"More likely a GI working his way through college."
"Don't you want to dance with me again?"
It was after one o'clock when we climbed back up on the humid street and the doorman flagged a cab. She said the night was young—and I said, but I was old. I said I had to get up early and work. I told the driver to go by way of Central Park and Seventy-second Street and while we hummed between the lamplit green leaf walls she moved over to be kissed, so I kissed her, but not much. And after that I spoiled my breast-pocket handkerchief wiping off the lipstick, which is another convention. We went through the empty lobby. The night clerk was a tall, handsome gent and his eyes glimmered at me when I rang the elevator bell. Harry brought a car down, let out a policeman (who had been on God alone could imagine what errand) and hoisted us to Sixteen.
She took her key from the golden handbag and unlocked 1603. She turned up her face slightly. "It's been a lovely evening."
I tossed the key of 1601 and caught it. "Me, too."
"It's a pity a girl can't ask you in for a nightcap. But you'd only be able to have Coca-Cola."
"Gotta sleep. I'll give you a buzz in the morning, Yvonne."
"Will you?"
"Bet."
She gave me a musical good night and opened her door slowly. I walked down the red carpet—and her door closed with a bang.