And then the hall burst into sound as the dancers and the listeners clamored noisily for more, unwilling to allow the warmth that had been stirred up in their blood to disappear, unwilling to let the savage emotions in their breasts subside back to everyday tranquility. Smiling, radiating back at them their own pleasure, McKay led the band into a slow waltz-time number. He was wringing wet with perspiration, his hair wild across his forehead. He quieted the nerves of the dancers, leading their thoughts into dreamier channels. The music became softer, died away altogether.

Then he was free for the intermission. He came down from the bandstand to sit by her side and took her hand, holding it in a way that expressed better than words his need for her. His big soft eyes were warm with his love and longing.

“You’re exhausted, darling,” she said sympathetically. “You refuse to spare yourself up there. It’s too hard that way. You won’t be able to keep it up. You’ll burn yourself out.”

“I’ve been doing it that way a long time,” he replied with a shrug. “Can’t switch now. I don’t know any other music that’s good. Not for me, anyway. This is my style and I’m stuck with it, like the color of my hair or my eyes or any other thing that can’t be changed without making it look phony.”

He mopped away the sweat, and then he turned and signaled to a waiter who was standing by, and the man nodded with instant understanding and headed for the bar, returning a moment or two later with a drink. She remembered the almost frightening eagerness with which he downed the drink that was brought him, the flash of fear that swept over her as she saw his consuming need for it, the way it calmed him, made him relax.

It had gone on like that for a long time.

It had become a lot worse.

Work till you drop.

Drink.

Work some more.

Drink some more.

“Work, work, work,” he had said once to her. “Blow your heart out, your lungs, your brain. Never let up. It’s the only way to live. You can’t be half alive up there. But alcohol is a godsend for guys like me, Terry. Otherwise we’d never manage to stand the gaff, couldn’t stick in the big money.”

Well, he hadn’t stood it anyway, even with the drinking. She should have known and told him they didn’t need the big money, should have told him anything just to steady him and keep him from going off the rails. Terry hadn’t done it. She had let him take that fast rocket to nowhere.

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