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good, the sort of man who turned away from the embarrassment of others. “I don’t think she’s home,” she told him.
    The man stepped to the door but did not come in. “Would you mind looking upstairs? She could be up there. Sleeping or . . . something.”
    She felt at ease with him now. There were certain men who made women feel that way, that they lived only to protect you, that it was their mission. Mike made her feel that way. “Okay,” she said.
    She made her way up the stairs. “Sara?” she called again. “Sara?”
    At the top of the stairs she could see into the master bedroom. Tony’s clothes lay on the floor beside the bed, and the bed itself was unmade.
    â€œShe’s not here,” she told the man when she came back out of the house. “I looked all over.”
    He seemed saddened by this news but not surprised. “Okay, thanks,” he said.
    They walked back to the man’s car. She stood beside it as he got in. She felt no fear of him now, no dread. It surprised her that she wanted to know more about him, maybe ask him how despite being so big and looking so scary, he had achieved this grace.
    STARK
    She was experienced, as he expected, and preferred to be on top. She kept her blouse on but unbuttoned the sleeves and rolled them up to the elbow. Her breathing came in quick, rhythmic spurts, and on the downstroke, little pleasurable bursts of vulgarity broke from her. “Oh, shit,” she groaned, then took a deep breath. “Oh, fuck,” she gasped. She reared back, swept her hair from her eyes, and switched to a grinding motion. “Oh, Christ.” Her movements grew more rapid. “I’m going to get it,” she said with a quick laugh. “I’m going to get it, baby.”
    Then she did, and after that rolled off him and lay on her back and gazed at the ceiling.
    â€œDo you know what they call it in the South?” she asked. “When you get it, I mean. A nut. They call it getting your nut.” She shifted onto her side, rested her head in her hand, and stared at him. “Did it bother you . . . about keeping my blouse on?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI’ve had some . . . problems, so . . .”
    He touched her lips with his finger. “It didn’t bother me.”
    She brushed back a strand of his silver hair. “You’re probably married. With a couple of kids.”
    He neither confirmed nor denied this.
    She remained silent for a time, then said, “I took the room just for the day. I do that once a month or so. To stay alive.”
    She was trying to explain something he’d heard before, that life was inadequate, a quick fuck at the Plaza just another survival tool. And why not? Nothing lasted. Nothing held. Life was just a long improvisation. You feinted left or right, and by that means dodged the blow.
    â€œSo, what do you think . . . Frank,” she said. “Maybe we could save the country again sometime.”
    He shook his head.
    She looked at him piercingly, and he saw a wound open up inside her. “Just not interested, is that it?” she asked.
    Inevitably, the time had come to lie to her. “I’m leaving town.”
    Inevitably, she did not believe it. “Whatever you say, mystery man.” She shrugged indifferently, but there was a bitter glint in her eye. “Too bad.” She pulled herself from the bed and began to dress. He took the cue and did the same.
    A few minutes later they strolled out of the Plaza and made their way toward Fifth Avenue. The circular fountain sprayed its fine mist. Chauffeurs were gathered in small knots, smoking.
    â€œPretty,” she said. There was a mist in her eyes. “So pretty.”
    They walked along the avenue. The silence between them lengthened and grew heavier with each step.
    At last she stopped and faced him. “May I ask you something? Do you do this . . . a lot?”
    The time had come to cut