“Come on, Rhoda. I have to get out of the car. Let go of me a minute.”

Malcolm pushed me away and got out of the car and stood beside it with a terrible expression on his face and wouldn’t look at me. I took a lipstick out of my pocketbook and began to put on lipstick in the rearview mirror. “Wait a second,” I said. “I’ll go in the cleaners with you.”

We collected the shirts and drove down into Ansley Park and stopped before a brick and stucco duplex. We got out of the car and started up the walk. Before we could ring the bell, the door opened and a beautiful tall woman came out and drew us in. “Oh, Malcolm, you angel,” she said. “Oh, this is Rhoda. Oh, I’m so glad to have you here. Is your friend with you? I thought you were bringing a friend.”

“She’s coming later,” Malcolm said. “She had to do some shopping.”

“Well, come on in. Look around. I’m not settled yet. Everything is still in disarray.” I looked around me. Everything in the apartment was very old. Old furniture and old paintings in gilt frames and dark Turkish rugs on the floor. A huge cat the color of faded gold sat on top of an upright piano. “I love your apartment,” I said. “It’s so nice of you to let us stay here.”

“The cat won’t bother you, will she?” She threw back her head as if to clear her mind, then fixed me with a harassed worried smile. “All you have to do is make sure she has food and water. She knocks the water over. Well, let me take you upstairs. Malcolm, bring her bags. I made you a pineapple upside-down cake. It’s his favorite cake.” She turned back to me, took my arm. “I always make it for him. I never forget to make his cake.”

We followed her up the narrow stairs. Malcolm left my bag at the door of the guest room, then disappeared. The room was small and every inch of it was stuffed with furniture. In the center of the room, with barely enough room to walk around it, was a four-poster bed with a pink canopy. The walls were covered with flowered wallpaper. Roses seemed to leap from the walls. Hanging from the center of the room and threatening to tear the canopy was a hand-painted wrought-iron chandelier with pink roses around each teardrop light bulb. The windows were closed and the blinds were drawn. What oxygen there was in the room seemed to be concentrated around the bed. The rest was buried in furniture, snuffed out by furniture, overpowered by furniture.