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CHECKED IN at the front desk of the Ocean View Hotel. Walking in the door she felt as if she were stepping into another era. Overhead fans cooled Art Deco furniture. Black-and-white tile covered the floors. Old black-and-white pictures of bathing beauties from the twenties frolicking on the beach across the street hung behind the desk. She handed over her credit card as the dark-skinned girl smiled and looked up Regan’s name on the computer. What would we do without computers? Regan thought. Wait on long lines while clerks shuffled through index cards, that’s what.
    Her room on the second floor was described as having an ocean view—that is if you got out of bed and walked over to the small window in the corner of the room and peered out through the Venetian blinds. They should have handed over a periscope with the room key, Regan thought as the bellman placed her luggage on the steel foldout contraption with two army-green threaded belts that somehow held it all together. It screamed for a rest, looking as if it had been salvaged from a Girl Scout camp.
    “Thank you,” Regan said as she pressed a tip into the bellman’s hand.
    “You’re welcome, miss. Thank you. Enjoy your stay.” He shut the door behind him.
    Regan looked around the room. It was soothing. A white cotton bedspread, blond pine furniture, an overhead fan above the bed, more pictures of Miami in the old days decorating the walls, all contributed to its charm. A small refrigerator with an ice bucket on top stood in the corner. Regan sat down on the bed and kicked off her shoes. “Thank God,” she muttered as she lay back on the bed and stared up at the fan. She closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the faint whir of the blades as they continued on their ever-revolving course. Voices from passersby on the sidewalk one floor down registered in Regan’s brain.
    Suddenly the phone rang, an urgent double ring, quickly followed by another, as if to admonish the callee to hurry up and answer. Regan sat up.
    “Hello.”
    “Regan, you’re there!” It was Maura.
    “I just got in a few minutes ago. How are you doing?”
    “Well, I’m fine. We’re just getting all the last-minute things together. I just talked to your parents over at the Watergreen. My mother decided to have an impromptu supper here tonight for a few people who are already in town. Luke and Nora said they’d come over, so why don’t you come too?”
    “Well, sure, I was just going to give them a call to see about dinner.”
    “Great. Was your trip all right?”
    “Oh, it was fine.”
    “How does the bridesmaid dress fit?”
    “Like a glove.”
    “Oh, that’s good, because you know I really tried to pick a dress that you could wear again.”
    There was a momentary pause. Regan laughed and so did Maura. “You don’t have to worry about that, Maura. I’m thrilled to be in your wedding, you know that.”
    “But really,” Maura began, “if you just cut it down, you could wear it to a cocktail party . . .”
    Given by who, Regan thought, the Salvation Army? “Maura!” she said. “Stop worrying. It’s your day.”
    “All right, all right. By the way, do you think you could stop and see if my Uncle Richie is over at the Fourth Quarter? It’s just a couple doors down from you. I called his apartment there and got his machine. Sometimes they just sit outside or gather in the community room. We’d love to have him come by tonight. He’s been so preoccupied with this panty hose of his that we’ve hardly seen him, and he probably hasn’t been eating right . . .”
    “Oh, sure. Then we’ll take a cab over to your parents’ house.”
    “Thanks, Morticia.”
    “No problem, Wednesday.” Regan smiled, remembering their other favorite show, “The Addams Family.”
    “See you anytime after seven.”
    “Great.” Regan hung up the phone and jumped up. Her jog would have to wait. Time for a quick shower and to pick out the least-wrinkled clothes from her bags. I’m