Up again and some of the finest pa.s.ses I have witnessed since the time of El Gallo!"

The woman in the velvet dress turned. "Ole," she said, softly.

"So, well, you can see, all of you, why I did not _hesitate_ to put him on the same bill with Perez and Lombardini." The large man snorted. "And if you two charlots are not careful, the little boy will steal all the glory, too!"

Juanito's body tingled. Even to be in the same room with these men to whom he had seen before only as G.o.ds in gold thread, that was enough; but to hear these words.

"Great caution, Galvez," said Garcia, wagging his finger, "or the ears I cut will be yours."

Everyone laughed. Then the Impresario released his grip. "I tell you what," he said. "You and Andree get acquainted. Enjoy yourselves."

"Yes, Senor."

"Good." Camara slapped Juanito's arm, hard, and wandered back to the crowd of people.

Surprisingly, Enrique was drinking. In long swallows. Drinking, then filling up, and drinking more.

"What shall I call you?" asked the woman whose name was Andree.

"Whatever you like."

"Juanito?"

"If you wish."

A fast tune began to play on the phonograph; couples began to dance.

"Don Alfredo tells me you have style."

"I try. You--follow the bulls?"

"Oh yes," she said. "It's a pa.s.sion."

They looked at one another, silently, for a moment; then Juanito said, "Excuse me, please," andwalked to the other side of the room.

"Enrique, let's go home," he said.

"What? Why?"

"I'm tired."

Enrique shook his head. "It would be an insult to Don Alfredo," he said. "Do you want to offend the man who's giving you your big break?"

"No, of course not. But--"

"Then, relax. It's early: only nine. Drink a little, talk to the woman."

"You said women were bad for me."

"Only the bunis. This one is all right. She's got cla.s.s. Don't you like her?"

Juanito knew that she was staring at him. "Yes," he said. "She is very beautiful."

"Then what?"

"I don't know."

"Aah! Take your sad face away from here, then, so I can enjoy myself!"

Juanito stepped back. So long he had known this man, so well; but never had he seen this mood upon Enrique. Perhaps, he thought, it is his way of being excited. Certainly; yes!

"Care to dance?"

The woman, Andree, was moving slightly in time to the music. Young, Juanito decided. Not so young as his own nineteen years, maybe. But not much over. The flesh was firm everywhere, and everywhere smooth: incredibly smooth!

"If you don't," she said. "I'll tell Don Alfredo and he'll be angry. Now, take my arms."

"I'm sorry, but I--"

"No, no! You're doing fine. Just twirl me a little, this way; now back, so. Wonderful!"

The music grew louder and faster and soon Juanito was remembering the steps that wh.o.r.e from Tijuana had taught him. He was beginning to like the nearness of the woman, though it still frightened him, and he particularly liked it when she clapped her hands and threw her head back and then touched her hips to his.

"Well done!" cried a voice, Don Alfredo's.

"Yes!" said Andree. "He is light on my feet!"

Juanito got the joke and laughed. From the corner of his eye, he watched the other men, the great Matadors, and saw that they were dancing, also, with their women.

I am one of them, he thought, remembering the endless dream.

They accept me, I am one of them!

Andree was perspiring now. Her rich black hair, like tiny slender strips of dark metal, hung about her face; her eyes were ponds in which the lights were swimming; and her lips, to Juanito, were the softest and fullest in all the world, half-open always, revealing the whitest and straightest of teeth, the most quickly darting tongue that ever hid in the warm night of a girl's mouth . . .

"More tequila, _torero?_"

He started to say no, no more, but in a flash the woman was gone, and in a flash, back again.

"To us," she said.

Juanito drank. Then, as his limbs were losing all their weight, the music slowed, and the woman pressed her body close to his and put her face next to his.

"Andree," he said.

She made a catlike sound in her throat.

"Andree, who are you with?"

She pulled her head back lazily. "With you," she murmured.

"No. That isn't what I mean. Whose . . . woman are you?"

Only the deep sound again, from her throat.

"Garcia's?"

"Don't worry," she said. "You didn't steal me."

"Perez's?""I'm here as Don Alfredo's guest. He is a relative."

"Oh."

"'Oh'? You sound disappointed, Senor Galvez. Tell me, does the fruit always taste better when it's stolen?"

Juanito blushed hotly. "No," he said, "No, no."

"Then why are you so afraid to take a bite?"

Her flesh burned against his, then, and his mind began to swirl. He saw the bull's head, dead eyes staring blindly down . . . "Forgive me," he said, and made for the corner where Enrique had been drinking. As he walked he saw that most of the other guests had departed. Of the Matadors, only Lombardini remained, asleep on the floor.

A clock read ten minutes until midnight.

"Hey, _torero!_ Are you lost?"

Don Alfredo thrust out a pudgy hand. He came close, smelling of liquor and colognes.

"I didn't know it was so late," said Juanito, looking away from the fat, glistening face. "Have you seen Enrique?"

"Your manager? The ugly one?"

"Enrique, my mozo."

"He is gone," said Don Alfredo Camara, grinning. "Too much tequila."

Juanito felt a tightening in his chest. On this night of all nights, for Enrique to desert him! To go without a word! "When did he leave?"

"An hour ago. Two hours. Why?"

Once more, Juanito could not find the words.

"He was going to take you with him," said the large man, lighting a fresh cigarette from the one he had been smoking, "but I pointed out, how unfair! I told him we'd take care of you. And . . . have we?"

"Yes, Senor."

"So, then, everything is okay." The fingers dug into Juanito's arm. "Take it from one who knows, you must be calm, relaxed, the night before the big fight. So important. Believe me."

"Yes, Senor."

"The going home early is an old wive's tale, a fantasy. It doesn't work. You try to sleep, but instead you dream about the next afternoon. It grows real in your mind. So real. You hear the crowd screaming and you see the toril gate opening . . . so? No sleep at all. Next day you're a wreck. Logical, Juan Galvez? Reasonable?"

Juanito nodded. It went against everything he'd ever heard, against Enrique's advice, but it sounded right, somehow. Certainly it was true that he would dream "I apologize, Don Alfredo."

"For what? Go, now, go back and have some fun. Get yourself exhausted. Then sleep soundly!"

Juanito watched as the Impresario turned and weaved his way back to the couch and sprawled, giggling, over the woman in the black dress.

"Your keeper is missing?"

The words were mocking. He wheeled. Andree was smiling at him, her body still moving to the music.

"Enrique is not my keeper," he said, in a slow, even voice.

"No? Who then?"

He took a step toward her. "No one." He pulled her quickly to him and pressed with all his strength. "No one," he repeated, angrily. "No one. You understand?"

Her eyes were big. When she tried to slip from his grasp, Juanito pressed harder. "Yes," she said, finally. His hands moved up to her hair; slowly he forced her lips to his, then, feeling a river of strange new sensations sweeping over him, he released the woman.

She stared at him, a difference in her eyes. Then she walked to the ivory closet door and returned.

"Help me," she said.He held the dark fur jacket.

"Have you a car?"

"No," he said.

"I do." She put her arm through his. "Come on."

Juanito cast a glance back at the room. Don Alfredo was peering behind a gray curtain of smoke; there was no expression on his face, no expression at all.

The door closed.

In another room, in another part of the city, another door closed.

"Pour us a drink," the woman said, pointing to the nightstand next to the large yellow bed.

J uanito took a curved silver flask from the drawer, unscrewed the top and let it dangle by this tiny steel necklace. His heart was pumping fast, the way it used to when he would steal into the big ranches at night and work the bulls by starlight and shadow. He was afraid. And that was why he knew he must not run, must not take a backward step.

He tilted his head and let the liquid fire sear down his throat; then he carried the flask to the woman.

She drank. He saw the muscles of her neck moving.

Together, in minutes, they emptied the silver flask.

Then the woman took off her coat, flinging it into a corner. In the dim light of the single sh.e.l.l-shaded lamp, her red dress burned into Juanito's eyes.

He moved toward her. Quickly, she stepped aside, twisting her body and laughing.