They went to Charlie Hansel's place in the Village. It was filled with ballet dancers; fag boys doing petit point in corners, sway-backed girls waddling with duck feet like pregnant women. They all talked shop to each other. They talked to nobody else. "Out," said Lennox, yanking open the door and marching into a closet. Olga rescued him and guided him to fresh air. He was properly grateful and offered to kiss her in the taxi. She permitted this token of gratitude and startled him with her lips and tongue. He was relieved when the cab deposited them at the front door of a red brick converted stable, now a photographer's studio. "Do I know him or do you?" Lennox inquired as he lurched in. He stared around the giant studio and rubbed his eyes. "Must be getting bloodshot," he mumbled. It was the reddest damned party he had ever seen. Everyone wore fireman red costumes, from Santa Claus down to a snake-like woman with tangled black hair who wore fireman red Dr. Dentons with a drop seat. She turned out to be the hostess. A small man with a guilty face whom Lennox surprised searching the pockets of the guests' coats was the host. There was an insidious brew called Fish-House Punch, composed of sugar, Jamaica rum and peach brandy in an enormous crystal bowl. Lennox had three glasses and was returning for a fourth when he saw the hostess unbutton her drop seat and bathe her bottom in the punch bowl. "Out!" he said to Olga. "It is out," she laughed. "I'm r'sponsible for your moral health. _In colo parentis._ Feel strongly this's no place for you." "No. I like it here. It's not too respectable." "Oh?" Lennox said. "You want disrespectable party? Come on. Got jus'place fyou." He took her to Kay Hill's apartment. Olga entertained him in the cab, and when he was able to focus on her he perceived that she was a damned beautiful girl. They took the elevator up and rang Kay's doorbell. There was so much noise inside that they had to ring three times. The door opened. Kay stood there wearing a fringed green stole and nothing else. "Come on in!" she screamed in honest Canarsie accents. She pulled them in, slammed the door, turned to the foyer table on which a dozen scotch bottles stood, and picked up a black grease pencil. She wrote JAKE across one white label and handed the bottle to Lennox. She wrote OLGA on another and handed it to Olga. They both had swigs. Kay led them down an endless Early American hall, past various doors, and into a Colonial bedroom. A naked girl was seated at the dressing table feebly trying to hook on her brassiere. "Coats there," Kay said, pointing to a black mound of clothes on the four-poster bed. She turned and left. Lennox reeled and looked at Olga. "Out?" he asked.