"Right," Albin said. "You are right. You are absolutely, incredibly, stunningly right. And to prove how right you are I'm going to do you a favor."
"What kind of favor?" the girl said with mock suspicion.
"Greta," Albin said, "I'm going to introduce you to a nice young man."
"You don't know any nice young men."
"I know this one," Albin said. "Greta Forzane, Johnny Dodd. Take good care of him, kiddo—he needs it."
"What do you mean, good care of him?" she said. But Albin was gone, into the main body of the party, a melee confused enough so that he was lost in twenty steps. Greta turned back almost hopeless eyes.
A second passed.
"You a friend of Cendar's?" Greta asked.
Johnny blinked and came back to her. "Oh, Albin?" he said. "We're—acquaintances."
"Friends," Greta said firmly. "That's nice. He's such a nice guy—I bet you are, too." She smiled and took his arm. Her hand was slightly warm and very dry. Johnny took his first real look at her: she seemed shining, somehow, as if the hair had been lacquered, the face sprayed with a clear polish. The picture she made was vaguely unpleasant, and a little threatening.