She dressed rapidly, now, three times as fast as she had dressed earlier in the day. There wasn’t much time to waste. As she donned her clothes and tidied her hair, he said, “It was wonderful having you here—”

“I liked it too,” she said, and she meant it.

“Will I see you again?”

“How long will you be in town?”

“Another week,” he said.

“I’ll meet you in the cocktail lounge at eight o’clock tomorrow night,” Janey promised.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” she said.

It was ten minutes to ten when she finished saying goodbye to him and left him in his room. Hurrying to the elevator, she rode downstairs and walked quickly up the block to the place where Charley had parked the car. He was waiting for her.

He looked unhappy, the way he always did when she came back from a session. He can’t help feeling jealous, Janey thought. Even though he wasn’t the first fellow she had made it with, he hated it when she cooped up with anyone else. Only the thought of the five hundred bucks made him swallow his jealousy.

“Well?” he said roughly.

“It worked fine,” she said. “I picked up an architect from Philly. He was looking for companionship. I gave it to him.”

“You took your goddam time about it,” he grunted.

“I said I’d be back here by ten, and I am. So what are you moaning about? Come on, get this heap moving—we don’t have that much time, you know.”

“Okay. Okay.”

He pushed the starter and got the car going.

* * *

Ten minutes later they were back at their own apartment. Janey rushed quickly through her transformation. Off came the low-neckline dress, off came the fancy-dan brassiere, off came the nylon stockings and the makeup and the sophisticated-looking hairdo.

Hastily she donned the outfit Charley laid out for her. A cheap yellow sweater, tight against her body. An ordinary plaid skirt. Bobby-sox, loafers, a wide leather belt. She bunched her hair in a ponytail, put a different color lipstick on, and made a mental change of gears so she would be wearing a more innocent expression. The transformation was complete. In the space of ten minutes she had blotted years from her apparent age.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Like a perfect bobbysoxer. All set?”

“Yeah. Just let me find the bubble-gum.”

By ten-thirty they were on their way again, and by quarter to eleven they were standing outside of Ron Martin’s room at the Boardwalk Plaza Hotel. She and Charley exchanged a glance. He looked nervous, the way he always did when they went to cash in.

“Go ahead—knock!” Janey urged him.

Charley nodded and rapped twice on the door.

“Who’s there?” the architect’s deep voice called out from within.

“Mr. Martin?”

“That’s right. I’m coming.”