After that night, she vanished. Not suddenly, but it did not take long. She married Bobby. It was as simple as a death, but it lasted longer. It seemed it would never go away. She lingered in his thoughts. Did he exist in hers? he often wondered. Did she still feel, even if only a little, the way he felt? The years seemed to have no effect on it. She was in New Jersey somewhere, in some place he could not picture. Probably there was a family. Did she ever think of him? Ah, Noreen.

SHE HAD NOT CHANGED. He could tell it from her voice, speaking, as always, to him alone.

- You probably have kids, he said as if casually.

- He didn't want them. Just one of the problems. Well, all that's acqua pa.s.sata, as he liked to say. You didn't know I got divorced?

- No.

- I more or less kept in touch with Marie up until she retired. She told me how you were doing. You're a big wheel now.

- Not really.

- I knew you would be. It would be nice to see you again. How long has it been?

- Gee, a long time.

- You ever go out to Westhampton?

- No, not for years.

- Goldie's?

- He closed.

- I guess I knew that. Those were wonderful days.

It was the same, the ease of talking to her. He saw her great, winning smile, the well-being of it, her carefree walk.

- I'd love to see you, she said again.

They agreed to meet at the Plaza. She was going to be near there the next day.

He began walking up Fifth a little before five. He felt uncertain but tenderhearted, in the hands of a wondrous fate. The hotel stood before him, immense and vaguely white. He walked up the broad steps. There was a kind of foyer with a large table and flowers, the sound of people talking. As if, like an animal, he could detect the slightest noise, he seemed to make out the clink of cups and spoons.

There were flower boxes with pink flowers, the tall columns with their gilded tops, and in the Palm Court itself, which was crowded, through a gla.s.s panel he saw her sitting in a chair. For a moment he was not sure it was her. He moved away. Had she seen him?

He could not go in. He turned instead and went down the corridor to the men's room. An old man in black pants and a striped vest, the attendant, offered a towel as Arthur looked at himself in the long mirror to see if he had changed that much, too. He saw a man of fifty-five with the same Coney Island face he had always seen, half comic, kind. No worse than that. He gave the attendant a dollar and walked into the Palm Court, where, amid the chattering tables, the mock candelabra, and illuminated ceiling, Noreen was waiting. He was wearing his familiar dog's smile.

- Arthur, G.o.d, you look exactly the same. You haven't changed a bit, she said enthusiastically. I wish I could say that.

It was hard to believe. She was twenty years older; she had gained weight, even her face showed it. She had been the most beautiful girl.

- You look great, he said. I'd recognize you anywhere.

- Life's been good to you, she said.

- Well, I can't complain.

- I guess I can't either. What happened to everybody?

- What do you mean?

- Morris?

- He died. Five or six years ago.

- That's too bad.

- They gave him a big dinner before that. He was all smiles.

- You know, I've wanted to talk to you so much. I wanted to call you, but I was involved in all this tedious divorce stuff. Anyway, I'm finally free. I should have taken your advice.

- What was that?

- Not to marry him, she said.

- I said that?

- No, but I could see you didn't like him.

- I was jealous of him.

- Truly?

- Sure. I mean, let's face it.

She smiled at him.

- Isn't it funny, she said, five minutes with you and it's as if none of it ever happened.

Her clothes, he noticed, even her clothes were hiding who she had been.

- Love never dies, he said.

- Do you mean that?

- You know that.

- Listen, can you have dinner?

- Ah, sweetheart, he said, I'd love to, but I can't. I don't know if you knew this, but I'm engaged.

- Well, congratulations, she said. I didn't know.

He had no idea what had made him say it. It was a word he had never used before in his life.

- That's wonderful, she said straightforwardly, smiling at him with such understanding that he was sure she had seen through him, but he could not imagine them walking into Clarke's, like an old couple, a couple from time past.

- I figured it's time to settle down, he said.

- Of course.

She was not looking at him. She was studying her hands. Then she smiled again. She was forgiving him, he felt. That was it. She always understood.

They talked on, but not about much.

He left through the same foyer with its worn mosaic tile and people coming in. It was still light outside, the pure full light before evening, the sun in a thousand windows facing the park. Walking along the street in their heels, alone or together, were girls such as Noreen had been, many of them. They were not really going to meet for lunch sometime. He thought of the love that had filled the great central chamber of his life and how he would not meet anyone like that again. He did not know what came over him, but on the street he broke into tears.

Bangkok.

HOLLIS WAS IN THE BACK at a table piled with books and a s.p.a.ce among them where he was writing when Carol came in.

- h.e.l.lo, she said.

- Well, look who's here, he said coolly. h.e.l.lo.

She was wearing a gray jersey sweater and a narrow skirt; as always, dressed well.

- Didn't you get my message? she asked.

- Yes.

- You didn't call back.

- No.

- Weren't you going to?

- Of course not, he said.

He looked wider than the last time and his hair, halfway to the shoulder, needed to be cut.

- I went by your apartment but you'd gone. I talked to Pam, that's her name, isn't it? Pam.

- Yes.

- We talked. Not that long. She didn't seem interested in talking. Is she shy?

- No, she's not shy.

- I asked her a question. Want to know what it was?

- Not especially, he said.

He leaned back. His jacket was draped over the back of the chair and his sleeves rolled partway up. She noticed a round wrist.w.a.tch with a brown leather strap.

- I asked her if you still liked to have your c.o.c.k sucked.

- Get out of here, he ordered. Go on, get out.

- She didn't answer, Carol said.

He had a moment of fear, of guilt almost, about consequences. On the other hand, he didn't believe her.

- So, do you? she said.

- Leave, will you? Please, he said in a civilized tone. He made a dispersing motion with his hand. I mean it.

- I'm not going to stay long, just a few minutes. I wanted to see you, that's all. Why didn't you call back?

She was tall with a long, elegant nose like a thoroughbred's. What people look like isn't the same as what you remember. She had been coming out of a restaurant one time, down some steps long after lunch in a silk dress that clung around the hips and the wind pulled against her legs. The afternoons, he thought for a moment.

She sat down in the leather chair opposite and gave a slight, uncertain smile.

- You have a nice place.

It had the makings of one, two rooms on the garden floor with a little gra.s.s and the backs of discrete houses behind, though there was just one window and the floorboards were worn. He sold fine books and ma.n.u.scripts, letters for the most part, and had too big an inventory for a dealer his size. After ten years in retail clothing he had found his true life. The rooms had high ceilings, the bookcases were filled and against them, on the floor, a few framed photographs leaned.

- Chris, she said, tell me something. Whatever happened to that picture of us taken at that lunch Diana Wald gave at her mother's house that day? Up there on that fake hill made from all the old cars? Do you still have that?

- It must have gotten lost.

- I'd really like to have it. It was a wonderful picture. Those were the days, she said. Do you remember the boat house we had?

- Of course.

- I wonder if you remember it the way I remember it.

- That would be hard to say. He had a low, persuasive voice. There was confidence in it, perhaps a little too much.

- The pool table, do you remember that? And the bed by the windows.

He didn't answer. She picked up one of the books from the table and was looking through it; e.e. c.u.mmings, The Enormous Room, dust jacket with some small chips at bottom, minor soil on t.i.tle page, otherwise very good. First edition. The price was marked in pencil on the corner of the flyleaf at the top. She turned the pages idly.

- This has that part in it you like so much. What is it, again?

- Jean Le Negre.

- That's it.

- Still unrivaled, he said.