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be as publicly humiliated as Cynthia had been by Gil. God, does Bill have to leave me? Don’t let me end up like Cynthia. She took a deep breath, trying to get a grip on herself. He wouldn’t dare. But for the first time, he had actually threatened to.
    Important men can get away with it now. It’s acceptable. For God’s sake, even Ron Reagan got a second wife and he got to be president.
    Finally warmed by the liquor, Elise smiled. I must remember, she told herself, that I’m merely a demographic statistic in a changing culture.
    Welcome to the nineties, Elise, a decade in which you bid your sexuality good-bye and become irrevocably old.
    God, she thought, what is less appealing than a fifty-year-old divorced woman?
    A sixty-year-old one.
    She waved to Maurice, who was at the table of the only other patron in the bar. He turned and approached her. ‘Madame, excuse me, but the gentleman insists he knows you and asked me to bring you a drink. Is it all right?”
    She looked across the room. Without her glasses on, she hadn’t a clue.
    Was it someone she knew? She picked up her glasses and, without unfolding them, peered through the lenses. He was a young man, and he didn’t look familiar.
    Was he the son of some Greenwich friend? He wasn’t smiling, but only looking levelly past the empty tables to her seat at the banquette.
    What the hell.
    After all, this was Bemelman’s Bar. Only good things had happened here, and she felt that she could barely tolerate being alone another moment.
    ‘Certainly, Maurice,” she said, and looking across the room, she did her best to smile.
    Larry helped Elise as she almost staggered down the hall. He was taller than she, but not by too much, and she was surprisingly heavy for a thin woman. She was letting her head hang forward, and she kept saying, “Please don’t let anyone see me.” Over and over, quietly, in that lovely but frightened voice. “Please don’t let anyone see me.”
    It was all right now. He’d spoken to them at the desk, handled it.
    Thank God his credit card hadn’t been revoked. He had his right arm around Elise, supporting her. He stopped in front of Room 705 and fumbled with the key.
    Sometimes he had trouble with locks. Today, thank God, it opened easily.
    He felt as if he were in a dream as they crossed the room together and Elise sank onto the bed. Once there, her crying began in earnest. She clutched at the pillow under the perfectly folded spread and pulled it to her stomach. He stood over her, helpless, as she cried like a little child.
    She lifted her head from the bed. ‘I’m going to be sick,” she told him, and moaned. Larry reached under her shoulders and helped her stand. They got to the basin just in time, and he held her head as she vomited into the sink. In between the retching, she moaned. Then, “Oh, don’t look!” she cried, but she was so ill he couldn’t leave her.
    After a time she stopped, and he helped her stand, turning her from the mirror, gently wiping her face with a damp cloth.
    When he was certain she could stand alone, he filled a glass with water and handed it to her. She rinsed her mouth, then picked up the courtesy toothbrush and began to brush her teeth. “Would you get me my bag?” she asked.
    She let him stand in the doorway as she fixed her face. Expertly, she quickly reapplied lipstick and eyeliner, then highlighted her cheekbones. When she was done, she saw his reflection in the mirror and looked at him for the first time. She said nothing and walked past him back into the bedroom. He followed her.
    ”I hope you’re okay,” he said, very unsure of himself.
    “Well, I’m not, but thank you. I’m miserable, and very embarrassed. ” “Oh, don’t be. I’m Irish, with five sisters. All of them threw up when they drank.” He was an only child, but he could improvise.
    She looked away. ‘Well, then I’m lucky I ran into you, unfortunate as this may be.”
    ”My great pleasure.” She looked up,