A bronze elevator the size of a Harlem bedroom and crowded to its capacity shot them upward with the breath-taking flight of a frightened bird.
Ysobel crowded into a corner and nudged a youthful-looking old man in a blue-and-white striped collar and too much bay-rum.
"Hello, Eddie!"
"Hello yourself, Ysobel."
"How are yuh?"
"Ain't braggin'."
"What you doin', Eddie?"
"Rehearsin' with a act."
"Musical?"
"No."