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blame Holly. "It's seven-thirty, and I'm hungry. You know what the doctor said."
    "Yes, Rusty. I know what the doctor said."
    "Well, then break it up. Let's go."
    "I want you to behave, Rusty." She spoke softly, but there was a governess threat of punishment in her tone that caused an odd flush of pleasure, of gratitude, to pink his face.
    "You don't love me," he complained, as though they were alone.'
    "Nobody loves naughtiness."
    Obviously she'd said what he wanted to hear; it appeared to both excite and relax him. Still he continued, as though it were a ritual: "Do you love me?"
    She patted him. "Tend to your chores, Rusty. And when I'm ready, we'll go eat wherever you want."
    "Chinatown?"
    "But that doesn't mean sweet and sour spareribs. You know what the doctor said."
    As he returned to his duties with a satisfied waddle, I couldn't resist reminding her that she hadn't answered his question. " Do you love him?"
    "I told you: you can make yourself love anybody. Besides, he had a stinking childhood."
    "If it was so stinking, why does he cling to it?"
    "Use your head. Can't you see it's just that Rusty feels safer in diapers than he would in a skirt? Which is really the choice, only he's awfully touchy about it. He tried to stab me with a butter knife because I told him to grow up and face the issue, settle down and play house with a nice fatherly truck driver. Meantime, I've got him on my hands; which is okay, he's harmless, he thinks girls are dolls, literally."
    "Thank God."
    "Well, if it were true of most men, I'd hardly be thanking God."
    "I meant thank God you're not going to marry Mr. Trawler."
    She lifted an eyebrow. "By the way, I'm not pretending I don't know he's rich. Even land in Mexico costs something. Now," she said, motioning me forward, "let's get hold of O.J."
    I held back while my mind worked to win a postponement. Then I remembered: "Why Traveling ?"
    "On my card?" she said, disconcerted. "You think it's funny?"
    "Not funny. Just provocative."
    She shrugged. "After all, how do I know where I'll be living tomorrow? So I told them to put Traveling . Anyway, it was a waste of money, ordering those cards. Except I felt I owed it to them to buy some little some thing. They're from Tiffany's." She reached for my martini, I hadn't touched it; she drained it in two swallows, and took my hand. "Quit stalling. You're going to make friends with O.J."
    An occurrence at the door intervened. It was a young woman, and she entered like a wind-rush, a squall of scarves and jangling gold. "H-H-Holly," she said, wagging a finger as she advanced, "you miserable h-h-hoarder. Hogging all these simply r-r-riveting m-m-men!"
    She was well over six feet, taller than most men there. They straightened their spines, sucked in their stomachs; there was a general contest to match her swaying height.
    Holly said, "What are you doing here?" and her lips were taut as drawn string.
    "Why, n-n-nothing, sugar. I've been upstairs working with Yunioshi. Christmas stuff for the Ba-ba-zaar . But you sound vexed, sugar?" She scattered a roundabout smile. "You b-b-boys not vexed at me for butting in on your p-p-party?"
    Rusty Trawler tittered. He squeezed her arm, as though to admire her muscle, and asked her if she could use a drink.
    "I surely could," she said. "Make mine bourbon."
    Holly told her, "There isn't any." Whereupon the Air Force colonel suggested he run out for a bottle.
    "Oh, I declare, don't let's have a f-f-fuss. I'm happy with ammonia. Holly, honey," she said, slightly shoving her, "don't you bother about me. I can introduce myself." She stooped toward O.J. Berman, who, like many short men in the presence of tall women, had an aspiring mist in his eye. "I'm Mag W-w-wildwood, from Wild-w-w-wood, Arkansas. That's hill country."
    It seemed a dance, Berman performing some fancy footwork to prevent his rivals cutting in. He lost her to a quadrille of partners who gobbled up her stammered jokes like popcorn tossed to pigeons. It was a