“I don’t know what my point is. I guess I’m just trying to figure something out.”

The morning sun leaks through a corner of the modern plate glass behind him. My God, he looks so much older than he did when we first met—so much older than when I started working for him. I used to take dictation at this desk, pencil poised, while Herbert rattled off a mile a minute. Now his face sags to the right and his eyes have that rheumy sheen to them, so you wonder if he can really see you at all. Over the years, his attitude toward me has taken on an avuncular quality, which might strike some of you as distasteful since we began as lovers. But nothing ever stays the same, does it? The accumulation of age and experience changes us daily. If it doesn’t, you’d better worry.

Still, Herbert’s changed more than most. He drinks his coffee with an unsteady hand and contrives to light another cigarette while the wheels spin in his head, manufacturing advice to his unruly protégée.

At last he speaks in his slow, halting voice.

“Do as you think best, doll. That’s why I hired you.”

I KEEP MYSELF BUSY as best I can. I order the prints for Barbara’s portfolio and make at least two dozen calls on her behalf. By lunchtime, I’ve found my stride. I prop my feet on the desk and call up Barbara herself to deliver the good news. I feel like Santa Claus.

“That’s nice, sugar,” she says, “but I’ll wait to celebrate once I see my face on something bigger than an Aunt Jemima advertisement.”

“Now, Barbara. That’s the wrong way to look at things. Sunny side up, I always say. In the first place, that’s a big account, Aunt Jemima. In the second place, we’ve got the ball rolling, haven’t we?”

“Sure we do. Just like that Sisyphus fellow.”

“Say, I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you out tonight, champagne and everything, some nice club where we can listen to good music and get our picture in the paper.”

“Have you got rocks for brains, sister? Just what club do you think is going to let the pair of us in, like one of those black-and-white cookies?”

I stub out my cigarette. “I see what you mean.”

“Think you can just snap your white fingers and say abracadabra?”

I swing my feet to the floor and lean into the receiver. “You think I can’t? Is that some kind of challenge, Miss Kingsley?”

“I got five bucks says we end up uptown at Smalls where they aren’t so particular about pedigree.”

“You’re on. Meet me outside the Palmetto at eight thirty on the nose in your best dress. Some number that looks good in photographs, say.”

“Oh, you think you got a plan, boss lady?”