"Is there any loot in this stuff?" Nitz asked.

"None that I'm aware of."

"Can you make a living?"

"Maybe so," Lemming said. "I hope so."

Nitz was puzzled. "A guy like you-you have an education, you could work at a big research project. But you want to bum around with this. You enjoy it? It's worth that much to you in terms of personal satisfaction?"

"These are troubled times," Lemming murmured, and Mary Anne lost the balance of it in words as well as thought. His talk, like his singing, made no sense. But Nitz was muttering away, asking the man questions, digging out answers. His interest was a mystery ... she gave up and dismissed the subject.

"You never told us your name," Beth said, approaching her with a fresh drink.

Mary Anne declined the drink. She did not like the woman, and for good reason. But she felt an unhappy respect: Beth had gone directly after Tweany, and her obvious mastery left the girl participating out of her depth. "What's the matter with him?" she said, meaning Lemming. "Nothing at all, probably. But he's so-silly. Maybe it's me. I'm out of place here."

"Don't go," Beth said with condescension.

"I might as well. How long have you known Schilling?"

"Five or six years."

"What's he like?" She did want to find out, and Beth evidently knew.

"That depends," Beth said. "We had a lot of fun together. Years ago, when you were-" She measured the girl, until Mary Anne became offended. "Oh, about fourteen."

"He must have money, to open that store."

"Oh, yes. Joe has money. Not a lot, but enough for what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"Joe is a very thoughtful man. He's also a lonely man. In spite of everything-" She smiled her fixed smile- "I have the highest regard for his taste and intellect. He's highly educated; he's charming in an old-fashioned way. He's a gentleman. . most of the time, at least. He knows a great deal about the music business."

"Then why isn't he running a big record company, like RCA?"

"Haven't you ever met a record collector?"

"No," Mary Anne admitted.

"Joe is where he always wanted to be: he's finally got a little store of his own where he has plenty of time to talk records, touch records, live records."

"He'll stay here, then?"

"Certainly. He's looked for this for years--a peaceful town, off the mainstream, where he can settle down. He's getting old; he wants to retire somewhere. He used to keep himself in the middle of things, running around to parties, concerts, social gatherings, traveling here and there. I suppose that's over ... I don't know. He's always had a strong need for people; he's never liked being alone. He's not a naturally solitary person. He likes to talk and share his experiences. That keeps him reaching out ... he can't be content."

"He sounds wonderful," Mary Anne said caustically.

"You don't sound convinced."

"I almost went to work for him."

"In many ways," Beth said, "it's hard for us to judge Joe Schilling. I once believed he was-well, ruthless."

"And he's not?"

"His needs are so strong. He hits you with such an impact."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I don't see why I should. Maybe some other time."

"Would it make a difference if I told you that something did happen in the store?"

"I know something happened. And I have a good idea what it was. Remember, you and I are the same age ... we have similar problems. Similar experiences."

"You're twenty-nine," Mary Anne said reflectively. "I'm twenty. You're nine years older than I am."

Pained, Beth said: "But for all intents and purposes we're in the same group."

Subjecting the woman to her calm, pitiless scrutiny, Mary Anne said: "Would you help me pick out a bra sometime? I don't want to look so thin. I wish I had a good bustline, like yours."

"You poor kid," Beth said. She shook her head. "You just don't know what it's all about."

"I would, very much," Lemming was saying enthusiastically, "Here, you mean?"

"No," Nitz answered, "we'll have to go over there. It's been arranged by higher powers." He inspected his wristwatch. "He's probably home by now."

"I've heard a lot about him," Lemming said.

Rousing himself from his lethargy, Coombs protested, "The point escapes me. What are we going over there for?"

"Don't be a pill," Beth said.

"I don't want to see him. None of us want to see him. Just you."

"I'd sort of like to," Lemming said. "It might be a good thing professionally."

"It's almost two in the morning," Coombs said. "I'm ready for bed."

"Just for a while," Beth said, unrelenting. "Go get your camera-be a good boy. We told him we'd show up; he asked us to."

Coombs snickered. "He asked us?" He located his camera and tugged the strap on. "You mean, you asked him. The same old business-only this is the first one with a touch of the, tarbrush. What's the matter, are you tired of-"

"Shut up," Beth said, walking away. "We're going; we said we'd go. Stop acting like a neurotic."

"I'm warning you," Coombs said. "If we go over there, no monkey business. You behave."

"Christ," Beth said.

"I mean it."

"Sure, you mean it," Beth said. "You always mean it. Come on," she said to Nitz and Mary Anne. "There's no point in sticking around here. She waved Lemming toward the door. "That's right, Chad. Just turn the knob."

Resignedly, Mary Anne had begun searching for her coat. "I'll show you how to get there," she murmured.

"Why, how sweet," Beth said with a lingering smile. "How very sweet of you, dear."

10

Tweany's house, when they arrived, showed only a faint blue haze in the region of the top floor.

"He's in the kitchen," Mary Anne said, pushing open the car door. The others followed, and, in a moment, they were tramping up the long flight of stairs.

There was no immediate response to Mary Anne's tap. Finally she opened the door and entered. Down the hallway glowed a pittance of light. The sounds of movement were audible; Mary Anne hurried in that direction and appeared breathlessly in Tweany's high-ceilinged kitchen.

Tweany, still wearing his pink shirt and hand-painted tie, was sitting at the table eating a sardine sandwich and drinking a bottle of Rheingold beer. In front of him, spread out among the litter of food, was a smeared copy of Esquire, which he was reading.

"We came," Mary Anne said, her heart aching to see him there, big and sturdy, his sleaves rolled up, his arms thick and heavy and powerful. "We brought what's-his-name along."

Nitz materialized in the doorway. "Get ready to be showed up," he announced, and then vanished back into the hall. The others, Beth and Lemming and Coombs, followed him into the disorderly living room, leaving Mary Anne and Tweany alone.

"He's no good," Mary Anne said loyally. "All he does is talk."

A placid superiority spread across the man's features. He shrugged and resumed his reading. "Help yourself. You know where the refrigerator is."

"I'm not hungry," Mary Anne said. "Tweany-"

Beaming, Chad Lemming entered the kitchen carrying his guitar. "Mr. Tweany, I've wanted to meet you for a long time. I've heard a lot about your style."

Untouched by the young man's flattery, Tweany looked slowly up. "You're Chad Lemming?"

Self-consciously, Lemming fingered his guitar. "I do a sort of political monologue."

Tweany studied him. Lemming, still grinning with embarrassment, started to speak and then changed his mind. A few plaintive squawks drifted from his guitar, as if it were getting away from him.

"Go ahead," Tweany said.