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at Madame Pepita’s on the faubourg Saint-Honoré. Fifty-five dollars it cost. And that was a small fortune then, I can assure you.”
    “See, Miss Lottie. You can remember when you want to.” Ellie helped her into the custom-built 1972 white Cadillac, whose only outings these days were to the Biltmore and back. Miss Lottie had always refused to own a Rolls. She said she bought Paris hats and English woolens, but her automobiles were always American.
    “You have to support your country’s economy,” she’d quoted her own father. Not that the economy was currently benefiting from her beliefs—she hadn’t bought a car in twenty years. “Buy good and it lasts” was another of her mottoes, and the old Caddy had proven that one true, though the car still had only twelve thousand miles on it.
    The car purred smoothly down the drive, cushioned as a baby carriage, and Ellie said, “The manager is expectingus. No doubt they’ll roll out the red carpet for you.”
    “Nonsense, Ellie. They see us every Monday. Besides, they understand a lady doesn’t like a fuss.”
    Still, Miss Lottie was pleased, and she patted her hair and adjusted the angle of her hat in the mirror, then polished up her old diamond brooch with a linen handkerchief. She wondered fleetingly who had given her it, but the identity of the donor was lost in the mist of her faulty memory.
    Secretly, she enjoyed the fuss they made over her at the Biltmore. After all, she’d been dining there for more than half a century now. Besides, she and Ellie always had fun together, and maybe later, she would persuade her to sleep over. Then it would be just like old times.

         5
    B UCK D UVEEN BOUGHT A NEWSPAPER AND A PACK OF Camel Unfiltered at the rail station. It felt strange, handing over the money, checking the change from the twenty, stepping onto the waiting train. He turned his head, half expecting to see the armed guard behind him, ready to haul him off again, tell him it was all a sick joke and he was heading right back into the hard-timers ward. But the only person behind him was a young woman in a blue suit with a very short skirt and very good legs.
    Buck stood politely to one side to allow her to get by and she threw him a casual smile of thanks. He grinned maliciously as he walked behind her through the railroad car. It wasn’t politeness that had made him step back. He hadn’t seen a real honest-to-god woman in years. The Amazons in the Hudson Institute didn’t count, though they would have done in a pinch, if he could have stunned one of them long enough to get his hands up her skirt. Now he could hardly contain his excitement, just looking at the movement of her taut little butt.
    She stopped at an empty seat, took off her jacket andplaced it on the overhead rack, giving him a further opportunity to linger. He’d seen young women on TV, but watching her was like the difference between reality and a porn magazine. Each had its place but he knew which he preferred. She took her seat and he nodded to her and went on his way.
    He chose a seat opposite another woman, an older one this time but still attractive, in her early forties: short bouncy black hair, brown eyes, a fleshy mouth. Her fingernails were very long, squared off at the tips and painted dark red. He thought they looked predatory, like a vulture’s claws. He imagined them digging into a man’s back, instead of into the bag containing a ham sandwich.
    She acted as if he were not there, opening her book, taking a bite out of the sandwich. Buck placed his newspaper on the table, took the pack of cigarettes and shook one out. She glanced up, frowning.
    “Smoking is not allowed.”
    “Excuse me. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” He was polite, a gentleman. He put the cigarettes away and popped a breathmint in his mouth, and she went back to her book.
    He did not open the newspaper. He sat facing her, his eyes fixed on her. It was a game he’d always liked to play and he