The first time he awoke he saw in the dim light of the nightlamp that she sat sleeping on the chair next to the bed, still wearing her dress but with her girdle and stockings and shoes on the floor and her bare feet tucked under her as if against the chill. The second time there was the gray light of first dawn in the room and she was awake and looking at him with those eyes he remembered now with no trouble at all, not smiling or saying anything but just looking and in a little while without wanting to, he slept again. When he awoke fully the bright sun of mid-morning streamed through the windows and she was in the same chair, still wearing her dress, her head fallen to one side, oddly defenseless and very beautiful in sleep.

He did not remember having been undressed, but when he got out of bed he was naked. To his embarrassment he had a giant erection, and he padded hastily into the bathroom. He was a very bad drunk, he reflected with gloom as he purged his body of poisons.

In a little while she tapped on the door.

“There’s a new toothbrush in the medicine chest.”

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

He discovered it next to a razor, a shock until he told himself fiercely that it was hers, for use on her legs. In the shower he discovered the soap was impregnated with the crushed roses but shrugged and became a Sybarite. He allowed himself to shave and then opened the door a crack while he finished off with the towel.

“May I have my clothes?”

“They were filthy. I sent them out, everything but your shoes. They’ll be back in a while.”

He tied his lower half into the damp towel and walked out.

“Well. You look better.”

“I’m sorry I took your bed,” he said. “Last night when you found me—”

“Don’t,” she said.

He sat in the chair and now she came toward him in her bare feet. “Don’t apologize for being the kind of man who can cry,” she said.

He remembered everything in a quick rush of memory and he closed his eyes. Her fingers touched his head and he stood and put his arms tightly around her, feeling her full warm palms and outstretched fingers on his bare back. He knew she felt him through the towel but she didn’t move away.

“All I meant to do was take you in out of the rain.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You know me so well already. I think you might be the one. I’ve been looking so hard.”

“Have you?” he said sadly.

“Are you some kind of South American?” she asked in a few moments.

“No, Cuban.”

“Why do I have to get so involved with minority groups?” she said into his chest.