them.
'I'll be damned,' Ricky said. 'He's using his offices too.'
Which was the truth. A young man pressed up against the door by the crowd let them in. Ricky recognized him as the latest occupant of the Galli house. He accepted Ricky's thanks with a deferential grin, and then smiled at Stella. 'Mrs. Hawthorne, isn't it? I've seen you around town, but we've never been introduced.' Before Ricky could remember the man's name, he had offered Stella his hand and said, 'Freddy Robinson, I live across the street.'
'A pleasure, Mr. Robinson.'
'This is some party.'
'I'm sure it is,' said Stella, the faintest of smiles tipping the edges of her mouth.
'Coats in the consulting room here, drinks upstairs. I'd be happy to get you one while you and your husband take care of your coats.'
Stella looked at his blazer, his plaid trousers, his floppy velvet bow tie, his absurdly eager face. 'That won't be necessary, I'm sure, Mr. Robinson.'
She and Ricky dodged into the consulting room, where coats were flung everywhere.
'Good God,' said Stella. 'What does that young man do for a living?'
'I think he sells insurance.'
'I should have known. Take me upstairs, Ricky.'
Holding her cool hand, Ricky led her out of the consulting room and through the lower fringe of the party to the stairs. A record player on a table thumped out disco music; young people strutted, wriggled before it. 'John's had a brainstorm,' Ricky muttered. 'If not sunstroke,' Stella said behind him.
'Hiya, Mr. Hawthorne.' This was from a tall boy in his late teens, a client's son.
'Hello, Peter. It's too noisy for us down here. I'm looking for the Glenn Miller wing.'
Peter Barnes's clear blue eyes regarded him expressionlessly. Did he seem that foreign to young people? 'Hey, what do you know about Cornell? I think that's where I want to go to college. I might be able to get early admission. Hiya, Mrs. Hawthorne.'
'It's a good school. I hope you make it,' said Ricky. Stella poked him smartly in the back.
'No sweat. I know I'll get in. I got seven-hundreds on my trial boards. Dad's upstairs. Do you know what?'
'No.' Stella prodded him again. 'What?'
'All of us were invited because we're about the same age as Ann-Veronica Moore, but they just took her upstairs as soon as she and Mr. Wanderley got here. We never even got to talk to her.' He gestured around at the couples doing the hustle in, the small downstairs room. 'Jim Hardie kissed her hand, though. He's always doing things like that. He really grosses everybody out.'
Ricky saw Eleanor Hardie's son doing a series of ritualistic dance steps with a girl whose black hair flowed down to the small of her back-it was Penny Draeger, the daughter of a druggist who was a client. She twitched away, spun, lifted a foot, and then placed her behind squarely on Hardie's crotch. 'He sounds like a promising boy,' Stella purred. 'Peter, would you do me a favor?'
'Uh, sure,' the boy gulped. 'What?'
'Clear a space so that my husband and I can go upstairs.'
'Sure, yeah. But you know what? We were just invited to meet Ann-Veronica Moore, and then we were supposed to go home. Mrs. Sheehan said we can't even go upstairs. I guess they thought she'd like to dance with us or something, but they didn't even give her a chance. And at ten o'clock, Mrs. Sheehan said she was going to throw us all out. Except for him, I suppose.' He nodded at Freddy Robinson, who had one arm around the shoulders of a giggling high-school girl.
'Terribly unfair,' Stella said. 'Now be a good boy and carve away through the undergrowth.'
'Oh yeah.' He took them across the crowded room to the staircase as if he were reluctantly leading an outing from the local asylum. When they were safely on the stairs and Stella had already begun to go regally up, he bent forward and whispered in Ricky's ear. 'Will you do something for me, Mr. Hawthorne?' Ricky nodded. 'Say hello to her for me, will you? She's a real piece.'
Ricky laughed aloud, causing Stella to turn her head and look at him quizzically. 'Nothing, darling,' he said, and went up the stairs to the quieter regions of the house.
They saw John Jaffrey standing in the hallway, rubbing his hands together. Soft piano music drifted from the living rooms. 'Stella! Ricky! Isn't this wonderful?' He gestured expansively toward the rooms. They were as crowded as those downstairs, but with middle-aged men and women-the parents of the teenagers, Jaffrey's neighbors and acquaintances. Ricky saw two or three of the prosperous farmers from outside town, Rollo Draeger, the druggist, Louis Price, a commodity broker who had given him one or two good ideas, Harlan Bautz, his dentist, who already seem tipsy, some men he didn't know but who he thought were probably from the university-Milly Sheehan had a nephew who taught there, he remembered-Clark Mulligan, who ran the town's movie theater, Walter Barnes and Edward Venuti from the bank, each in a snowy turtleneck, Ned Rowles who edited the local paper. Eleanor Hardie, both hands on a tall glass held at the level of her breasts, was tilting her high-browed face toward Lewis Benedikt. Sears was leaning against a bookcase, looking out of sorts. Then the crowd parted, and Ricky saw why. Irmengard Draeger, the druggist's wife, was blathering in his ear, and Ricky knew what she was saying.
'I don't know why I never did it before,' John said, his face gleaming. 'I feel younger tonight than I have in a decade.'
'How wonderful, John,' Stella said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. 'What does Milly think of it?'
'Not much.' He looked bemused. 'She couldn't figure out why I wanted to have a party in the first place.
She couldn't understand why I wanted to have Miss Moore here at all.'
Milly herself came into view at that moment, holding a tray of canapes before Barnes and Venuti, the two bankers, and from the determined look on Milly's plump face, Ricky saw that she had opposed the idea from the first. 'Why did you want to?'
'Excuse me, John, I'm going to mill,' said Stella. 'Don't worry about getting me a drink, Ricky, I'll take one from someone who isn't using his.' She went through the doorway in the direction of Ned Rowles. Lou Price, gangsterish in a double-breasted pinstriped suit, took her hand and pecked her on the cheek.
'She's a wonderful gal,' John Jaffrey said, and the two men watched Stella deflect Lou Price with a phrase and continue toward Ned Rowles. 'I wish there were a million like her.' Rowles was turning around to watch Stella approach him, his face lighting up with pleasure. In his corduroy jacket, with his sandy hair and earnest face, Ned Rowles resembled a journalism student more than an editor. He too kissed Stella, but on the mouth, and held both her hands as he did so. 'Why did I want to?' John cocked his head, and four deep wrinkles divided the side of his neck. 'I don't know, exactly. Edward's so entranced with this girl that I wanted to meet her.'
'Is he? Entranced?'
'Oh, absolutely. You wait. You'll see. And then, you know, I only ever see my patients and Milly and the Chowder Society. I thought it was time to bust out a little. Have a little fun before I dropped dead.'
This was very giddy for John Jaffrey, and Ricky glanced at his friend, taking his eyes from his wife, who was still holding hands with Ned Rowles.
'And do you know what I can't get over? One of the most famous actresses in America is upstairs in my house, right this minute.'
'Is Edward with her?'
'He said she had to take a few minutes before she joined us. I guess he's helping her with her coat or something.' Jaffrey's ravaged face simply gleamed with pride.
'I don't think she's quite yet one of the most famous actresses in America, John.' Stella had moved on, and Ned Rowles was saying something vehement to Ed Venuti.
'Well, she will be. Edward thinks so, and he's always right about things like that Ricky!' Jaffrey gripped his upper arms. 'Did you see the kids dancing downstairs? Isn't that fantastic? Kids having a good time in
