The vulgar harmony of squeals, yelps, groans, thumps, riotous piano scales, and a single aching horn accompanied them. Smoke, cheap perfume blended with whiskey, and the sour stench of masculine desire saturated the air. Like a knight errant assailed by a gauntlet of temptation, Bailey closed his senses to all of it and focused on the slender back of the woman he persisted in thinking his sweet young gal, the wretched victim of his cowardice, for whom he had much to make whole. They achieved the landing. She released him, unlocked a door. They entered her suite, the office first with the dressing room and bedroom beyond. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, looking around. He took in the room carefully, trying to measure what each square foot meant about his Minnie, at how she had changed or not changed. She moved her head with his to trace his gaze. What he saw was the order and precision that had impressed Thomas DeGrace when Fishbein sent him to fetch Minerva all those years ago.
