As they walked south, Clay kept his eye on the road, constantly signaling for a cab or any car that might stop and pick them up. It was hopeless and strange. Strange to be on Fifth Avenue in New York City in almost total darkness and realize there was no way to get a ride downtown. Normally there was always a gypsy cab or a car service driver who wanted to make a buck between jobs. But tonight people who usually took the subway, something Lorraine would never even consider, spent their money on cars.

Lorraine kept teetering along. “Let’s stop for a minute,” she whined. “I’m getting blisters.”

“Why are you wearing those shoes?”

“I told you. The airlines lost my luggage.”

“Those are hardly traveling shoes.”

“I have to look my best, especially when I’m traveling. You never know when you might meet a producer or director in the first class lounges or end up next to one of them on the plane.”

“I wouldn’t know. My seat is always in the back in the ultra-ultraeconomy section. Usually next to a screaming kid.”

Lorraine sighed. “Clay, I can’t walk all the way down to Tribeca like this. I just can’t.”

“Isn’t the thought of getting those letters back giving you strength?”

“I’m getting blisters!” Lorraine cried, stopping dead in her tracks and stomping her foot. But she’d stopped on a grate, and the heel of the shoe she stomped slipped between the metal pieces and got stuck. When she tried to pull her shoe out, the heel snapped off.

“Oh, no!” she cried. “These shoes were my favorite!”

“Your favorites are the ones that give you blisters?” Clay asked wryly.

“I guess so!” Lorraine kicked off her shoes, pulled the heel out of the grate, and stood barefoot on the sidewalk. Despite her disappointment, the feeling of her bare feet on the pavement was heavenly. “Mama Mia, that feels so much better. But I can’t walk barefoot, Clay. I might step on glass or a nail or something.”

“What do you propose we do?”

“I don’t know. Why did that stupid airline have to lose my luggage?”

“I wish I could answer that for you, Lorraine.”

“Can you carry me?”

“All the way to Tribeca? No way.”

“There’s a lot of money at stake.”

“Not enough to pay for chiropractors for the rest of my life. Listen, Lorraine, I live on Ninth Street. Let me run down there and get my bicycle. I’ll come back and get you as fast as possible.”

“You can’t leave me all by myself.” She looked around. “It’s dark and deserted.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I’m scared,” Lorraine whined. “I could get mugged.”

“Then how about if we go back to the hotel? It’s only about eight blocks. I think I can carry you that far. Your friend the greeter is dying to welcome you home. You can shoot the breeze with him until I pick you up on my bicycle.”