“There’s a sort of view. You have to work at it.”

“How’s the party going?”

“Going good.” I was trying to find a way of casually putting the hair pick back, but part of my hair had fallen down, and it wasn’t going to work. “I’m just taking a break from it. To see Ed.”

“I guess Ed’s been taking a break, too. I’m sure he’ll be back up in a minute.”

“That’s all right, I guess I can see him later.” I pressed the elevator’s down button. It was one of those nervous situations that you didn’t want to turn into a crime scene.

“Sorry if I startled you.”

“Sorry if I was getting ready to attack you.”

“Don’t apologize. Excellent reflexes.”

We had to wait another minute for the elevator to get there. When it did, I got in. “Well, goodbye. Enjoy the view, if you can.”

The elevator door was already closing when he said, “Hold on a second.”

I blocked the door with my free hand. “You’re really pretty,” he said, and I let the door slide closed. I don’t know if he saw me smiling.

In the elevator I tried to put my hair back up, but it wasn’t happening, and I took out the other pick and shook my hair loose. I wondered what time it was. I’d had about enough party fun. I could check on the food, collect Aaron, and we could make a break for it.

The elevator let me out on the ground floor. The party was still buzzing, I could tell from the noise. On my way to the kitchen, I almost collided with one of the red-dyed Pancho Lefty girls. She was coming down another hallway, from a bathroom, I guessed. I couldn’t say which one she was because her shirt was inside out.

She gave me a what-are-you-staring-at look, and walked, less than steadily, out to the front of the house.

I thought for a moment, then headed down the corridor she’d come from. I heard Aaron’s voice, and another. I reached the door. It was closed but they hadn’t thought to lock it. When I opened it, I didn’t look for long, but long enough to tell that this one was Pancho.

Aaron

I spent the night in Jonathan’s basement apartment. He’d gone home with somebody he met at the party, a film guy who worked in postproduction. I woke up early, borrowed one of Jonathan’s sweatshirts, made myself toast and coffee in his tiny, meticulous kitchen. I found a paper bag to write on and a purple crayon. “Hey,” I started out, and then I stared at what I’d written for a while. “Thanks for letting me stay here. I hope it works out with . . .”

More staring. I guess the film guy had a name. I didn’t know it but I hope Jonathan did. “. . . with everything,” I finished, which was lame, but I was too tired to care.