"Don't go if they are."
"We'll see. Time for nighty-night, Precious. Da Da got you a lovely quilt."
22.
Oliver adjusted his tie. The blue blazer that Jennifer had bought fit well. "You look wonderful," she said, brushing non-existent dust from his shoulder, her face happy behind him in the mirror. The oxford-cloth shirt was soft and expansive. His gray wool slacks were tightly creased. His shoes gleamed. Her creation. "Now don't be late."
Oliver turned and saluted. "Aye, aye . . . Jennifer, I don't know about this."
"You'll like Tom. He's a dear."
"I'll probably stop in for a pint, after. I'll be back by seven."
"We'll eat late. You look just right."
Oliver drove into Portland and parked in the Temple Street garage. The downtown high-rise buildings were all banks now. The highest points in the city used to be church steeples, Oliver thought. Now, all you see up there are bank signs.
He entered the dark and ornate lobby of Pilgrim's Atlantic. Money was taken seriously here. He looked for the elevator. "Topside," Tom had said.