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course they drank; they were WASPs) but they never drank with me. I’d always had to execute my drinking on the sly. Not anymore, it seemed.
    Cheers!
    “Let me show you to your rooms,” Olive said.
    Peg’s secretary led me down a rabbit warren and opened one of the doors. She told me, “This is your Uncle Billy’s apartment. Peg would like youto stay here for now.”
    I was surprised. “Uncle Billy has an apartment here?”
    Olive sighed. “It is a sign of your aunt’s enduring affection for her husband that she keeps these rooms for him, should he need a place to stay while passing through.”
    I don’t think it was my imagination that Olive said the words “enduring affection” much the same way someone else might say “stubborn rash.”
    Well,thank you, Aunt Peg, because Billy’s apartment was wonderful. It didn’t have the clutter of the other rooms I’d seen—not at all. No, this place had style . There was a small sitting room with a fireplace and a fine, black-lacquered desk, upon which sat a typewriter. Then there was the bedroom, with its windows facing Forty-first Street, and its handsome double bed made of chrome and dark wood.On the floor was an immaculate white rug. I had never before stood on a white rug. Just off the bedroom was a good-sized dressing room with a large chrome mirror on the wall, and a glossy wardrobe containing not one item of clothing whatsoever. In the corner of the dressing room was a small sink. The place was spotless.
    “You don’t have your own bath, unfortunately,” said Olive, as the men inoveralls were depositing my trunks and sewing machine in the dressing room. “There is a common bath across the hall. You’ll besharing that with Celia, as she is staying at the Lily, just for now. Mr. Herbert and Benjamin live in the other wing. They share their own bath.”
    I didn’t know who Mr. Herbert and Benjamin were, but I figured I’d soon enough be finding out.
    “Billy won’t be needing hisapartment, Olive?”
    “I sincerely doubt it.”
    “Are you very sure? If he should ever need these rooms, of course, I can go somewhere else. What I’m saying is that I don’t need anything so nice as all this. . . .”
    I was lying. I needed and wanted this little apartment with all my heart, and had already laid claim to it in my imagination. This is where I would become a person of significance, I decided.

    “Your uncle hasn’t been to New York City in over four years, Vivian,” Olive said, eyeballing me in that way she had—that unsettling way of making you feel as though she were watching your thoughts like a newsreel. “I trust that you can bunk down here with a certain sense of security.”
    Oh, bliss!
    I unpacked a few essentials, splashed some water on my face, powdered my nose, and combed my hair.Then it was back to the clutter and chatter of the big, overstuffed living room. Back to Peg’s world, with all its novelty and noise.
    Olive went to the kitchen and brought out a small meat loaf, served on a plate of dismal lettuce. Just as she had intuited earlier, this was not going to be enough of a meal for everyone in the room. Shortly, however, she reappeared with some cold cuts and bread.She also scared up half a chicken carcass, a plate of pickles, and some containers of cold Chinese food. I noticed that somebody had opened a window and turnedon a small fan, which helped to eliminate the stuffy summer heat not in the least.
    “You kids eat,” Peg said. “Take all you need.”
    Gladys and Roland lit into the meat loaf like a couple of farmhands. I helped myself to some of the chopsuey. Celia didn’t eat anything, but sat quietly on one of the couches, handling her martini glass and cigarette with more panache than anything I’d ever seen.
    “How was the beginning of the show tonight?” Olive asked. “I only caught the end.”
    “Well, it fell short of King Lear, ” said Peg. “But only just.”
    Olive’s frown deepened. “Why? What