was cold, but he was only now feeling it, so she was probably cold too. They both had on gloves and mufflers and watch caps, hers made out of mohair and pulled down over her ears. Her hair came out of the cap on both sides and covered her cheeks. “It’s gotten cold,” he said. “I’m putting you through too much. Let’s just go in someplace, I don’t care where, so long as it has food and wine or beer.” They were on a Hundred-ninth. “Big choice here: Cuban, Mexican or what’s called continental,” and he said “I don’t know Cuban food and the Mexican will probably be noisy, because a certain boisterousness and loud music always seems to go with their restaurants. Sometimes it can be fun, but I’d prefer a quieter place so we can hear each other talking. Straus Park Cafe looks good. Attractive, fair number of older customers; seems subdued.” He checked the menu outside, pointed to the cheese omelet on it and said “I’m going to have one. Comes with hash browns, which I love, and it’s been about half a year since my last egg. See how quickly I make decisions?” and she said “Good,” and they went inside. They talked. They ordered. They drank. She went to the restroom and came back with her hair in a ponytail. Maybe, he thought to keep it off her face when they walked. This way, that way; her hair always looked nice, he thought. They ate. She had liver and onions and a vegetable and salad. They both thought the bread was especially good. They laughed a lot. He felt comfortable with her. Felt she felt comfortable with him. She was cheerful, beautiful. Again, wonderful in every way. There wasn’t anything he didn’t like about her. Teeth, lips, nose. Her body was good. Her skin was the smoothest and clearest of any woman he’s known. If there was only a better word for it than porcelain, he thought. He’ll think of one but not use it on her. A word just for himself. Her nails weren’t polished. He liked that. No makeup, it seemed; definitely no lipstick. They finished a bottle of wine. He had about two-thirds of it. “More wine,” he said, “since we’re still eating?” “How’s your omelet?” and he said “Delicious. I don’t recognize the cheese. Want some?” and she shook her head. “Salad? I’m afraid I already finished the fried eggplant,” and he said “Is that what it was? No, thanks. Had plenty of salad for both breakfast and lunch. I love salad — yesterday’s, dressed, particularly, But no more wine?” and she said “Oh, I’m going to be in bad shape as it is, drinking so much. The Guinness, and then what I have, three glasses of wine?” and he said “Small glasses. But if you’re not, I won’t either. I’ve had enough,” and she said “You can always get it by the glass,” and he said “Nah, I’m fine. I’ll drink water. But if you think you drank too much, know what to do? Two aspirins with a full glass of water before you go to bed. Then drink two or three more glasses of water during the night — you can keep a carafe by your bedside — and you’ll be fine, no headache, no hangover.” “It really works?” and he said “With me, almost every time. The only other helpful medical advice I have is for a nosebleed that won’t stop.” “I’ve had a couple of those,” and he said “If there’s a next time, roll a little piece of toilet paper into a wad — dampen it first. And any paper will do. And I know it must sound ridiculous, my talking about this, but something soft and absorbent like toilet paper’s the best, and put it between your front teeth and upper lip, right in the middle.” “Thank you, Dr. Samuel,” and he said “‘Samuels,’” but there’s more. Keep it there for a minute or two, no longer because you don’t want to stop the blood flowing to your head. I don’t know if that’s the reason, but it’s something like that. Then take it out. Still bleeding, put it back, same two-minute time limit. That cure is infallible.” “Where did you learn it?” and he said “I forget, but long ago. I’ve had a number of nosebleeds, and I’ve also used this procedure with other people, and it’s worked every time.” Sometime later, she said “Too bad you don’t eat meat. They gave me too big a piece.” “Just leave it,” and she said “You must never have had a cat. I’m going to get it bagged for home. It’s their favorite thing to eat, and here I have a nice piece without stinking up the kitchen cooking it. Could be why I ordered it, to make my cats happy.” “I actually did have a cat once,” he said, “on loan. It belonged to a woman friend, whom I lived with on and off till more than a year ago, first in her house in Rockland County and then downtown. When we broke up, she felt that the cat — well, it’s a story. She thought she was allergic to it, it was by nature an outdoors cat, I had a large terrace with lots of plants, and the adjoining terrace apartment had a friendly female cat whom she thought would make an ideal mate for hers. But then she got lonely for her cat and wanted him back. That was fine with me. The cat — Posey — scratched and bit. But I almost lost him on the IND Seventy-second Street subway platform, returning him to her. He got out of his carrier because I didn’t latch it well. Another story.” “What did you do to catch him?” and he said “Me? Nothing. For a minute or so, till he heard the train coming and ran back into his carrier, I was scared as hell he was gone for good and I didn’t know how I’d explain it to her. But we should go.” He paid for the dinner. She said “That was very generous of you. But you have to know I would have been glad to go Dutch and still would like to, if you’d let me,” and he said “I know. Thank you.” Outside, he said “If it’s too cold for you, I could get you a cab,” and she said “No, my coat’s really warm, and I like to walk after a dinner out. If you want to take a cab to your home, I’ll be okay.” He said “It is cold — I never seem to wear the right clothes — but I’d like to walk you to your building.” “Because of the wind, get set for it being even colder when we head down to the river,” and he said “It shouldn’t last too long, so I’ll survive.” They didn’t talk much while they walked. He thought because of the cold and that her muffler now covered her mouth. He did say — to break the silence—“What unusual weather,” and she said “December; I guess what we should expect,” and he said “But so early in the month?” and she said “I forget what the weather’s like one year to the next.” They started down the hill to the Drive at a Hundred-fourteenth Street. She put her arm through his and pushed her shoulder against his side and with her other hand held the bag with the liver, and they walked that way till they got to her building. “Well, again,” he said, “this has been fun. We should do it another time,” and she said “Like to come up for a nightcap? For you, not me, and it’ll have to be a short visit; my work,” and he said “I’d love to see—” and she said “Let’s talk inside.” They went through the revolving door into the lobby. She said “I’m sorry; what were you saying? The cold,” and he said “That I’d like to see your apartment and meet your cats. Two?” and she said “Natalie and Dominique. They’re probably asleep on a shelf in the linen closet, so they might not come out, even for their special treat,” and she shook the bag. “Do they also like onions?’ and she said “What do you mean?” and he said “Nothing,” and she said “Ah, it just registered. I’ll rinse the liver first and maybe heat it up. They don’t like frozen liver.” “You know,” he said, looking down the long lobby to the back of the building, “I’ve never been to this building — it’s enormous — but have been to the one we passed next door. A dreary New Year’s Eve party a few years ago,” and she said “That’s too bad. I hope it didn’t leave you with a bad feeling for this neighborhood.” “And a lit Christmas tree. Looks nice,” and she said “We have this tyrannical super who will only decorate it himself. No kids permitted near it, even when it’s done. The candy canes look real but aren’t and the wrapped empty boxes underneath are the same every year. But you’re right and what I failed to give him credit for: it makes the place more cheerful.” The front nightman was sitting behind an opened window in a small office with rows of tenant cubbyholes behind him and to his right three monitors showing another entrance to the building and the laundry room and a dim corridor in what looked like a basement. He was eating a noodle soup out of a large Thermos cup. Chicken, by its smell. “Good evening,” and she said “Hi, Cal. This is my friend Martin,” and he said “Nice to meet you, Cal…Calvin?” and Cal said “Cal. Something important from management for you, Gwendolyn.” There was a notice in some of the cubbyholes — keys, too, in a few, and other things: a rolled-up