She pointed to a door.
"There isn't a shower but there's enough hot water for a tub.
And there's a razor on the shelf over the sink."
The clothes were waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom.
"Your money is on the dresser," she said, as I finished buttoning my shirt and put on my jacket.
I walked over to the dresser and picked it up.
"You'll find it all there except what I took for the whisky."
Holding the bills in my hand, I looked at her. "Why did you bring me here?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"The Irish make lousy whores," she said. "We get sentimental over drunkards."
I looked down at the roll of bills in my hand. There was about two hundred dollars there.
I took a five-dollar bill and stuck it in my pocket; the rest I put back on the bureau.
She took the money silently and followed me to the door.
"She's dead, you know," she said. "And all the whisky in the world won't be bringin' her back to life."
We stared at each other for a moment, then she closed the door and I went down the dark staircase and out into the street.
I walked into a drugstore on the corner of Third Avenue and Eighty-second Street and called McAllister.
"Where in hell have you been?" he asked.
"Drunk," I said. "Did you get the copy of Rina's will?"
"Yes, I got it.
We've been searching the whole town for you.
Do you realize what's happening over at the picture company?
They're running around there like chickens with their heads cut off."
"Where is the will?"
"On the foyer table of your apartment, where you told me to leave it.
If we don't have a meeting about the picture company pretty soon, you won't have to worry about your investment.
There won't be any."
"O.K., set one up," I said, hanging up before he had a chance to answer.
I got out, paid the cabby and began to walk along the sidewalk in front of the houses. Children were playing on the grass and curious eyes followed me. Most of the doors were open, so I couldn't read the house numbers.
"Who you lookin' for, mister?" one of the kids called.
"Winthrop," I said. "Monica Winthrop."
"She's got a little girl?" the kid asked. "About five?"
"I think so," I said.
"Fourth house down."
I thanked the kid and started down the street.
At the entrance of the fourth house, I looked at the name plate under the bell.
Winthrop.
There was no answer.
I pressed the bell again.
"She's not home from work yet," a man called over to me from the next house. "She stops at the nursery school to pick up the kid first."
"About when does she get home?"
"Any minute now," he said.
I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to seven.
The sun was starting to go down and with it went some of the heat of the day.
I sat down on the steps and lit a cigarette.
My mouth tasted awful and I could feel the beginnings of a headache.
The cigarette was almost finished when Monica turned the corner and started up the walk, a little girl skipping along in front of her.
I got to my feet as the child stopped and looked up at me.
Her nose crinkled and her dark eyes squinted. "Mommy," she piped in a high-pitched voice, "there's a man standing on our steps."
I looked at Monica. For a moment, we just stood there staring at one another.
She looked the same and yet changed somehow.