The room became filled with smoke, the smell of men who did not bathe too often and the cheap perfume the girls used. The record machine played constantly now. The two men finished their drinks and ordered more which they ignored just as they had done before. She had to quit after her third Scotch. The thought of drinking any more sickened her. The men began to notice that her monosyllabic replies to their questions were mechanical, that she was not listening to them.

“This place reminds me of a damn funeral parlor,” one told the other.

“’S a fact,” his friend said. “Le’s get the hell out’a here.”

They departed and Terry sat alone. The crowd began to thin out. Two of the girls—a blonde and the one called Lola—were sitting alone now, too. Lola came over and sat down next to Terry. She was drunk.

“How ya’ doin’, honey?” she asked.

Terry shrugged.

“Maybe ya’ got no sex appeal, huh?” Lola laughed raucously.

“Maybe.”

Carrol came over and stood behind them. Lola turned a smile on him.

“Slow night, Buck,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said sourly.

“Business ain’t so good,” she said sympathetically.

He looked around the room. Some of the stools at the bar were unoccupied now. The record music seemed to echo through the place. Carrol moved off.

“Nice feller when you get to know him,” Lola said.

“Do you know him?” Terry asked.

“I ought to. I’ve been here a long time. He leaves people alone. I like that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good feller, too,” Lola went on. Her tone was maudlin now. “Helps people out without advertisin’ it.”

“That’s sweet.”

“You said it. We had a kid here, came in half starved. Didn’t have a dime. He put her on her feet. Didn’t ask for anything. Think he got any gratitude? No, first thing you know she was actin’ like Queen of the May. Started tearin’ around.”

“Yes?” Terry could not suppress her eagerness.

“Yeah,” Lola said bitterly. “She wound up in the morgue,” she added with satisfaction. “Too smart, that’s what she was.”

“How awful! Did she have an accident?”

“You said it. And she was gonna be a big shot. I told her she’d get the short end of the stick sooner or later. She did, too.”

“Men,” Terry sighed tragically.

“Yeah, men.”

“I read about it. They found the man who killed her, didn’t they?”

“Looks like it,” Lola chuckled. “Who’d ever ha’ thought that sucker’d be called Buzzy?”

Terry’s glance sharpened. This was something important for sure.

“Buzzy?” she repeated.

“Sure. She used to tell me Buzzy’d give her half the world on a golden platter one of these days. And then this gold-plated Buzzy of hers turns out to be nothing but a bum. A stinking wino.”

“She talked about him, did she?” Terry asked, leaning forward with interest.