“Please take the park drive,” Jil asked the taxi driver as they entered a cab on Central Park West.

“You don’t want me to go just crosstown!” the driver irritatedly answered.

“No, I said I wanted you to take the park drive.” When Jil got angry, his elegant Middle European accent was replaced by the abruptness of a man capable of running a major auction house. “Make a left at Tavern on the Green and go around the park all the way to East Seventy-second Street.”

“It’s gonna cost you more.” The taxi driver looked into the mirror.

“I’ve done it many times before, and no, it really shouldn’t cost me more.” Jil ended the conversation.

The driver made a left into Central Park and turned on 1010 WINS, the all-news radio station.

“Attorney General Ashcroft has advised the president to raise the national alert status to orange.” The radio announcer spoke with the incessant beeps of breaking radio news behind him.

“You think they’ll ever find bin Laden?” the driver spoke over the radio. “I mean come on, this is the U.S. Army and they can’t find a guy living in a cave in Afghanistan?”

“Could you turn that off?” Jil asked the driver. “We’d like a little peace.”

“Hey, mister, you can’t keep your head in the sand. That’s what the Jews did in Nazi Germany!”

“Just shut it off! Or we’re getting out.”

“You get out here and you got yourself a red alert, mister,” the driver spoke quickly. “You won’t even make it alive to the East Side.”

“I said shut the radio the hell off right now!” Jil yelled into the front.

The driver complied and the taxi continued to wend its way past the Central Park carousel and Wollman ice-skating rink in silence. The park was covered with a soft dusting of snow and the lights of Central Park South shimmered in the clear winter sky.

After a few minutes, Jil reached for Frankie’s hand. “This drive always reminds me of Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse when they do ‘Dancing in the Dark.’”

“Yes.” Frankie looked at him blankly.

“You don’t know what I mean, do you?” Jil smiled. “In the movie The Band Wagon, Fred and Cyd go for a late-night ride through Central Park and they stop to dance under the full moon at Bethesda Fountain.”

“Sounds very romantic,” Frankie spoke softly.

“It’s more than romantic.” Jil squeezed her hand. “It’s exquisite!”

The taxi finally exited the park and made its way down Park Avenue. As Frankie felt Jil’s hand still in hers, she thought that her life had never seemed so precarious. She didn’t know if it was the American flags so proudly displayed on every Park Avenue building that made her feel so off-balance, or the now indelible memory of her father on Ninety-second and Madison. But for the first time in her life, Frankie believed there was absolutely nothing pinning her down.

Surprisingly, she found herself looking forward to the enforced formality of Judy Tremont’s dinner party. The butler greeting her at the door, the standing cocktail hour, the seated dinner, the English plates, the silver centerpieces, the obligatory conversation to the gentleman on your right and the gentleman on your left, the after-dinner coffee and port, and the optional cigar in the library would all provide a grounding antidote.