Then he was gone behind European Folklore and Mythology, and I clutched the lilies he had brought for us.

In the library’s open spaces men tramped singly or with buddies toward the drinks table. Others already with drinks stood drinking. They were lucky to have these drinks. By now the press around the bar would be enormous, five guys deep at least. It would take an eternity to get served. Clayton and Rob would’ve poured the last Johnnie Walker Black and there’d be nothing remaining but Johnnie Walker Red, if that, or maybe Four Roses brand, one of the gallon discounts that are admissible late at night but which you never want in the beginning. That’s the way life goes around here. The blinking lights. The dry taste in the mouth. The body’s craving need for something cold and warm at the same time.

Out into the milling crowd I hurled myself, out in search of a suitable vase for William’s gift. The lilies with their long, thick stems, their lush, drooping blooms, required a large, heavy vessel—precisely what I could not locate.

“Does anyone know where I can find a vase that’ll hold these?” I asked a group loitering around the Native American stone-tool collection in its metal and glass display case. Dennis shrugged and Noah said, “Sorry.” Jim, who often does not speak, even when spoken to—he’s a contemplative Buddhist—suggested, “Try over by the African masks.”

Eventually one of us was going to crash down his glass or an ashtray too hard on that stone-tool display table and there would be a mess. I said, “You guys, be careful using that as a table because it isn’t designed to support weight.”

I did not mean to scold my brothers, but what can you do when people have no sense?

“Seen a vase, anyone?” I asked another bunch as I hurried past their leather sofa and chairs pulled up close in a circle.

“Not me,” Lewis said.

“Maybe on the mantel,” said Drake.

Then Lewis asked, “Have you checked the telephone table?”

“Which telephone table?” I asked him.

“The black one.”

“I’ll try there,” I said. Then advised, “Take off your shoes if you’re going to put your feet on the furniture because you’ll scuff the leather.”

On my way across the room I hurried past Barry on the floor. Violet hematomas colored the skin beneath Barry’s eyes. Nobody was tending to the doctor. Presumably this was because he was a doctor and could look after himself.

I made a mental note to look in on him after I got rid of the flowers and picked up a toddy from the bar, that is, if he was still not moving.

“Excuse me,” I said then as I elbowed past Richard, walking quickly toward me without looking where he was going. “Oh, I’m sorry, Doug. I didn’t see you,” Richard apologized, and I told him, “Open your eyes and pay attention before you hurt someone, okay?”

“Having a bad night, Doug?”