The Chinese elevator operator kept his face to the panel. In the mirror, Nola saw crimson climb up his cheeks, but Yoram, a young, dark string-bean, grinned at Roberta, and she winked at him in response.

“We get your point, girl.” Wade rapped Roberta's back as though he was dislodging a fish bone stuck in her throat. “Let’s stick to your specialty, which ain’t sex.”

“Big girls have twice the appetite but only half the opportunities.” Roberta’s booming laughter followed Nola as she hurried through the foyer. Wade crooked a finger at Yoram. The fighter who had beaten terrorists on the Lebanese border was in for a scolding.

In the dining room, Roberta screamed into the phone.

“That linebacker has no unexpressed thoughts,” Nola said as she and Leslie retreated to the bedroom. “But did you hear? Her scheme includes keeping the baby,” she added with delight. Whatever Roberta's reason was, it fit as though a spot had been ready within Nola.

She lay Lulu on the king-size bed, and the baby’s wail resumed. Nola called the hotel kitchen and located an English-speaking order-taker who said she was a mother.

“What do you feed a baby?” Nola asked.

“How old?”

“—Uh— not a newborn.” Nola pressed down Lulu's drooling lower lip and peeked at the twin white dots pushing the skin. A toothless gum closed on her finger. “Almost teeth, but not yet. And she tries to sit by herself,” she added.

“Six-seven months old? I boil half-milk and half-water, and add rice flour to thicken it. Some sugar, too. Maybe scrambled egg?”

How was she to feed the baby an egg? With chopsticks? A spoon? Her sister Jenna had loved applesauce. Or perhaps it was one of the few foods her mouth could manage after the accident.

“What are you doing?” Leslie asked. “Wade told me to give her to a maid.”

“The milk with rice flour sounds good. Thanks,” Nola said into the phone and hung up. “I’m getting her a Coke.”

She walked with Lulu to the small kitchenette and returned with a can. Seeing Leslie’s raised brow, she said, “It was originally concocted by a pharmacist for tummy aches.” When her mother was too stoned to go out for milk, nine-year-old Nola had often given baby Jenna Coke.

“You’ll ruin your dress.”

She turned her back to him. “Take it off until we go downstairs.”

“We need to get going!” But he unzipped the dress, unhooked the built-in bra, and helped her step out. He held up an embroidered silk kimono sent over by the Chinese prime minister, and after she slipped into it, tied the robe’s belt and adjusted the floppy sleeves. “Even the percussionists are packed by now and on their way to the party,” Leslie murmured as he arranged the gown over a padded hanger on a wall hook.