She patted a yawn. "But its nothing. Just messages I leave with the answeringservir. OShaughnessy will know for sure that Ive been up there. Sally tellsme what to say, things like, oh, theres a hurrie in Cuba and its snowing inPalermo. Dont worry, darling," she said, moving to the bed, "Ive taken care ofmyself a long time." The m light seemed refracted through her: as she pulledthe bed covers up to my she gleamed like a transparent child; then she laydown beside me. "Do you mind? I only want to rest a moment. So lets dont sayanother wo to sleep."
I preteo, I made my breathing heavy and regular. Bells iower of the-door church rang the half-hour, the hour. It was six whe her hand onmy arm, a fragile touch careful not to waken. "Poor Fred," she whispered, and itseemed she eaking to me, but she was not. "Where are you, Fred? Becauseits cold. Theres snow in the wind." Her cheek came to rest against my shoulder, awarm damp weight.
"Why are y?"
She sprang back, sat up. "Oh, fods sake," she said, starting for the windowand the fire escape, "I hate snoops."
The day, Friday, I came home to find outside my drand-luxe Charles &Co. basket with her card: Miss Holiday Golightly, Traveling: and scribbled on theba a freakishly awkward, kindergarten hand: Bless you darling Fred. Pleasefive the ht. You were an angel about the whole thing. Mille tendresse --Holly. P.S. I wont bother you again. I replied, Please do, ahis herdoor with what I could afford, a bunch of street-vendor violets. But apparently shedmeant what she said; I her saw nor heard from her, and I gathered shed goneso far as to obtain a downstairs key. At any rate she no longer rang my bell. Imissed that; and as the days merged I began to feel toward her certain far-fetchedreses, as if I were being ed by my closest friend. A disquietingloneliness came into my life, but it induo hunger for friends of longeracquaintahey seemed now like a salt-free, sugarless diet. By Wednesdaythoughts of Holly, of Sing Sing and Sally Tomato, of worlds where men forked overfifty dollars for the powder room, were so stant that I couldnt work. That night Ileft a message in her mailbox: Tomorrow is Thursday. The m rewardedme with a sed note in the play-pen script: Bless you for reminding me. youstop for a drink tonight 6-ish?
I waited until ten past six, then made myself delay five minutes more.
A creature answered the door. He smelled of cigars and Knize cologne. His shoessported elevated heels; without these added inches, one might have taken him for aLittle Person. His bald freckled head was dwarf-big: attached to it were a pair ofpoiruly elfin ears. He had Pekingese eyes, unpitying and slightly bulged. Tuftsof hair sprouted from his ears, from his nose; his jowls were gray with afternoonbeard, and his handshake almost furry.
"Kids in the shower," he said, motioning a cigar toward a sound of water hissingin another room. The room in which we stood (we were standing because there wasnothing to sit on) seemed as though it were being just moved into; you expected tosmell wet paint. Suitcases and unpacked crates were the only furniture. The cratesserved as tables. One supported the mixings of a martini; another a lamp, aLibertyphone, Hollys red cat and a bowl of yellow roses. Bookcases, c onewall, boasted a half-shelf of literature. I warmed to the room at once, I liked its flyby-night look.
The man cleared his throat. "You expected?"
He found my nod uai