The sharpness of the wind against her face woke her up completely as they walked down the street trying to find a taxi. The buoyancy and happiness of being high had vanished and she felt depressed and extremely tired. Perhaps Frankie would be home, she thought, but when Al left her at her door and she went in, only silence and the stale odor of tobacco greeted her. She went from one room to the other, hoping that she would find him sleeping somewhere, but she saw nothing. Feeling more depressed and wondering when and if Frankie would be back, she drew the blinds against the morning sun and went to bed.

She was awakened late that afternoon by the ringing of the telephone and Al's voice saying that he wanted to tell her something, but he preferred not to discuss it over the phone and asking her to meet him at the 960 Club. She asked if it were about Frankie because he had not returned as yet, but he said no. She dressed quickly, grabbed a bite to eat and ran out to find a taxi. When she walked into the club, Al had not yet arrived, so she went backstage after asking the bartender to tell Al where she was.

There was hardly anyone backstage and the door of Torchy's dressing room was closed. She knocked once and then opened it. Torchy wasn't there, but Gypsy was! They were both equally startled at seeing each other so they just stood there staring for a moment without moving or speaking. Gypsy was sitting on a chair, her heavy thighs crossed, one hand holding a cigarette, arrested in mid-air.

Recovering first, Cynthia said, "I thought Torchy was here," and she started back out the door.

Gypsy jumped up and said, "Wait!" She swayed slightly and sat down heavily. "Now that you're here, sit down."

She looked at her warily. Either Gypsy was high or roaring drunk, but judging from the smell of gin in the room it was probably the latter.

She walked into the room and closed the door, standing with her back against it.