Dressing was a nerve-jarring, thirst-making business. He was in full sympathy with the need for changing men's styles so frequently, but those overpaid designers could surely dream up easier outfits to get into. He separated a decanter of bourbon from its fellows on the mirror-backed shelves and from it poured a lavish helping. Using the tip of his index finger, he twirled the ice cubes and, with a sigh, lifted the golden fluid to his lips. Over the rim of the glass he saw Glory come floating into view. She was dressed, mostly below the waist, in yards of a light gauzy fabric that seemed to have life of its own. She stopped at the door while her eyes slowly swept the room. J.L. was reminded of a spider making sure the web would be cosy. Her glance came to rest on the portly figure of her father. She exhaled a sigh of controlled exasperation. "Daddy, your sash is hanging. It looks like a flag at half mast." "I am perfectly aware that my sash is hanging." He wasn't sure he approved of the tone of her voice. "Well tuck it up then. Ernie will be here any minute." "It refuses to stay up. How do you know? Maybe it is supposed to hang. Those designers should be forced to dress themselves in these things before they loose them on an unsuspecting public." She glided towards him and, with a few deft touches, the sash was neatly in place. "Dad, promise you'll be nice to him." J.L. smiled. Much as he protested, he liked being fussed over. "Of course, I'll be nice. When am I not nice? I just said those things about him because ... well, I wanted you to be wary." "Don't worry about Ernie. He's a dear. And, please, no economics lectures. That business about thrift being a menace to prosperity may have been a new idea when you were young, but now every kid in school is taught it. So spare us. It makes you sound like an old fuddy duddy." Fuddy duddy? J.L. was about to make a stunning rejoinder when he heard the whirring of helicopter rotors overhead. "There he is." Glory said, excitedly, "Let him in." "Where are you running?" he asked, surprised. She was as fully dressed as she was likely to be. "You know I can't be here when he comes in," she said. "Can't be here? Where else should you be?" J.L. asked. The situation was getting out of hand. "Strategy, my dear parent. I can't just be sitting here waiting when he walks in. He is supposed to be waiting for me ... with bated breath. It makes my entrance more effective. Ta ta for now." She was gone. The prospect of dining at the same table with the young man was repellent enough. Now he would have to provide entertaining conversation until Glory chose to appear. The door chimes sounded. J.L. drained his glass, stiffened his spine, and strode to the door pulling it open with a jerk, like a doctor removing adhesive tape.