the center of the U-shaped bar. Two girls were at work, a white girl and a light-skinned black, naked except for scanty G-strings, halfheartedly bumping and grinding in time to an electronic throb. There was the faint aroma of girls' sweat in the air. Drawn in by this and by the light, I took a seat. Fifteen or so men were seated around the U, some watching the dancers with bored blank faces, others gazing at them with fascinated eyes.
'Drink?'
I looked down. The bartender was standing just in front of me. It was Ms. G. Amos, and she was stripped to the waist, bare breasts jutting out from her torso, a pair of firm hard cups like the kind you used to see on the fronts of Cadillacs.
'Beer, please.'
'What kind?'
'Light.'
'Draft or bottle?'
'I'm from out of town. Don't know the local brands.'
'Erin Brew is pretty good,' she said. I smiled at her.
'Make it Erin, then.' She didn't smile back. When she turned, I noticed the muscular definition of her back.
Though I wasn't prepared for it, it seemed an ideal situation-I'd yet to meet a bartender who wouldn't talk. But when I gave her a lavish tip for my beer, she pocketed it with a brisk nod and walked away.
There was a certain surliness about her that belied her topless state.
If being topless meant one was reduced to being a sex object, she was doing everything possible to neutralize the erotic effect. The girls on the stage might flaunt their boobies, wiggle them in a customer's face, but as far as she was concerned, if you ogled hers, you'd get nothing but an icy stare.
I slowly drank down two beers. After a while the place thinned out. At 2:30, when the dancers took a break, she appeared again and asked if I wanted something else.
'Sure,' I said.
'I'd like to talk.' She looked at me with disgust.
'Another beer, then, please.'
She brought me another beer, but this time, when I tipped her, she nodded in a more appreciative way, and, instead of retreating to her sink, stood facing me, waiting for me to speak.
'As I said-I'm from out of town.'
'Yeah, you did say that.'
'Name's Jim Lynch.' She looked at my offered hand, took it and gave it a shake.
'Grace Amos,' she said. 'Hi, Grace.'
'Hi, Jim.'
'Buy you a drink?' 'Don't mind if you do.' She reached under the bar, pulled out a bottle of Erin, opened it and poured it into a mug.
'Well, here's to Cleveland,' I said, clicking her mug with mine.
'Isn't that a joke?'
'Don't know,' I said. 'The town doesn't seem so bad. Not half so bad as you hear.'
'Where you from, Jim?'
'Boston.'
'Never been there myself. Salesman?' Inodded. 'What's your line?' I didn't even have to think about it.
'I sell cameras,' I said.
She glanced down at my Leica.
'Noticed that when you came in. Nice little piece of hardware. Said to myself: 'Grace, that's no Kodak. Not that.' Have a look?'
I took it from around my neck, and placed it on the bar. I could tell by the way she picked it up that she wasn't used to having a camera in her hands. But I was impressed by the confidence with which she held it; she wasn't intimidated by it at all. She brought it up to her eye, then pointed it at me.
'Hey! Smile!' She made a clicking sound with her teeth, then handed it back.
A couple of seconds passed before it hit me: the way she said 'Hey!' was just the way Kim said it, exactly the same. I must have been staring at her because she looked unnerved.
'Something the matter?' she asked.
'Nothing. Just wondering-'
'What?'
'Whether you'd let me take you out to dinner.'
She looked at me hard, as if she was trying to -read my mind. I met her eyes straight on.
'Just 'cause I work this joint, that shouldn't give you any ideas.'
'No ideas, Grace. Just a lonely guy in a strange city looking to make a friend. I can buy a bottle tonight, go back to my motel, drink and watch TV. Or I can take a nice lady out to a restaurant, have a couple drinks and talk. I'm not thinking of anything more than that.'
She studied me awhile longer.
'Lot of guys come inthey're not all that nice. I look them in the eye, they're staring at my boobs. But you-you strike me different. I thought that since you walked in. Had this feeling you were looking at my face. Nothing wrong with my tits, mind you. But they're not for grabs-not in here they're not. And not later neither… unless I put them in your hand.' She grinned.
'Now, if all that's all okay with you, you can take me out. I could use a decent restaurant meal. Where you staying?'
'Devora Motel,' I said.
'I know the dump. Not far from mine. I'll be leaving here around 5:45.
I do some errands, go home, change, walk my dog, that kind of crap. So suppose I pick you up around seven? We'll go to a lounge I know. If it goes good, we'll go on to eat.'
Walking back to the parking lot, I couldn't believe my luck. Not only had I met her, I'd actually gotten myself a date. I congratulated myself on my approach: lonely salesman, low key, persistent and polite.
She wasn't at all what I'd expected. A topless bartender at a topless bar-that in itself was bizarre. But there was more that interested me: her working-class her direct no-nonsense manner, the morose distracted way she smoked and walked her dog, and the searching way she looked me in the eye.
Grace radiated strength and confidence, which might explain why Kim had turned to her when things got dangerous in New York. Did Grace know where Kim was now? If I was clever enough I might find out.
Some of my ebullience left me, however, when I drove up to the Devora.
There could be a problem if Grace came to the office and asked for 'Mr.
Lynch.' I hadn't given her my real name just in case Kimberly had mentioned me. I'd felt the camera around my neck was bad enough.
I sat in my car pondering what to do. Finally I made up my mind. I walked to the office, where, despite the fans, the clerk's shirt was wringing wet.
'If it's about the air conditioning,' he said, 'expect to have it on by five.'
'I hope so,' I said.
'I nearly suffocated last night.'
'I'm sorry, sir.'
'That's okay, but now I've got a little problem you can help me with.'
He was all ears as I outlined my difficulty. A newly met lady friend would be visiting, and, being married and discreet, I'd given her another name. When she came by and asked for 'Mr. Lynch,' there was twenty dollars in it if he'd ring me in my room.
'Twenty dollars?'
'Make it thirty.' I laid the cash on the counter.
He stared down at my three tens.
'Yes, sir, Mr. Lynch!'
Grace arrived right on time. She was wearing an attractive linen blouse, which made it all right, I figured to stare a little at her chest.
