ONE AFTERNOON in December, while Guy was doing the Pall Mall commercial, Hutch called. “I’m around the corner at City Center picking up tickets for Marcel Marceau,” he said. “Would you and Guy like to come on Friday night?”

“I don’t think so, Hutch,” Rosemary said. “I haven’t been feeling too well lately. And Guy’s got two commercials this week.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing, really. I’ve just been a bit under the weather.”

“May I come up for a few minutes?”

“Oh do; I’d love to see you.”

She hurried into slacks and a jersey top, put on lipstick and brushed her hair. The pain sharpened—locking her for a moment with shut eyes and clenched teeth—and then it sank back to its usual level and she breathed out gratefully and went on brushing.

Hutch, when he saw her, stared and said, “My God.”

“It’s Vidal Sassoon and it’s very in,” she said.

“What’s wrong with you?” he said. “I don’t mean your hair.”

“Do I look that bad?” She took his coat and hat and hung them away, smiling a fixed bright smile.

“You look terrible,” Hutch said. “You’ve lost God-knows-how-many pounds and you have circles around your eyes that a panda would envy. You aren’t on one of those ‘Zen diets,’ are you?”

“No.”

“Then what is it? Have you seen a doctor?”

“I suppose I might as well tell you,” Rosemary said. “I’m pregnant. I’m in my third month.”

Hutch looked at her, nonplussed. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Pregnant women gain weight, they don’t lose it. And they look healthy, not—”

“There’s a slight complication,” Rosemary said, leading the way into the living room. “I have stiff joints or something, so I have pains that keep me awake most of the night. Well, one pain, really; it just sort of continues. It’s not serious, though. It’ll probably stop any day now.”

“I never heard of ‘stiff joints’ being a problem,” Hutch said.

“Stiff pelvic joints. It’s fairly common.”

Hutch sat in Guy’s easy chair. “Well, congratulations,” he said doubtfully. “You must be very happy.”

“I am,” Rosemary said. “We both are.”

“Who’s your obstetrician?”

“His name is Abraham Sapirstein. He’s—”

“I know him,” Hutch said. “Or of him. He delivered two of Doris’s babies.” Doris was Hutch’s elder daughter.

“He’s one of the best in the city,” Rosemary said.

“When did you see him last?”

“The day before yesterday. And he said just what I told you; it’s fairly common and it’ll probably stop any day now. Of course he’s been saying that since it started…”

“How much weight have you lost?”

“Only three pounds. It looks—”

“Nonsense! You’ve lost far more than that!”

Rosemary smiled. “You sound like our bathroom scale,” she said. “Guy finally threw it out, it was scaring me so. No, I’ve lost only three pounds and one little space more. And it’s perfectly normal to lose a little during the first few months. Later on I’ll be gaining.”

“I certainly hope so,” Hutch said. “You look as if you’re being drained by a vampire. Are you sure there aren’t any puncture marks?” Rosemary smiled. “Well,” Hutch said, leaning back and smiling too, “we’ll assume that Dr. Sapirstein knows whereof he speaks. God knows he should; he charges enough. Guy must be doing sensationally.”

“He is,” Rosemary said. “But we’re getting bargain rates. Our neighbors the Castevets are close friends of his; they sent me to him and he’s charging us his special non-Society prices.”

“Does that mean Doris and Axel are Society?” Hutch said. “They’ll be delighted to hear about it.”

The doorbell rang. Hutch offered to answer it but Rosemary wouldn’t let him. “Hurts less when I move around,” she said, going out of the room; and went to the front door trying to recall if there was anything she had ordered that hadn’t been delivered yet.

It was Roman, looking slightly winded. Rosemary smiled and said, “I mentioned your name two seconds ago.”

“In a favorable context, I hope,” he said. “Do you need anything from outside? Minnie is going down in a while and our house phone doesn’t seem to be functioning.”

“No, nothing,” Rosemary said. “Thanks so much for asking. I phoned out for things this morning.”

Roman glanced beyond her for an instant, and then, smiling, asked if Guy was home already.

“No, he won’t be back until six at the earliest,” Rosemary said; and, because Roman’s pallid face stayed waiting with its questioning smile, added, “A friend of ours is here.” The questioning smile stayed. She said, “Would you like to meet him?”

“Yes, I would,” Roman said. “If I won’t be intruding.”

“Of course you won’t.” Rosemary showed him in. He was wearing a black-and-white checked jacket over a blue shirt and a wide paisley tie. He passed close to her and she noticed for the first time that his ears were pierced—that the left one was, at any rate.

She followed him to the living-room archway. “This is Edward Hutchins,” she said, and to Hutch, who was rising and smiling, “This is Roman Castevet, the neighbor I just mentioned.” She explained to Roman: “I was telling Hutch that it was you and Minnie who sent me to Dr. Sapirstein.”

The two men shook hands and greeted each other. Hutch said, “One of my daughters used Dr. Sapirstein too. On two occasions.”

“He’s a brilliant man,” Roman said. “We met him only last spring but he’s become one of our closest friends.”

“Sit down, won’t you?” Rosemary said. The men seated themselves and Rosemary sat by Hutch.

Roman said, “So Rosemary has told you the good news, has she?”

“Yes, she has,” Hutch said.

“We must see that she gets plenty of rest,” Roman said, “and complete freedom from worry and anxiety.”

Rosemary said, “That would be heaven.”

“I was a bit alarmed by her appearance,” Hutch said, looking at Rosemary as he took out a pipe and a striped rep tobacco pouch.

“Were you?” Roman said.

“But now that I know she’s in Dr. Sapirstein’s care I feel considerably relieved.”

“She’s only lost two or three pounds,” Roman said. “Isn’t that so, Rosemary?”

“That’s right,” Rosemary said.

“And that’s quite normal in the early months of pregnancy,” Roman said. “Later on she’ll gain—probably far too much.”

“So I gather,” Hutch said, filling his pipe.

Rosemary said, “Mrs. Castevet makes a vitamin drink for me every day, with a raw egg and milk and fresh herbs that she grows.”

“All according to Dr. Sapirstein’s directions, of course,” Roman said. “He’s inclined to be suspicious of commercially prepared vitamin pills.”

“Is he really?” Hutch asked, pocketing his pouch. “I can’t think of anything I’d be less suspicious of; they’re surely manufactured under every imaginable safeguard.” He struck two matches as one and sucked flame into his pipe, blowing out puffs of aromatic white smoke. Rosemary put an ashtray near him.

“That’s true,” Roman said, “but commercial pills can sit for months in a warehouse or on a druggist’s shelf and lose a great deal of their original potency.”

“Yes, I hadn’t thought of that,” Hutch said; “I suppose they can.”

Rosemary said, “I like the idea of having everything fresh and natural. I’ll bet expectant mothers chewed bits of tannis root hundreds and hundreds of years ago when nobody’d even heard of vitamins.”

“Tannis root?” Hutch said.

“It’s one of the herbs in the drink,” Rosemary said. “Or is it an herb?” She looked to Roman. “Can a root be an herb?” But Roman was watching Hutch and didn’t hear.

“‘Tannis?’” Hutch said. “I’ve never heard of it. Are you sure you don’t mean ‘anise’ or ‘orris root’?”

Roman said, “Tannis.”

“Here,” Rosemary said, drawing out her charm. “It’s good luck too, theoretically. Brace yourself; the smell takes a little getting-used-to.” She held the charm out, leaning forward to bring it closer to Hutch.

He sniffed at it and drew away, grimacing. “I should say it does,” he said. He took the chained ball between two fingertips and squinted at it from a distance. “It doesn’t look like root matter at all,” he said; “it looks like mold or fungus of some kind.” He looked at Roman. “Is it ever called by another name?” he asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” Roman said.

“I shall look it up in the encyclopedia and find out all about it,” Hutch said. “Tannis. What a pretty holder or charm or whatever-it-is. Where did you get it?”

With a quick smile at Roman, Rosemary said, “The Castevets gave it to me.” She tucked the charm back inside her top.

Hutch said to Roman, “You and your wife seem to be taking better care of Rosemary than her own parents would.”

Roman said, “We’re very fond of her, and of Guy too.” He pushed against the arms of his chair and raised himself to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go now,” he said. “My wife is waiting for me.”

“Of course,” Hutch said, rising. “It’s a pleasure to have met you.”

“We’ll meet again, I’m sure,” Roman said. “Don’t bother, Rosemary.”

“It’s no bother.” She walked along with him to the front door. His right ear was pierced too, she saw, and there were many small scars on his neck like a flight of distant birds. “Thanks again for stopping by,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” Roman said. “I like your friend Mr. Hutchins; he seems extremely intelligent.”

Rosemary, opening the door, said, “He is.”

“I’m glad I met him,” Roman said. With a smile and a hand-wave he started down the hall.

“’By,” Rosemary said, waving back.

Hutch was standing by the bookshelves. “This room is glorious,” he said. “You’re doing a beautiful job.”

“Thanks,” Rosemary said. “I was until my pelvis intervened. Roman has pierced ears. I just noticed it for the first time.”

“Pierced ears and piercing eyes,” Hutch said. “What was he before he became a Golden Ager?”

“Just about everything. And he’s been everywhere in the world. Really everywhere.”

“Nonsense; nobody has. Why did he ring your bell?—if I’m not being too inquisitive.”

“To see if I needed anything from outside. The house phone isn’t working. They’re fantastic neighbors. They’d come in and do the cleaning if I let them.”

“What’s she like?”

Rosemary told him. “Guy’s gotten very close to them,” she said. “I think they’ve become sort of parent-figures for him.”

“And you?”

“I’m not sure. Sometimes I’m so grateful I could kiss them, and sometimes I get a sort of smothery feeling, as if they’re being too friendly and helpful. Yet how can I complain? You remember the power failure?”

“Shall I ever forget it? I was in an elevator.”

“No.”

“Yes indeed. Five hours in total darkness with three women and a John Bircher who were all sure that the Bomb had fallen.”

“How awful.”

“You were saying?”

“We were here, Guy and I, and two minutes after the lights went out Minnie was at the door with a handful of candles.” She gestured toward the mantel. “Now how can you find fault with neighbors like that?”

“You can’t, obviously,” Hutch said, and stood looking at the mantel. “Are those the ones?” he asked. Two pewter candlesticks stood between a bowl of polished stones and a brass microscope; in them were three-inch lengths of black candle ribbed with drippings.

“The last survivors,” Rosemary said. “She brought a whole month’s worth. What is it?”

“Were they all black?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Why?”

“Just curious.” He turned from the mantel, smiling at her. “Offer me coffee, will you? And tell me more about Mrs. Castevet. Where does she grow those herbs of hers? In window boxes?”

They were sitting over cups at the kitchen table some ten minutes later when the front door unlocked and Guy hurried in. “Hey, what a surprise,” he said, coming over and grabbing Hutch’s hand before he could rise. “How are you, Hutch? Good to see you!” He clasped Rosemary’s head in his other hand and bent and kissed her cheek and lips. “How you doing, honey?” He still had his make-up on; his face was orange, his eyes black-lashed and large.

“You’re the surprise,” Rosemary said. “What happened?”

“Ah, they stopped in the middle for a rewrite, the dumb bastards. We start again in the morning. Stay where you are, nobody move; I’ll just get rid of my coat.” He went out to the closet.

“Would you like some coffee?” Rosemary called.

“Love some!”

She got up and poured a cup, and refilled Hutch’s cup and her own. Hutch sucked at his pipe, looking thoughtfully before him.

Guy came back in with his hands full of packs of Pall Mall. “Loot,” he said, dumping them on the table. “Hutch?”

“No, thanks.”

Guy tore a pack open, jammed cigarettes up, and pulled one out. He winked at Rosemary as she sat down again.

Hutch said, “It seems congratulations are in order.”

Guy, lighting up, said, “Rosemary told you? It’s wonderful, isn’t it? We’re delighted. Of course I’m scared stiff that I’ll be a lousy father, but Rosemary’ll be such a great mother that it won’t make much difference.”

“When is the baby due?” Hutch asked.

Rosemary told him, and told Guy that Dr. Sapirstein had delivered two of Hutch’s grandchildren.

Hutch said, “I met your neighbor, Roman Castevet.”

“Oh, did you?” Guy said. “Funny old duck, isn’t he? He’s got some interesting stories, though, about Otis Skinner and Modjeska. He’s quite a theater buff.”

Rosemary said, “Did you ever notice that his ears are pierced?”

“You’re kidding,” Guy said.

“No I’m not; I saw.”

They drank their coffee, talking of Guy’s quickening career and of a trip Hutch planned to make in the spring to Greece and Turkey.

“It’s a shame we haven’t seen more of you lately,” Guy said, when Hutch had excused himself and risen. “With me so busy and Ro being the way she is, we really haven’t seen anyone.”

“Perhaps we can have dinner together soon,” Hutch said; and Guy, agreeing, went to get his coat.

Rosemary said, “Don’t forget to look up tannis root.”

“I won’t,” Hutch said. “And you tell Dr. Sapirstein to check his scale; I still think you’ve lost more than three pounds.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rosemary said. “Doctors’ scales aren’t wrong.”

Guy, holding open a coat, said, “It’s not mine, it must be yours.”

“Right you are,” Hutch said. Turning, he put his arms back into it. “Have you thought about names yet,” he asked Rosemary, “or is it too soon?”

“Andrew or Douglas if it’s a boy,” she said. “Melinda or Sarah if it’s a girl.”

“‘Sarah?’” Guy said. “What happened to ‘Susan’?” He gave Hutch his hat.

Rosemary offered her cheek for Hutch’s kiss.

“I do hope the pain stops soon,” he said.

“It will,” she said, smiling. “Don’t worry.”

Guy said, “It’s a pretty common condition.”

Hutch felt his pockets. “Is there another one of these around?” he asked, and showed them a brown fur-lined glove and felt his pockets again.

Rosemary looked around at the floor and Guy went to the closet and looked down on the floor and up onto the shelf. “I don’t see it, Hutch,” he said.

“Nuisance,” Hutch said. “I probably left it at City Center. I’ll stop back there. Let’s really have that dinner, shall we?”

“Definitely,” Guy said, and Rosemary said, “Next week.”

They watched him around the first turn of the hallway and then stepped back inside and closed the door.

“That was a nice surprise,” Guy said. “Was he here long?”

“Not very,” Rosemary said. “Guess what he said.”

“What?”

“I look terrible.”

“Good old Hutch,” Guy said, “spreading cheer wherever he goes.” Rosemary looked at him questioningly. “Well he is a professional crepe-hanger, honey,” he said. “Remember how he tried to sour us on moving in here?”

“He isn’t a professional crepe-hanger,” Rosemary said, going into the kitchen to clear the table.

Guy leaned against the door jamb. “Then he sure is one of the top-ranking amateurs,” he said.

A few minutes later he put his coat on and went out for a newspaper.

The telephone rang at ten-thirty that evening, when Rosemary was in bed reading and Guy was in the den watching television. He answered the call and a minute later brought the phone into the bedroom. “Hutch wants to speak to you,” he said, putting the phone on the bed and crouching to plug it in. “I told him you were resting but he said it couldn’t wait.”

Rosemary picked up the receiver. “Hutch?” she said.

“Hello, Rosemary,” Hutch said. “Tell me, dear, do you go out at all or do you stay in your apartment all day?”

“Well I haven’t been going out,” she said, looking at Guy; “but I could. Why?” Guy looked back at her, frowning, listening.

“There’s something I want to speak to you about,” Hutch said. “Can you meet me tomorrow morning at eleven in front of the Seagram Building?”

“Yes, if you want me to,” she said. “What is it? Can’t you tell me now?”

“I’d rather not,” he said. “It’s nothing terribly important so don’t brood about it. We can have a late brunch or early lunch if you’d like.”

“That would be nice.”

“Good. Eleven o’clock then, in front of the Seagram Building.”

“Right. Did you get your glove?”

“No, they didn’t have it,” he said, “but it’s time I got some new ones anyway. Good night, Rosemary. Sleep well.”

“You too. Good night.”

She hung up.

“What was that?” Guy asked.

“He wants me to meet him tomorrow morning. He has something he wants to talk to me about.”

“And he didn’t say what?”

“Not a word.”

Guy shook his head, smiling. “I think those boys’ adventure stories are going to his head,” he said. “Where are you meeting him?”

“In front of the Seagram Building at eleven o’clock.”

Guy unplugged the phone and went out with it to the den; almost immediately, though, he was back. “You’re the pregnant one and I’m the one with yens,” he said, plugging the phone back in and putting it on the night table. “I’m going to go out and get an ice cream cone. Do you want one?”

“Okay,” Rosemary said.

“Vanilla?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can.”

He went out, and Rosemary leaned back against her pillows, looking ahead at nothing with her book forgotten in her lap. What was it Hutch wanted to talk about? Nothing terribly important, he had said. But it must be something not unimportant too, or else he wouldn’t have summoned her as he had. Was it something about Joan?—or one of the other girls who had shared the apartment?

Far away she heard the Castevets’ doorbell give one short ring. Probably it was Guy, asking them if they wanted ice cream or a morning paper. Nice of him.

The pain sharpened inside her.