n’t on. Another doorman, sitting in a leather chair by the door, reading a Russian newspaper, or some language in Cyrillic. “Good evening. Martin Samuels,” he said. “7J said she’d call down to you beforehand that I was coming,” and the man pointed to the elevator and said “Press seven button.” In the elevator going up, he thought Should he kiss her when she opens the door? Certainly her cheek, if she offers it. But the lip kiss he should wait till she adjusts more to his being there. Okay, here goes, and the elevator opened. She was waiting at her front door when he got off. “Hi,” she said, and he said “Hi,” and they went inside. “I want you to know, I’m not psychic. I asked Boris to call me when you were coming up. I thought it’d be more hospitable greeting you at the door than letting you wait behind it.” “I appreciate that. May I hang up my coat and put away my book?” and she said “What are you reading?” and he pulled it out of his back pants pocket and showed it to her. “No, I don’t know it. You’ll have to tell me about it, if you’re enjoying it.” He put the book and his cap on the shelf above the coats in the foyer closet and hung his muffler and coat on the same hanger. “Aren’t you cold in so light a coat?” and he said “This isn’t so light and it’s not that bad out.” Should he try for a little kiss now? Big, little, don’t rush it, and holding off might even be the best move. She’d, he’d think, prefer him taking it slow, and besides, the conversation so far has been a bit stiff, nothing conducive for a kiss. She put her hand out for them to go into the living room, a gesture — the way she did it: sort of a sweep — he thought fairly formal. What’s going on? She have a change of mind about him since they spoke on the phone and is going to ask him to leave soon? “Your cats,” he said. “I’m beginning to think you don’t have any,” and she said. “You wouldn’t think that if you had to change their litter box every other day. They’ve gone beddy-bye for the night. I hate to think it, but the poor dears are getting old.” “Actually, I did see them the last time, didn’t I?” “I don’t know. Incidentally, I never asked if you worked out your literary problems in your walk,” and he said “No, but I will. Sometimes it takes two walks.” “A two-walk problem. Sounds formidable. Care for a drink? The beer selection hasn’t improved, but I still have a good red wine and several teas, herbal and nonherbal. I can even make you a hot chocolate,” and he said “That’d be nice, but would it be all right if I have another of that Israeli brandy? I really liked it,” and she said “Help yourself. I think you know where everything is. Snifter in the refrigerator, brandy on the glasses shelf in the kitchen cupboard with the elephant-ear plants on top. Kidding. You can be so funny at times, I thought I should add my own joke. But please, take, I mean it,” and he said “Take my brandy, please take my brandy.” She said “I don’t understand,” and he said “You’re not familiar with that old Henny Youngman line?” “Who’s that?” and he said “A comedian; post-World War II. Very Jewish. A line about his wife. Also lots of quips about army life, or maybe that was Harvey Stone. I’m really dating myself here. And your joke was good and original,” and she said “I don’t know about ‘good,’ and it doesn’t take much to be original. Just say what’s never been said, no matter how dumb and non sequiturial. See? I just did it. Get your drink.” It’s going better now, he thought, and went into the kitchen. “Or maybe I should attend to it,” she said from the living room. “Why am I suddenly being inhospitable?” “Stay there,” he said. “I can take care of it. Want me to pour you some?” and she said “It’s a little late for me to drink.” “One short one won’t hurt”—he didn’t want to be the only one drinking and with booze on his breath — and she said “Oh, all right, but a thimbleful. Just put mine in a juice glass; you’ll find it in the dish rack by the sink.” “I can have mine in a juice glass too,” and she said “Use the snifter. Your brandy will taste much better in it, and you can snift it. I’m having so little — more to be hospitable — it doesn’t count.” He got the snifter out of the cupboard — it seemed clean but he still rinsed it — and poured the brandy into the two glasses, inch for her, two inches for him. He drank half of his, poured another inch into his glass, put the bottle back on the side shelf of the refrigerator and brought the glasses into the living room. No TV around, he noticed, so it must be in the bedroom. She was sitting on the couch. “Maybe you’re hungry,” she said. “I should have asked. I have these delicious coconut macaroons.” “Nah, I’m all right. Don’t get up.” “If you change your mind, they’re in the cookie tin on top of the refrigerator. I also have chocolates from Mondell’s, a candy shop up the block. People come from all over the city to buy them, some even send their chauffeurs. One’s a famous actress, but I won’t name names.” “Why not?” and she said “The owner asked me not to. All right. Katharine Hepburn. Her particular favorite is called almond cluster. I think I have one of those left.” “I’m not much for chocolates, but thanks.” He gave her her glass — did it while he was standing so he wouldn’t spill anything from either glass as he sat down — and sat beside her. “You gave me too much — you might have to finish mine — but cheers,” and they clinked glasses and laughed at that. “What an odd couple,” she said, “—a juice glass and a snifter. But we should drink. Otherwise, no cheers,” and they drank. Talked. “So how have you been?” he started off with. “I know that sounds like a stupid question, but it has been a while.” After she said “Good, fine, busy,” he said “Me, it’s been the same: write, write, write. Gets so dull.” He asked and she told him what she’s been working on the last few days. “Stuff that has to be done if I want to have a career.” “You must work in your bedroom, because I see no evidence of a work space here,” and she said “You’re quite the quick observer. What else have you discovered about me?” “Nothing.” They talked a little more. He forgets about what. He actually felt a little dizzy and there was a welling-up feeling — something — in his chest. It felt good but uncomfortable. By now he knows all he wanted to do was kiss her. Leaned over to. She said “I think we should put our glasses down or else they’ll get crushed. They did, hers on the coffee table, his on the end table on his right. “So you know what I want to do?” and she said “You’ve given unmistakable signs.” “Then it’s all right?” and she said “Our glasses are down, and it was nice the last time.” He leaned over to her again. She closed her eyes just before he did and they kissed. The first was long. There were others of all kinds: short, long, one with their mouths open, one where they touched tongues, lip kisses, cheek and neck kisses; for him forehead and then eyebrow kisses. “That feels funny,” she said. “You don’t like it? It’s not something I have to do,” and she said into his ear because their cheeks were touching “Martin, it’s fine.” They kissed some more on the lips. He put his hands under her shirt in back as he did the first night he was here, then up her left side and on the same cup of her bra. She let him leave his hand there and then let him move it around. He tried to get his hand under the cup, couldn’t — something to do with the bra’s supports or it was on too tight — so he started unhitching the straps in back while they kissed. She pulled her face away and said “Maybe we should just go to the bedroom.” “I’d love to,” and she said “Then let’s, though let me shut off the lights in the kitchen first and make sure the front door’s locked.” She stood up, pulled her shirt down from the bottom and stuck her hand down her shirt in back to do something with the bra. “Done with your drink?” and he thought should he swig it down? Sip just a little? Leave it? Leave it, and he said “I’ve had enough.” “Sure?” I don’t mean to be hurrying you. I’m just being obsessive about cleaning up,” and he said “Then let me take a last short sip. It’s so good,” and he sipped a little and gave her his glass — she already had hers — and she took them into the kitchen. She must have rinsed them — that was the sound he heard — and placed them upside down in the dish rack or on the glass holders on the side of it. She then switched off the kitchen lights and went to the front door and he heard the latch in the lock click and the door chain slide on. She came back and held out her hand to him. He took it, got up, made his way around the coffee table, still holding her hand, and they went into the bedroom.