for a while. Keep the knees slightly bent, feet apart, open stance, slow backswing.”

“I don’t play. I’m only a caddy.”

“And I used to be on the house committee,” Hubbard said, and walked out of the suite. He went down to one of the hotel bars and drank the world a little mistier, right to the place where he could find his drinking grin, and his drinking uninvolvement, and walk slowly among the people, delighted by all things, but wary of the little edges of tears or panic or violence which, unless carefully watched, could move in and bust the holiday balloon in his chest. Time changed to bottle time, running raggedly, fast and slow, and the world became an inexpert hobby film, alternating vividness with blank frames, with a tilt to the camera and the focus unreliable.

After a time when the film was blank, he was in a corridor, edged into a corner, alone with Dave Daniels and being breathed upon by him.

“Get cute again, kiddo. Go ahead.”

“I’m terribly cute,” Hubbard said, and suddenly he had the corridor rug against his cheek, and he was articulating each suck of air. Daniels helped him up, and Hubbard felt a wild delight. “We could fight,” he said, still gasping. “Let’s find a place.”

“Shut up! I’m asking you again. Where’s that slut?”

“Have you been asking me?”

“Where’s Cory? Don’t horse with me, Hubbard.”

“Cory? Dave, boy, she doesn’t like you.”

“She likes me fine. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Aren’t we going to fight, Dave?”

“Later.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes.”

“If I tell you where she is, we’ll go someplace? And fight it out?”

“We sure will, Hubbard.”

He took keys out of his pocket. It took him a long time to sort them. After he gave Daniels the key to 847, the only key he had left was the one to 1102. It seemed a hell of a thing that it should take so long to sort out just two keys. He looked up to share this ludicrous joke with Daniels, but he found himself alone in the corridor. He shrugged. He listened. He heard laughter and music and the rumble of conversation from the rooms down the hall. He headed, smiling, toward the party sounds.

Again time took a tilt, a lurch, and when the image cleared he was in the crowded parlor of a smaller, unfamiliar suite, sitting in a straight chair pulled close to a corner couch, leaning forward, grinning, talking to one of the Honey-Bunny blondes, talking so intently about something so important that it slid out of his mind the moment this increase of awareness came upon him.

She sat slumped, flaccid and dull-eyed and slightly drunk, looking through him and beyond him. Close beside her, in the same slack, reclining posture was a man Hubbard did not know, a narrow man with a bandaged eye and shiny black hair. Honey-Bunny wore a pink, fanciful dinner dress, taut across her thighs. The man had his good eye closed, and a drink in his free hand. With his other hand he gently stroked the satiny thigh in the absent-minded way a man might stroke a dog. His head was turned toward the girl, and he spoke in a droning constant murmur which Hubbard could not understand. Each time he began to be too bold, the girl would pick his hand up by the wrist and drop it away from her.

Hubbard very cautiously, very carefully, checked the aspects of this new reality, feeling that if he was too brisk about it, it would all merge and flow away from him and he would find himself instantly in some other place and time. He turned. The room was full, and most everyone was standing, laughing, yelping above the blare of music. He saw Charlie Gromer and Stu Gallard and Cass Beatty, but he did not know any of the rest of them. He found a half cup of black coffee in his hand. He sipped it. It was tepid, and too sweet, but he could not taste liquor in it. His tie was loosened, his collar open, and his knee was damp where something had spilled and nearly dried. He looked at his watch and saw that it was twenty minutes of ten, and wondered if he had had anything at all to eat.

He looked at the slack, young, disinterested face of the girl and leaned closer and said, “What was I saying?”

“What?”

“What were we talking about?”

She focused on him with apparent effort, yawned and said, “I wooden know. You were talking and talking. Who listens?”

“Who listens?” said the stranger with the bandaged eye.

Hubbard’s stomach felt sore. He pressed the soreness and remembered Dave Daniels, the looming size of him, the leathery equine face, the soured breath, the torso that looked as if it had been built of raw timbers and scrap metal. He marveled for a moment at his own idiocy in actually wanting to try to fight a beast like that. Then a pure terror came into his mind, like a silent white explosion. He started to spring up out of the chair, believing for one deadly moment that he had given Daniels the key to a room where Jan was, where she slept defenseless in the darkness. And then he remembered that Jan was far away, and Cory was in the room. He settled back into the chair and drank the coffee and put the cup on the floor. He told himself there was never any such person as the Cory of the night wind, the sea wind on the flat roof over the cabanas. She had never been. There was only Cory-whore, who could handle Daniels.

He told himself it did not matter, not to him, or Cory, or Daniels. It was an incident at a convention. Conventions were thickets of incidence and accident. So he smiled in a rather rigid way at the Honey-Bunny blonde, and tried to think of something that might make her laugh and be happy. Water started to run out of his eyes, for no reason. He blinked rapidly but it would not stop. In his teary and distorted vision he saw her face change, saw it quicken with interest and a tender concern. She sat up so she could reach him, cupped her palm against his cheek and said, “Hey now! Hey now, mister!”

“I... I can’t make it stop,” he said.

“It’s real bad, isn’t it?”

“There’s nothing wrong. Really, there’s nothing wrong at all,” he said, and stood up, turned to the door, stumbled once, and made his way through the sound and the people and out into the corridor, and was astonished to find himself still on the eighth floor, and only a couple of doors away from the hospitality suite. He started slowly down the corridor toward the elevators.

The Honey-Bunny startled him when she took his arm. He stopped and leaned against the wall and, to his own vast annoyance, snuffled like a child. She stood close in front of him and dabbed at his face with a tissue from her purse, musky with her perfume.

“It happens to me, honest,” she said. “All of a sudden for no damn reason. Honest to God, seeing it happen to you, my heart all of a sudden turned over, you know?”

“It’s just from drinking. It’s a crying jag.”

“But you’re not drunk enough for that, sweetheart. You were talking fine. Gee, you still can’t stop, can you?”

“No. I can’t seem to stop.”

“You got a room here?”

He remembered the other key. He had forgotten the number. He took it out of his pocket. She took it from him and took his arm again and steered him to the elevators.

“This is idiotic,” he said.

“Don’t try to talk about it or think about it or feel sorry for it.”

They went up to eleven, and walked an incredible distance, and got lost once. She opened the room, and bolted the door after they were inside. She made murmurous sounds of comfort, eased him out of his jacket and made him lie down on one of the beds. She brought a small cold towel and folded it and laid it across his eyes, then unlaced his shoes and took them off.

He felt the bed tilt and settle slightly, and knew she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She took his hand.

“Better?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“What’s your name, dear?”

“Floyd. Floyd Hubbard.”

“Don’t feel bad about bawling. A man should be able to cry, you know? Hughie, the son of a bitch, couldn’t cry a drop unless maybe a horse runs out of money for him. That I should have known before I married him.”

“You’re the married one.”

“Yeah. Honey, with the mole. He’s on a gig in Jax.”

“What?”

“He’s playing in Jacksonville. Two weeks to go.”

There was a long silence. “What’s it like,” she asked, “when the tears come? What are you thinking?”

“It hasn’t happened since I was a kid, Honey.”

“But what were you thinking?”

“I... I don’t know. As if... everything was moving away from me, and I couldn’t get hold of anything any more. As if I’d never really known anybody and never would know anybody, all my life.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, it’s like that, isn’t it? When there’s no way to get close enough, and you wait and wait for wonderful things that are never going to happen. Floyd. Floyd, sweetheart?” She took the towel from his eyes, moved so she was looking down at him. “Look, I don’t mess around. You understand that?”

“Yes.”

“People get enough wrong ideas already, the business we’re in.”

“I can see how that might be.”

“But if you want me... right now this time it’s okay.”

“I don’t know if I can even...”

“So who cares? Mostly it’s just to hold you, that’s all. Somebody for both of us to hold, okay?”

She left a single lamp burning on a far table and draped it with a bath towel. She undressed and came to the bed and undressed him as gently and impersonally as if he were a drowsy child. He climbed under the sheet and blanket, and she came in beside him and sighed, and took him into the warm abundance of her arms, and hitched about until she could nest his head against her breasts. When, more out of a sense of duty than out of desire, he started to caress her, she said, in a murmurous whisper, “Don’t, sweetheart. Just you lie quiet. If it has to happen, we’ll let it happen, and if doesn’t, that’s all right too. We’re both so damn tired. You know it? Tired of a million things.”

He drifted off and awakened and drifted off again and when he awakened again, he wanted her, but in a quiet, unemphatic way. It went easily, and it was drowsy and unreal, and not very important. There was the strong, steady, docile movement of her and, far away from him and below him, like something at the foot of a dark stairwell, a recurrent arcing and glimmering of specific sensation which neither diminished nor increased until finally she quickened, and became very strong, and, as she brought it about, sobbed once, sighed several times, and sweetly slowed to rest.

“Somebody close,” she said in a sighing voice, “to hold.”

“I know.”

“It was kinda sweet.”

“Yes.”

“Stay just like this, please, for a while.”

The phone began to ring.