"This is me," she said, nodding her head toward the door.

Extricating herself from the crook of my arm, she took out a single, imposing-looking key. This she used on the lock.

"You're very quiet," she said, building on the unspoken intimacy between us.

"Just thinking."

"Yes?"

"When I was a younger man I would have thrown a fine young thing like you over my shoulder and carried you up those stairs."

"I don't know about that. I live on the fifth floor."

I shrugged. It was the same dismissal I had for those who had threatened me with violence over the decades.

"If you can carry me to my door you can do whatever else you want."

I was already breathing hard. Lucy yelped and giggled when I slung her over my shoulder and started walking, two steps at a time. When I got to the third floor I felt her rise up to look at me.

When I was half a flight from her floor she said, "You're really going to do it."

THE APARTMENT WAS SMALL and neat, nothing like Wanda Soa's place. There was a window that looked out on a brick wall, and vintage furniture with dark-green coverings.

"I don't have any liquor in the house," she said.

Her coffee table was an old wooden trunk.

"Bartenders shouldn't drink," I said.

She smiled and asked, "What are you going to do with me now?"

She sat down on the short sofa and gestured for me to sit next to her.

"When I first meet a woman I like to talk a little bit."

She nodded, leaned over, and then kissed me like she meant it. We went at that for a very long time, at least an hour and a half. Our hands explored a little bit but mostly we just massaged each other's tonsils with our tongues. Now and then she reached down to squeeze my erection. Once or twice I ran my fingers between her thighs. But for the most part it was the kissing that mattered.