“It’s nice here, Ray. You could even make some new friends, instead of being limited to the guys in the Donovan band and the bartender at whatever hotel you’re stuck at each week. So how about it?”

I knew she was offering me this primarily because it was something Nancy wanted, out of concern for me. That’s why I couldn’t even begin to consider it. Sally Rand had not sat up in the middle of the night and said, “Ray Sherwood! He’s just the man for the job.” It was extremely kind of Nancy (and Sally), but it sounded an awful lot like charity.

“Sally, it’s a very generous offer. My problem is that I’ve just agreed to orchestrate an extremely modern, adventurous composition that’s going to be performed here on Treasure Island, and for this I’ve been paid top dollar.” (Well, it was as top as Gail’s dollars could afford.) “I really can’t undertake any other assignments until my creative obligations are met.”

Sally gave Nancy a look that asked, Did I do the best I could?

The girl from the ticket booth appeared in the doorway. “Miss Rand, the badminton match just ended and we usually get a lot of file-outs at this point, so if you want to . . . ?”

Sally nodded. “Ray, wonderful to see you after all these years. Please do come to any of my shows, as my guest.” She followed the box-office girl out of the room.

“This was very kind of you,” I said to Nancy when we were alone.

Nancy shrugged, sat down at the desk, and started thumbing through some telegrams. “The offer was real. You have too much talent to be working the way you’re working.”

“Jack Donovan runs a good outfit.”

“That life’s only okay for kids on the way up, or for guys your age who can’t do any better. Excuse me.” She picked up the phone and asked the Treasure Island operator for an Exbrook exchange.

She had a little frame from Woolworth’s on the top of the desk. There was a picture of a teenage boy in it, a little full in the face and full of himself, in my opinion. I asked her, annoyed, “Is that Parminter’s kid?”

“Busy?” said Nancy into the phone. “Thank you, Operator, I’ll try again later.” She hung up and turned to me. “I told you before, he’s not a kid, Ray. He’s in college now. I may never see him again but he was my stepson for a short while. There’s nothing wrong with me having his photo on my desk.”

“But where’s a picture of Linney?” I demanded. “You have Clifford Parminter Junior but not Linney? What kind of a mother are you?”