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"Sure," I said She gaveelse on the books, I said I’d be there within the hour There didn’t seeency to the matter, whatever it was, but business is business

The address she’d given me was in the heart of town, not far frole-fale of shrubs formed a nearly impenetrable wall that separated the property froh a creaking gate The house was a shale set sideways on a lot dense with sycarant with a recent repainting The screen was open and Ithe facade The house was probably built in the twenties, not elegant by any e scale: comfortable, unpretentious, once e buyer in the current real estate market A house like this would probably sell for over half ait up to snuff

An obese black woman, in a canary-yellow uniform hite collar and cuffs, let me in "Mrs Gersh’s out on the upstairs porch," she said, indicating a staircase directly ahead She lulass knickknacks froht of the entranceway

I had aroom: a wide painted brick fireplace flanked by built-in bookcases with leaded-glass doors, lots of cotton shag carpeting in aran halfway up the ith a pale print wallpaper above, extending across the ceiling in an inverted meadoildflowers The room was shadowy and cried out for table lamps The whole house was muffled in silence and smelled of cauliflower and curry

I went up When I reached the first landing, I saw that a second set of stairs branched down into the kitchen, where I could see a kettle bubbling on the stove Theat the counter, chopping cilantro Sensing ave me an idle look I moved on up

At the top of the stairs, a screen door opened onto a broad, flat porch ringed ooden planters filled with bright pink and orange geraniums The main street, two blocks over, ebbed and floith traffic noises as sibilant as the sea Mrs Gersh was stretched out on a chaise lounge, a plaid lap robe arranged across her legs Shefor the social director to advise her of the day’s shipboard activities She had her eyes closed, a Judith Krantz novel face-down on her lap The branches of a weepingdraped long, lacy limbs across one corner of the porch, which was dappled in shade

The day was mild, but the breeze seemed faintly chilly up here The woman was stick-thin, with the dead-white complexion of someone profoundly ill She struck ht have spent long years in a sanitariu from anxiety, un-happiness, laudanum addiction, or an aversion to sex Her hair was an icy blond, harshly bleached, and sparse Bright red lipstick defined the width of her ht red polish on nails cut short Her Jean Harlow eyebrows had been plucked to an expression of frail astonishainst her lower lids like sutures I judged her to be in her fifties, but sheprocess in itself Her chest was sunken, with breasts as flat as the flaps on an envelope She wore a white silk blouse, expensive-looking pale gray gabardine slacks, vivid green satin slippers on her feet

"Mrs Gersh?"

She was startled, eyes flying open in a blaze of blue For a moment, she seemed disoriented and then she collected herself

"You must be Kinsey," she murmured "I’m Irene Gersh" She held out her left hand and clutched htened you"

"Don’t worry about it I’m a bundle of nerves

Please Find a chair and sit I don’t sleep well as a rule and I’m forced to catnap when I can"

A quick survey showed three white ether in one comer of the porch I lifted the top chair, carried it over to the chaise, and sat down

"I hope Jer us tea, but don’t count on it," she said She shifted into athe lap robe She studied me with interest It was h of what I couldn’t say "You’re younger than I thought you’d be"