When he got to the sixth floor he showered and lay on his bed in his shorts and read three journals and then he got into street clothes. He was searching for a fresh handkerchief when his hand closed on something in the bureau drawer and he picked it up and turned it over and over, examining it as if he had never seen the black kid glove before in his life.

This time the Regent was jammed with the Legionnaires and their wives, and he had to push his way through the lobby.

“Felix, do you have the tickets?” a fat woman in a wrinkled Auxiliary uniform shrieked.

“Sure,” said her husband, goosing Adam with a cattle prod.

He leaped, causing general laughter, but was carried into the elevator.

They were in the corridor, on the stairs; he felt as though they were under his fingernails.

He fitted the key into the lock and as he opened the door of 314 the electric sign outside the windows flickered and snapped another psychedelic photograph, the focal point of which was the blue and gold overseas cap on the dresser.

Adam picked up the ridiculous hat. The man in the bed was looking at him warily. Not Vietnam. Too old even for Korea. Vintage World War II, Adam thought. Old soldiers, I know not why, seem to be more accostable than old sailors. Hawthorne.

The man was obviously very frightened. “What do you want? Money?”

“Just get out.” Adam handed over the hat and held the door while the man skinned into his trousers and gratefully fled.

She looked at him. He could see she had been drinking. “You could have saved me,” she said.

“I’m not even sure I can save myself.”

He gathered up her stockings and placed them and the black glove in her handbag.

“Go away,” she said.

“I’ve got to send you home, Liz.”

“It’s far too late.” She smiled. “I told them I was just going for cigarettes.”

She was wearing her slip, but the dress was an obstacle. He received no cooperation and it took a while to get everything in place. Halfway up, the zipper jammed. Perspiring, he struggled, but it was no good, it would neither let go nor close completely.

The coat would cover it, he told himself.

When he put on her shoes and pulled her to her feet, she wobbled. Arm around her waist, hers around his neck, he walked her to the door like a patient.

In the hallway, the generals were dispensing beer and highballs.

“No, thank you,” Adam said politely, leaning on the elevator button.

When he got her into the downstairs lobby he saw the man with the cattle prod, preparing for hilarity.

“You touch that thing to either one of us, Felix,” he said, “and I’ll wrap it around your goddam neck.”

Felix looked wounded. “You hear that bastard?” he asked the fat woman.