Ordering a martini, I start my routine. First I down my martini, and chew on the olives mindlessly. Then I order another. Better slow down for tonight... Now comes the emotion. For the first half hour, I always go for the ‘my life sucks and I’m drinking the night away’ style, hoping to catch some easy guy’s glance, and then he’ll come over to flirt, and I know I’ve got one for the night. I start complaining out loud, maybe it’s to the bartender, and I wait. I cross the street, following closely. Lindy and I followed Helena into the old Otis elevator that complained arthritically during its slow ascent to the second highest floor. Only four doors for four suites in the elegant hallway. We heard the hum of voices through the thick door which Helena opened with a brass key. Conversations punctuated by laughter became louder inside. And within the mesh of voices several stringed instruments sounding suspiciously like a requiem mass thrummed from speakers, a dark theme for a lively party.. More

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