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  Eddie ran a nervous glance around the quiet lobby. He said to the next boy, “Gotta make a phone call. Watch it, will you?” He scuttled around a bend of wall with his nickel in his hand already.

  “Marie?”

  “Yeah, Eddie?” said his wife’s placid voice.

  “She leave?”

  “She went, yeah, sure.”

  “How long ago?”

  “In plenty of time,” his wife said. Everything she said carried the overtone, Don’t worry, Eddie.

  “Take the subway?”

  “Of course.”

  “Listen, Marie, I think maybe I oughta stay around after I’m off. Folks might be late. Some kind of big shindig, the man said. O.K.?”

  “O.K.”

  “I think I oughta stay and bring her home, don’t you?”

  “Good idea, Eddie.”

  “You do think the whole idea’s a good idea, Marie? She can earn a little money? You know? Get started?”

  “Sure it is, Eddie.”

  “She—uh—liked the idea, didn’t she?”

  “Sure she did.”

  “Well . . . uh . . .” He didn’t want to let go of the wire, leading to Marie and her voice saying, Sure.

  “Say, Eddie . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think maybe I’ll go to the show. Miz Martin said she’d go with me.” Eddie squirmed in the booth, blinking rapidly. His wife’s voice went on. “That picture we didn’t think we’d better take her? You know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I thought I’d go—got the chance.”

  “Oh. Well. Yeah. Sure.”

  “Don’t worry, Eddie,” Marie soothed. “I’ll be home long before you and Nell, probably.”

  “Sure. Sure,” he said. He heard his wife’s tiny sigh whispering on the wire. “Go ahead,” he said, vigorously. “Have a good time.”

  “It’ll be O.K.,” she told him. (Don’t worry, Eddie.)

  He went around the wall to his car. His eyes searched toward the revolving door, across the depth of the lobby. He threw back his shoulders, trying to stand erect, to look as if he were perfectly sure.

  In 807, Ruth slipped the rose-colored frivolity off its hanger and expertly lowered it past her shining hair. Peter’s strong fingers zipped her up the back. She made her curtsy to the audience.

  “Something like a princess,” said Peter judiciously, “don’t you think?”

  “Zactly,” said the audience solemnly.

  Ruth kissed the back of the audience’s neck. “And now!” she cried. Oh, they were clowning for the audience, and if the audience was having fun, so were they!

  “Ah ha!” Peter made fending, clear-the-decks motions with both hands. He took up his ridiculous garment. Ruth skipped to hold it for him. Peter wiggled in and patted the flying front sections.

  “You said it was tails!” said the audience in high sweet scorn.

  “You don’t think so?” said Peter. He put both hands under the coat at the back and suddenly he was marching up and down with a Groucho Marx kind of crouch in his knees and his tails were flapping.

  The audience was convulsed. It rolled over in a helpless giggling heap. Bunny wasn’t (zactly) thought Ruth a pretty little girl, but how beautiful she was, laughing! How irresistible!

  And she herself gasped, “Peter, oh stop!”

  “O. Jones.”

  “Oh, stop! I’ll ruin my mascara. Oh my!”

  The whole long, sweet, slow, mock-solemn ceremony of dressing for The Night crescendoed in hilarity.

  Somebody knocked gently on the door.

  Something squeezed Ruth’s heart, quickly, and as quickly let it go, so that it staggered.

  Chapter 2

  “MR. JONES, here we are, sir.” Eddie’s bright blinking eye, the thrust of his neck, were as of a mouse at the door.

  “Oh, yes, Eddie. Right on time. How de do. Come in.”

  “This here’s my niece, Nell Munro. Nell?” Eddie came in, too.

  “How de do, Nell.” Peter’s tails were a graceful appendage to the Speaker of the Evening. Ruth, herself, moved toward them, the gracious young matron. All the fizz had gone out of the room.

  “Good evening, Nell,” she said. “It was nice of you to come on such short notice. Had you very far?”

  “Don’t take long on the subway,” Eddie said. His adam’s apple jumped. He stood with his skinny shoulders thrust well back. “Really don’t take long at all. She came right straight down.” He seemed proud of this.

  The girl, Nell, said nothing. She looked to be nineteen or twenty. She stood demurely with her ankles tight together. Her shoes were shabby black pumps with medium heels. Her head was bent, her lashes lowered. Her hair was the color of a lion’s hide, cut short, not very curly. She wore no hat, a navy blue coat of a conservative cut and a little too big for her. Her hands were folded on a black handbag and Ruth was pleased to see that the nails were bare. Then she hooted at herself for so quaint a connecting of character with nail polish, for, after all, her own nails were a glossy rose, the shade of her frock. Still . . .

  “Won’t you take your coat off, Nell?”

  Eddie said, “Take your coat off, Nell. Go ahead.” The girl wore a neat dark silk dress. She held the coat on her arm as if she didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Just put it here, won’t you?” purred Ruth. “And your bag, too? I suppose you’ve sat with children before, Nell?”

  “She did, back in Indiana,” said Eddie. “Did it a lot. Not around here, so much. She only came east about six months ago.”

  “Is that so?”

  “She’s living with me and my wife, now. My brother’s girl . . .”

  “And do you like it here, Nell?”

  “She likes it fine,” said Eddie. “We’ve got room in the apartment, plenty of room for her. My wife’s real glad to have her.”

  Is the girl mute? Ruth wondered. Eddie’s interposing chatter was nervous, as if it covered something lumpish and obstinate in the girl, who was not helping. As one ought to chatter, and push time past this kind of stoppage in its current.

  Eddie said, “What I wannida say, I’ll be here in the hotel. I mean, I’m going to be around, see? So if you folks are going to be late, you don’t need to worry.”

  “We may not be so very late,” said Peter smoothly. The effect was as if he said, What are you talking about? He had a towel in one hand and was swiping it recklessly across the shining toes of his evening shoes.

  “What I mean,” Eddie blinked, “I can take Nell home, see?”

  Peter looked up, drawled, “That’s nice of you.” Ruth heard his surprised pleasure. The job of taking the sitter home is one of the meanest chores that falls to the lot of the married male. “But I’d have seen her home, of course,” said Peter virtuously.

  Ruth was, at the moment, turning. She thought the pupils moved under the lowered lashes in that bent face. She said, pushing brightly at the sluggishness of things, “Bunny, dear. Nell, this is Bunny and Bunny, this is Nell.”

  “Hello,” said Bunny.

  “Hello,” the girl said. Her voice was low and colorless, but at least it worked. She spoke.

  “My wife, see,” Eddie was saying, “took a notion to go to the show so I might’s well wait around.” Swallowing made a commotion in his skinny neck. “We was thinking it might be a real nice idea for Nell. There’s a lot of guests bring their children. And me being right here, why, it ought to work out good.”

  He showed no sign of going back to his elevator. An anxious little man, the kind who keeps explaining himself, although nobody cares. Terribly concerned to do the right thing. The conscientious kind.

  “Suppose we show Nell your room, Bun?” Ruth led them. “You see, this door can be left a little bit ajar because Bunny does like to go to sleep in the dark. I thought you could sit in here, Nell, in our room, where you can be more comfortable.”

  Bunny had marched ahead of them into 809. Now she threw one leg possessively over th
e edge of one of the beds, the one on which her stuffed dog from home was already established.

  “Perhaps she ought to turn in quite soon now,” Ruth said gently. “She’s had a pretty exciting day, and tomorrow we have all sorts of plans. Perhaps you’d read her a story? If you don’t mind?”

  “No, ma’am,” said Nell passively.

  “That’ll be nice, won’t it, Bun?” It was like pushing, pushing something heavy. Ruth said with a bright smile, “Suppose you see if Nell would like some candy.”

  Bunny got the box, offered it, as Ruth had taught her, with a gracious little bend of her small body. Nell said, “Thanks a lot.” And snatched. Ruth felt her heart lighten. Surely that was nice of her. That held some understanding. No grown person could care that much for candy. That greedy quickness must have been exaggerated for the child’s sake.

  “You’re welcome.” Bunny dipped in herself, companionably.

  Ruth felt easier. “Bunny’s such a big girl,” she went on, “there really won’t be anything to do.” She realized that Eddie’s voice and Peter’s monosyllables were still going on behind her. “Bunny’s bathroom is over there, of course.” Ruth stepped to dim down the lights, leaving the lamp between the beds. “And this door,” she waved at the exit from 809 to the corridor, “is locked, of course. Now, Bunny’s to have one more piece of candy and then she’s to brush her teeth and have her story and by that time I expect she’ll be pretty sleepy.” She touched the little girl’s munching cheek. She looked back through the connecting door.

  Eddie’s high voice said clearly, “Well—uh—probably I’ll look in on Nell, once in a while, if that’s all right with you folks.”

  “Surely.” Peter picked up his wallet. Ruth could tell from his back that he was both annoyed and resigned. “Well—uh—thanks very much.”

  “No, sir.” Eddie backed away from the dollar bill. “No, I’m glad to do it, sir. It’s such a good idea for Nell. You just pay her what she earns. Fifty cents an hour. And that’ll be fine. That’s the arrangement. Nell’s mighty glad to have a chance to earn a little something. It’s going to work out real nice for her. So—uh—” he looked rather defiantly past Peter. “You folks go on out and have a good evening, now.”

  Ruth guessed he was speaking to her. “Thanks very much, Mr. Munro. Good night.”

  “Good night. Uh—good night. Have a good time now, Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” His hand hovered in a kind of admonishing gesture. It fell. At last, he was gone.

  “O.K., Ruth?” said Peter with a touch of impatience.

  “In a minute. Nell?” Summoned, the girl moved. Ruth could hear Bunny making a great splutter, brushing her teeth. “Peter, do you mind looking up the number, where we are going to be? Where we can be reached? We’ll just leave it by the phone in here, Nell, and if there is anything at all, why, you can call us. You must remember to ask for Peter O. Jones. Don’t forget the O. It takes so long to comb out the Joneses otherwise.” She laughed.

  Nell said without humor, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ruth began to turn off lights in 807, leaving only the standing lamp over the big maroon chair and the little lamp between the beds. “That’s enough, Nell?” The girl nodded. “And if you’d like something to read, there are all these magazines. And please help yourself to the candy. And if you get drowsy, you must lie down in here. I’m sure that will be all right. And,” she lowered her voice discreetly, “perhaps you had better use this bathroom. Now, is there anything I’ve forgotten?”

  She stood in all her finery, her brow creased just a little, feeling unsatisfied. The girl had said so little. Yet, what was there for her to say? Something, thought Ruth impatiently, some little thing volunteered . . . anything to show she’s taking hold! “Can you think of anything else?” she prodded.

  The girl’s head was not so bent, any more. Her face was wide at the eyes with high cheek bones, and the eyes were large and a trifle aslant. Her chin was small and pointed and her mouth was tiny. The face was not made up, and the skin had a creamy yellow-or-peach undertone.

  She wasn’t bad looking, Ruth thought with surprise. In fact, she might have been stunning, in an odd provocative way. Even her figure was good under that ill-fitting dress, now that she was standing more erect, not so meekly bent. The eyes were blue. There was too much blue in them, as if the seeing center were too small, the band of color wider than it needed to be. The tawny hair straggled over her ears, but Ruth noticed that they were tiny and tight to the head.

  “I guess you’ve thought of everything,” Nell said. The tiny mouth seemed to let itself go into a reluctant, a grudging smile. Her teeth were fine.

  Ruth watched her. For just a flash, she wondered if, in that perfectly flat sentence, there had been some mischief lying low, a trace of teasing, a breath of sarcasm.

  “Better get going,” Peter moved, full of energy. “There’s the number, Nell, on this paper. Ask them to page us. Doubt if you’ll need it. We may call up, so if the phone rings . . .” He tapped the slip of paper on the phone table. He started briskly for the closet. The whole world, for Ruth, seemed to take up where it had left off.

  Bunny was curled around the jamb of the connecting door, toothpaste lingering on her lips. “Pop into bed, baby,” Ruth said. “And Nell will read to you a while.”

  Herself in shadow, she watched them obey . . . Bunny peel out of her robe, climb in and pull the covers up, toss her pigtails behind . . . watched the girl move nearer and seat herself tentatively, rather uncertainly, on the edge of the bed, where the light haloed her hair.

  Suddenly, Bunny took charge. “Read me about Jenny and the Twins.” She pitched her book at the girl.

  “O.K.,” said Nell, meekly.

  Ruth turned away. She bustled, putting things into her evening bag, her wrist watch, her compact, handkerchief, hairpins, lipstick. Her heart was beating a little fast.

  Peter was standing silently, with his overcoat on, with her velvet wrap over his arm. She went over and he held it. She looked up at him, wordlessly asked, Is it all right? Wordlessly, he answered, Sure. What can happen? The wrap was soft and cool on her bare arms.

  “Eddie’s got his eye on,” said Peter in her ear. And she saw, at once, that this was true. Eddie was responsible. Eddie had worked here fourteen years. He couldn’t risk losing that record. No. And Eddie was conscientious to a fault. He’d be fussy and watchful. It was Eddie they were hiring, really. He’d have his anxious eye on.

  “Take us a while to get across town,” said Peter aloud. Together, they went into the other room. The girl was reading. Her voice was low and monotonous. One word followed another without phrasing. She read like a child.

  “All cozy?” said Ruth lightly. “Night, Bunny.” Her light kiss skidded on the warm little brow.

  Peter said, “Don’t forget about your breakfast. So long, honey bun.”

  “So long, Daddy. Make a good speech.”

  Oh, bless her heart! thought her mother. Oh bless her!

  “I’ll see what I can do about that, sweetheart,” said Peter tenderly, as touched as she.

  The girl sat on the edge of the bed with her finger on her place in the storybook. She watched them go. As they crossed room 807, Ruth heard her voice begin again, ploddingly.

  Not all of Ruth went through the door to the corridor. Part remained and tasted the flat, the dim, the silent place from which she had gone. After all the lights and the love and the laughter, how was it for Bunny? Hadn’t all the fun too abruptly departed? A part of Ruth lay, in advance of time, in the strange dark. Heard the strange city snarling below. Knew only a stranger’s hired meekness was near when something in the night should cry. . . .

  Peter put his finger on her velvet shoulder. An elevator was coming. (Not Eddie’s, and Ruth was glad. Not again did she wish to hear, “Have a good time, you folks. Have a good time.”)

  She shook at her thoughts. She knew what Peter wanted. By her will, she pulled herself together. (Bunny was nine. Bunny would sleep.) She drew
the tardy part of herself in toward her body until she was all there, standing by the elevators, dressed to the eyes. She looked up at Peter and showed him she was whole.

  It was The Night. At last, it was!

  Chapter 3

  JED TOWERS picked up his date at her family’s apartment on East Thirty-sixth Street. Her name was Lyn Lesley and she was more than just a date. She had achieved a certain ascendancy on Jed’s list. In fact, she was right up there on top. Lyn was slim, dark, with a cute nose and a way of looking out of the corners of her eyes that was neither sly nor flirtatious but simply merry.

  He’d known her a year or more, but not until these two weeks, all free time, between jobs, had he seen her so constantly. This had happened easily. A kind of rollicking slide to it. Very smooth and easy to slide from “see you tomorrow, question mark” to “see you tomorrow, period” to “what shall we do tomorrow?” They had fun. Why not? But this next morrow, Jed was off for the West, all the way to the coast, in fact, where he’d be pinned down a while, in the new job. Tonight, their last night, had accumulated without any deliberation on Jed’s part the feel of being decisive.

  Maybe it wasn’t their last night together—but their last night apart. He didn’t know. He wasn’t stalling. He just didn’t know.

  They were not in evening clothes. Lyn wore a fuzzy blue coat with big pockets and big buttons and a little blue cap on the back of her head. They decided to walk. They didn’t know where they were going, anyway. The mood was tentative and merry . . . no tinge of farewell in it, yet. Lyn hopped and skipped until Jed shortened his stride. They drifted toward the deepest glow in the sky. They might go to a show, might not. It depended.

  On Thirty-ninth Street, the block west of Fifth, a beggar accosted them, whining to the girl, “Help an old man, missus?”

  “Oh . . . Jed?” She stood still, impelled to compassion, her face turned up confidently.

  Jed’s fingers bit her arm. “Sorry . . .” He dragged her along. “Just a racket,” he said in her ear. The man’s muttering faded in their wake, audible in the shadowy quiet, for the city’s noise was, like fog, thicker afar, never very thick near around you.