First Celia, walking briskly, with keys to the car in her gloved hand. Unaware how I stare at her handsome figure, voluptuous movements of hip and thigh. How akin the awareness of danger and awareness of sex! She opens the car door, turns the ignition key, idles the engine. Next, Freddie, as well coached as possible. Unhurried, lackadaisical. Taking a slow, wandering path, oblivious of the peril, curious about the other cars, taking his time. He reaches our car and Celia scoops him up, and I see him clamber over the front seat and bury himself in the back. Then I, striding heavily, hastily. Briefcase in hand. Looking neither right nor left. Lowering chin almost onto chest. Waiting for a voice behind me. Expecting a shout: 'Wait! Stop!' I reach our car, jump in, slam the door, open the throttle. We ascend. Circle into the lowest, slowest, most congested local traffic lane, westward bound over Chicago. * * * * * I didn't much like Celia's suggestion. But I couldn't think of a better one. And we had to spend the next five or six hours somewhere. "So why not the Mendelsohns?" said Celia. "It's a little early for their party, but I'm sure we'll be welcome." "All right. But we've got to keep quiet about our ... troubles. I don't want that shlub to have the last laugh on me." It was an evening in early fall, and the sun was setting, but not fast enough for my comfort. I craved the protection of darkness. We already had passed two police cars headed eastward, and each time I cringed helplessly, and Celia and Freddie ducked down out of sight. Possibly the red sunset tones were falsifying the green of our car. Otherwise, I can't see how they overlooked us. Traffic was starting to thin out as we arrived over the Mendota district of Chicago. This was kind of a marginal area--no longer desirable, not yet slum--where respectable poor people maintained some semblance of pride in their old dilapidated solar-heated homes. It was an area so thick with grime and industrial soot, that I had a hard time making out the roof markers from two-hundred feet. The glass and concrete dwellings were universally alike in pattern, a hollow square with patio in the center. Yet despite the general poverty below, I failed to see a single house that didn't have a rattletrap aircar of some kind parked in the rear. All except the Mendelsohn house. The Mendelsohns never owned a car. They had turned their backyard into a vegetable garden. "Think they'll mind if I land there?" "Not when they're leaving tomorrow." I landed gently, nevertheless. Solly was sensitive about plants. I think they were really astonished to see us. The girls ran into each other's embrace with squeals of recognition. Solly and I shook hands with a good deal more restraint. Dolores was tossling Freddie's hair. Then we went into their house.