“Not too much,” Sally said, fluttering her eyes.

“No, guess not too much!”

Ewald returned with the drinks. The man called Diamond dropped a ten-dollar bill onto the plastic tray and said, “Keep the rest.”

Vy could feel Jones’s eyes on her. They were kind eyes, she could feel that, too. He would be all right.

After the introductions, it was clear that Jewel would be left out. She threw down her drink and said to De Vries, “You aim to go out afterwards?”

“Sure.”

“I know a way you can have twice as much fun.”

“Well,” De Vries said, “I don’t know, I don’t think so.”

“You ain’t heard about Jewel?”

“Well, we’re sort of low on money tonight. And—”

“Okay,” she laughed, “forget it.” She rose from the table. “Night’s still young.” She looked much older than her thirty-eight years, standing there. The blonde hair was grotesque in the blue light. “Have fun, kids.”

“Don’t you go to Hardy’s,” Sally said. “We don’t want no cut-rate anything’s goin’ on, now. Hear?”

Jewel grinned and walked away.

Pete Jones took a swallow of his drink and said, “You think you could go with me this evening, miss?”

Vy kept the professional tone in her voice. Maybe it was the hot waiting and the liquor, or the time she’d had to think, she didn’t know; but she felt something near shame, now, the feeling she’d had to fight down the first two years. “I don’t see why not, Mr. Jones.”

“I’d like that.” He bent his head to look at her. “You know, miss, I think you’re about the prettiest girl I’ve seen in New York.”

She smiled professionally. “That’s nice, Mr. Jones.”

He turned a little redder then, and took another swallow. She could hear the other voices, Sally’s fantastic giggle, Irene’s husky tones. They seemed to contrast sharply with this man’s soft, Southern accent.

“My name isn’t really Jones,” he said. “The boys decided we ought to make up names. But I’d slip, I just know I would. So I might as well tell you the truth—it won’t hurt, anyway. I got nobody.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I’d as soon. My name is Sam Griffin. I’m a pitchman, I sell things. But I’m not having much luck here. This is an awful cold town.”

Vy sipped at the Scotch. She heard Irene say, “You don’t have to worry about nothing, honey.”

Diamond had begun to whisper. “Do you do—everything?” he asked, and seemed startled at his courage in asking it.

“I haven’t had no complaints from my customers,” Irene said, smiling.