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motioned me to the other side of the room where there were a couple of chairs. Tiredly, she sat on one of them. I sat down next to her.
    â€œWhen did you get back?” I said because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
    â€œA while ago,” she said. “Pete had business in New York. He said I should come too.”
    â€œYou didn’t call me?”
    â€œI didn’t call because I didn’t want you to see me like this.” She constantly twisted the diamond rings Pete had given her when they got married. She had loved the big white stones, but now her fingers were thin and dry as twigs and the rings were too big. Dawn’s long silky hair was unwashed. Her eyes were dull, the pupils dilated, the whites like rotten eggs. I knew that Dawn was on drugs.
    The dark was oppressive. There was a floor lamp near me and I reached for the switch. Dawn pushed my hand away. “No,” she said. “Don’t.”
    â€œCome on, Dawn. Sweetheart? What’s going on? Talk to me.” I heard myself, garrulous, voluble, pretending nothing had changed.
    â€œIt’s OK, Artie.” She faked a smile. “Don’t mind me, I’m just tired. We do a lot of traveling. Everyone’s cutting deals before the Chinese really get their hooks into Hong Kong. July ’97, a few months, hard to believe. The Chinese take over. After that, a year, two, then everything changes. Pete says it will be OK. Pete knows the Chinese. And we’ve both got American passports. We’re OK.” Like a hostage propped in front of the TV cameras, she seemed to be reading approved lines. “I’m only here for Ricky.”
    â€œWhere’s Pete?”
    â€œI’m here. How are you, Artie?”
    Pete Leung walked into the room and we shook hands. He’s tall, rumpled and very rich. He was thirty-seven, a couple years younger than me. His shirt tails hung out of his corduroy pants, he wore wire-rimmed glasses and his hands were rough, stained with paint. Pete’s a tinkerer. He takes things apart and puts them back together. I liked him a lot. You couldn’t help it.
    Pete left the door open. Light flooded into the room from the hall and, in it, Dawn looked trapped, like a deer in the headlights.
    Just then, Rick looked up and he saw Dawn too. He tried to get up. I ran over to him and found some shoes under the sofa, but he couldn’t keep them on. The shoes were too big. Rick’s feet had shriveled up. They were gray and bony like the feet of old men at the beach.
    â€œHelp me,” he said.
    I held one arm, and Pete took the other. Rick took a few steps, wobbled, and fell. We heaved him up again. “Come on,” I said. “Come on, Rick, you can fucking do this. You can. I swear to God.”
    â€œI can’t,” he said and then he crawled back onto his sofa.
    I had to get away. I loved these people, they’re as much family as I ever had since I got to New York, and I’d destroyed them. I needed air. I needed Lily very badly.
    In the hall, where thick, soft Chinese carpets covered the waxed oak floors, I got my shoes and coat. Padding after me, Dawn raised her dark unhappy eyes. “Do you want to know how it is, Artie? Do you? Do you really want to know?” But a noise startled her and she flitted away again, down the hall to her bedroom. I heard her door close.
    â€œI didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I don’t know what to do any more.” Pete looked exhausted and there were faint lines around his eyes. He took off his glasses and blinked. He had been born in Hong Kong to a very rich family, had gone to college in England and grad school in America and he was usually loose, easy, like the shirt hanging out of his pants. I wondered what it was like to have all Pete’s millions and be as miserable as he looked now. Bending down, he pulled on some green rubber boots.
    â€œI’ve got to get out for a while. Fancy a few