Her eyes still on her speech, Eve Harris switched the TV off and punched the intercom button. "How much time did he get?" she asked with no preamble. After five years as her assistant, Tommy would know exactly what she meant.

"He'll be out in seven months, five if he behaves himself."

Eve sighed heavily-if Jeff Converse had been black instead of white, he'd have been lucky to get out in fifteen years. And starting tomorrow morning, the families and friends of half her constituents would start calling her office, demanding to know why their sons, lovers, and fathers were sitting in jail for years while the white boy only got a slap on the wrist.

And Eve knew she would have no answers.

It was just one more thing that wasn't fair.

One more thing she needed to work on.

Putting the speech aside, she picked up the phone and dialed the D.A.‘s office. "What can you tell me about the Converse sentence?" she asked when Perry Randall came on the line. She listened to him speak for nearly five minutes, then shook her head. "What am I supposed to tell my people, Perry?" she asked. "If he was black, they'd have put him away for the rest of his life." She barely paused, knowing the prosecutor would have no answer. "Oh, I'm not blaming you. It's not your fault, is it?" She dropped the phone back on the hook, then stared at it, shaking her head. "That's the bitch of it," she muttered to herself. "Nothing is ever anybody's fault."

And that, she realized as she went back to work on her speech, was exactly why everything she did was so important.

By eight that evening the wind was whipping a cold rain through Foley Square and the park around City Hall, but Eve Harris didn't even think about hailing a cab, let alone using one of the city cars that was always at her disposal. Instead she headed for the subway station, her head lowered against the wind and rain, and scurried down the stairs along with a smattering of other people whose overload of work had kept them in their offices three hours past the time when everyone else had gone home. Not that looking for a cab or taking a city car would have helped-the cabs had all vanished into the black hole that sucked up every cab in the city within minutes after the first drops of rain began to fall, and taking a car would have made the trip up to the Waldorf-Astoria twice as long as the run on the subway. She dragged her MetroCard through the slot with a well-practiced swipe, pushed through the turnstile, and headed down to the platform to catch a train that would drop her off virtually under the hotel. As the train rattled to a halt, Eve glanced at her watch. She wouldn't get there in time for dinner, but that was all right-most of the people she would be talking about tonight wouldn't be getting any dinner, so why should she? But she knew she would arrive in plenty of time to be on the dais when Monsignor McGuire was ready to introduce her. So it would be all right. She stepped into the car, sank onto a vacant seat, and was about to read through her speech one last time when a rough voice spoke.

"You Miz Harris, ain't you?"

The woman was clinging to one of the poles in the middle of the car, perhaps to steady herself against its swaying as the train moved on, but more probably against the cheap red wine that had obviously been her dinner. The bottle-its neck sticking out of a crumpled and stained brown paper bag- was still clutched in her hand, and even as she gazed wearily at Eve through bloodshot eyes, she raised it to her lips, tipped it up, and sucked out another mouthful. As a few drops of the dark red fluid dribbled down her chin, she thrust the bottle toward Eve. "Want some?" she asked, her words half questioning, half challenging.

Eve felt the man next to her shifting in his seat, and didn't have to look at him to know he was adjusting his newspaper to block his view of the shabbily dressed woman who seemed to be carrying all her possessions in three layers of plastic garbage bags so ragged that tufts of dirty material were bursting through in half a dozen places. Behind the woman, Eve saw two other people edge away before the woman could focus her attention on them.

Eve hesitated only a moment, then met the woman's gaze straight on. "Actually, there's nothing I'd like better right now," she said. "But I'm on my way to make a speech, and I'm not sure I should." The woman seemed to weigh her words, turning them over in her mind as if seeking some hidden meaning. As the train began to slow for the Canal Street stop, the man next to Eve stood up and scuttled toward the door at the far end of the car, as if afraid of getting too close to the woman who was still clinging to the pole. As another man started edging toward the empty seat, Eve patted it and smiled at the woman. "Why don't you sit down?"

The woman's eyes widened slightly, then darted first to one side, then the other, as if she couldn't quite believe Eve was speaking to her. Half a dozen people were watching now, and the woman seemed about to bolt. "At least put your bag down for a minute. It looks heavy."

Finally, the woman made up her mind. Plumping herself down on the seat next to Eve, she placed her bag between her feet, keeping her hand on it as carefully as if it were a case of diamonds. "Most people look the other way," she said.

Eve folded up her speech, shoved it into the enormous leather shoulder bag she always carried, then groped around in the bag until her fingers found what she wanted. When her hand emerged, it was clutching a large, Hefty trash bag, one of the extra thick ones with drawstrings. "Maybe we ought to put your bag in this," she suggested. "It might be raining pretty hard when you get off."

"Might not get off till tomorrow morning," the woman countered truculently.

Eve shrugged. "According to the weather report, it might rain for days. Besides, isn't it always nice to have new luggage?"

Suddenly, the woman smiled, and let go of her bag long enough to stick her hand at Eve. "I guess it's true what everyone says about you, Miz Harris. My name's Edna Fisk. But everybody calls me Eddie."

"Everybody calls me Eve," the councilwoman replied. "At least my friends do."

Through the next half-dozen stops, Eve Harris chatted amiably with Edna Fisk, who finished her bottle of wine during the course of the conversation, carefully recapped the empty bottle, and shoved it into her bag with her other belongings. "I'm not keeping it," she said, even though Eve hadn't questioned her. "I just hate litter. Soon's I get off the train, I'll put it in a trash barrel."

"I wish more people were like you," Eve observed. A moment later both women glared balefully at a man who left a crushed and greasy paper bag on his seat when he left the train at the next stop. "Some people are just slobs," Eve said, getting up to retrieve the bag, then sitting back down next to Edna. "You want to dump this, or shall I?"

"I'll take it," Edna said, shoving the greasy bag in after her empty wine bottle. Then she smiled shyly, a black gap showing where one of her front teeth once had been. "And if I can still have that new luggage, I'd sure appreciate it." By the time the train began slowing at Fifty-first Street, Eve had helped Edna Fisk get her worn bags inside the new one. "I guess what I heard was right," she said as Eve stood up and moved toward the door. "You're not much of a one for preaching."

Eve Harris's brows arched. "Oh, I preach, all right. I just like to reserve my preaching for those who need it." She hesitated, then said, "There are places you could go, you know…" But when Edna Fisk's eyes clouded and she shook her head, Eve let her voice trail off. The train squealed to a stop and the doors slid open. "It was nice talking to you," she said as she stepped out. She headed toward the stairs, the doors of the car slid closed again and the train pulled away.