Late oernoon, while waiting for a Fifth Avenue bus, I noticed a taxi stopacross the street to let out a girl who ran up the steps of the Forty-sed Streetpublic library. She was through the doors before I reized her, which ardonable, for Holly and libraries were not an easy association to make. I letcuriosity guide me between the lions, debating on the way whether I should admitfollowing her or pretend ce. In the end I did her, but cealed myselfsome tables away from her in the general reading room, where she sat behind herdark glasses and a fortress of literature shed gathered at the desk. She sped fromone book to the , itently lingering on a page, always with a frown, as if itwere printed upside down. She had a pencil poised above paper -- nothing seemedto catch her fancy, still now and then, as though for the hell of it, she made laboriousscribblings. Watg her, I remembered a girl Id known in school, a grind, MildredGrossman. Mildred: with her moist hair and greasy spectacles, her stained fihat dissected frogs and carried coffee to picket lines, her flat eyes that only turoward the stars to estimate their chemical tonnage. Earth and air could not be moreopposite than Mildred and Holly, yet in my head they acquired a Siamese twinship,and the thread of thought that had sewogether ran like this: the averagepersonality reshapes frequently, every few years even our bodies undergo aplete overhaul -- desirable or not, it is a natural thing that we should ge. Allright, here were two people who never would. That is what Mildred Grossman had inon with Holly Golightly. They would never ge because theyd been giventheir character too soon; which, like sudden riches, leads to a lack of proportion: theone had splurged herself into a top-heavy realist, the other a lopsided romantic. Iimagihem in a restaurant of the future, Mildred still studying the menu for itsnutritional values, Holly still gluttonous for everything on it. It would never bedifferent. They would walk through life and out of it with the same determiepthat took small notice of those cliffs at the left. Such profound observations made mefet where I was; I came to, startled to find myself in the gloom of the library, andsurprised all ain to see Holly there. It was after seven, she was fresheningher lipstid perking up her appearance from what she deemed correct for alibrary to what, by adding a bit of scarf, some earrings, she sidered suitable forthe y. When shed left, I wandered over to the table where her booksremaihey were what I had wao see. South by Thunderbird. Byways ofBrazil. The Political Mind of Latin America. And so forth.
On Christmas Eve she and Mag gave a party. Holly asked me to e early arim the tree. Im still not sure how they maneuvered that tree into theapartment. The top branches were crushed against the ceiling, the lower ones spreadwall-to-wall; altogether it was not uhe yuletide giant we see in RockefellerPlaza. Moreover, it would have taken a Rockefeller to decorate it, for it soaked upbaubles and tinsel like melting snow. Holly suggested she run out to Woolworths andsteal some balloons; she did: and they turhe tree into a fairly good show. Wemade a toast to our work, and Holly said: "Look in the bedroom. Theres a presentfor you."
I had one for her, too: a small package in my pocket that felt even smaller when Isaw, square on the bed and ed with a red ribbon, the beautiful bird cage. "But,Holly! Its dreadful!"
"I couldnt agree more; but I thoug