"A harridan. The warmest heart in the world--and what happens? The opposite of Dorian Grey. I blame it on the high morals and low conduct of the cops. Hard years. I loved Fiorello--and he despised every bone in my body. I was even over in Jersey for a while. It was the lowest period in my life. Sit down over there in the red chair. Viola, bring us coffee. You know--I've often thought about you--when I read your books--or when one of the girls did--or when I read something of yours in a magazine. You aren't around here much, any more, though, are you?" I shook my head. "Miami Beach. And now--we're building a house in Miami." "Florida. I went down last winter. Had a cold I simply couldn't shake. Stayed at the Steinberg-Riviera. Hell of a place, Miami Beach! Wonderful weather, period. Everybody on the make. Shake a palm and out drops a chippy. A madam with ethics would starve there--and the news about good taste hasn't got south of the Mason and Dixon Line." "I always think of it as the end of the American dream." "It's the end, anyhow. Phil. Do you really want to see me? Because if you're being polite for old time's sake--maybe you'd rather put off the sentimental chitchat till later." Hattie is a thoughtful dame. I was about to laugh at her when an abrupt inquiry held me for a second or two. I was surprised--a little. But the question postponed itself. "I came up--solely and utterly to call on you, Hattie." She shrugged one shoulder. She yawned. "Maybe we can return your calls. We used to. But--really--I'm delighted. Except when you were--overburdened--you were always fun to have around. It's a dull life--just being chaperon to a lot of whores. And it seems to me the boys aren't interested in philosophy any more. They used to spend more time chinning than cheating, around here. Back in the old days of humanism and liberalism and Coué and the market boom, when the world was full of fun. Why--I had to scout local campuses for girls who could keep in the debates! Now--the boys just come in tight and preoccupied--ask for a girl by hair color, like picking out paint for a kitchen--pay--and scram. I can't recall how long it's been since we held one of those impromptu breakfasts--for the celebrities and plain people who happened to be around! It's depressing!" I knew what she meant. Everybody knows. Viola brought the coffee. "Pretty," I said. Hattie looked at the door where Viola had gone. "Nice girl. Married and has two kids. The wages are no damned good--but the tips!--I think she does as well as I do, after taxes. More passes made at Vi than nearly anybody actually working. She's a strict Baptist." "I wasn't--" I thought of reminiscing a little. Then I thought it might be sad. Hattie seemed to have read my mind. "Remember Elysse? The French girl with the brown bangs?" I did.