48.

Burke waited outside the apartment building, until he saw Julius leave. Then he went in. A Negro maid answered the apartment door.

“Tell Mrs. Roach that Mr. Burke is here about Lauren.”

“Mrs. Roach is rarely home to anyone,” the maid said.

“She’ll see me,” Burke said and handed a $100 bill to the maid.

“Of course, sir. If you’ll wait here in the living room.”

Burke sat. The vast apartment was oppressively quiet. The maid came back.

“Be our secret?” she said.

“Promise,” Burke said.

“This way.”

Burke followed her into a high-ceilinged room that looked out over the park. The furnishings were white, the voluptuous drapes that bunched on the floor were white. The carpet was white. There was a white marble fireplace in which, Burke suspected, no fire had ever been set. On a chaise near the window, where she could see the park, was a silver-haired woman in a white dressing gown, with a white comforter over her legs. Burke thought she looked beautiful. She was drinking sherry from a small fluted glass. The maid lingered near the door.

“Hello,” she said. “You’re Mr. Burke.”

Her voice was tentative.

“Yes,” Burke said.

“You know my daughter,” the woman said.

“I do,” Burke said.

He was close to her now and realized that she wasn’t beautiful, though once she might have been.

“Would you like some sherry?” she said.

“No thanks,” he said.

“I hope you’ll not mind if I sip mine,” she said.

“Not at all,” he said.

She nodded at a white satin chair near the chaise.

“Please,” she said. “Sit down. Tell me why you’re here.”

She finished her glass and took a bottle from the windowsill and poured it full again.

“It helps with the pain,” she said.

“Are you ill?” Burke said.

“I think so,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Burke said.

“Life,” she said. “Life makes one ill sooner or later.”

“It can,” Burke said. “Can’t it.”

“Why did you say you came here?”

“I’m looking for Lauren,” Burke said.

“My daughter.”

“Yes.”

The woman nodded. They were quiet.

“Would you like some sherry?” the woman said.

“No thanks.”

The woman nodded again and drank.

“Do you know where Lauren is?” Burke said.

“My daughter. She grew up into a very beautiful woman, don’t you think?”

“Do you know where I can find her?” Burke said.

“She’s with her husband.”

“Do you know where they live?” Burke said.

“She lives with him,” the woman said. “With Louis.”

“Where does Louis live?” Burke said.

The woman drank some more sherry. She gestured vaguely toward the window.

“Out there,” she said.

“Out there?”

“Yes.”

She drank again and refilled her glass. The wine didn’t seem to affect her. Burke wished that it would.

“You know I never go out there,” the woman said. “I can see it from here, and I like it. But I never go out there.”

“Do you know an address for Lauren?” Burke said.

“Do you go out there?” she said.

“Sometimes,” Burke said.

He glanced at the maid standing by the door. The maid gestured to him to join her.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Burke said.

He stood and walked to the maid. She looked at him in the impervious way Negroes looked at whites.

“She don’t know,” the maid said softly. “She don’t know this address.”

“You know?” Burke said.

“How much?”

“I got another C-note,” Burke said.

The maid put her hand out. Burke took out the hundred and gave it to her. She folded it neatly and put it in her apron pocket.

“I write it down for you,” she said.

Burke went back to the woman who had once been beautiful.

“It’s been very nice talking to you, ma’am.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes. Thanks for coming.”

She put out her hand; Burke took it for a moment. Then he let it go and straightened and left the room. On his way out the maid gave him a slip of paper with an address.

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