Gold tucked his tortoiseshell sunglasses into the breast pocket of his tan silk-weave sports jacket as he crossed the bustling, marbled lobby to the elevators. His destination, the Tap Room Lounge, was tucked away up on the mezzanine. The lounge was windowless and dimly lit. Gold stood in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Just by the entrance was a redwood and brass bar. Three steps led up to a raised, carpeted seating area. Black leather booths and banquettes ringed the paneled walls beneath electric sconces wired to flicker like candles. Gold stood with his back to the bar to survey the room. The lounge was busy and noisy. Piped-in, sultry jazz swirled in the background along with cigarette smoke, the clinking of ice cubes, and the murmur of talk and laughter. He was not surprised by the number of people having a drink, or their gaiety so early in the day. There was a general air of giddy high spirits all over the city now that it looked as if the end of the war in Europe was at hand.
