It happeo fall oh of September, my birthday, a fact which had noeffe events, except that, expeg some form of moary remembrance frommy family, I was eager for the postmans m visit. Indeed, I went downstairsand waited for him. If I had not been l in the vestibule, then Holly would nothave asked me to go horseback riding; and would not, sequently, have had theopportunity to save my life."e on," she said, when she found me awaiting the postman. "Lets walk acouple of horses around the park." She was wearing a windbreaker and a pair of bluejeans and tennis shoes; she spped her stomach, drawing attention to its ftness:"Dont think Im out to lose the heir. But theres a horse, my darling old MabelMinerva -- I t go without saying good-bye to Mabel Minerva.""Good-bye?""A week from Saturday. José bought the tickets." In rather a trance, I let her leadme down to the street. "We ge pnes in Miami. Thehe sea. Over theAaxi!"Over the Andes. As we rode in a cab across tral Park it seemed to me asthough I, too, were flying, desotely floating over snow-peaked and perilousterritory."But you t. After all, what about. Well, what about. Well, you t really runoff and leave everybody.""I dont think anyone will miss me. I have no friends.""I will. Miss you. So will Joe Bell. And oh -- millions. Like Sally. Poor Mr. Tomato.""I loved old Sally," she said, and sighed. "You know I haveo see him in amonth? When I told him I was going away, he was an angel. Actually" -- she frowned-- "he seemed delighted that I was leaving the try. He said it was all for thebest. Because sooner or ter there might be trouble. If they found out I wasnt hisreal hat fat wyer, OShaughnessy, OShaughnessy sent me five hundreddolrs. In cash. A wedding present from Sally."I wao be unkind. "You expect a present from me, too. When, and if, thewedding happens."She ughed. "Hell marry me, all right. In church. And with his family there.Thats why were waiting till we get to Rio.""Does he know youre married already?""Whats the matter with you? Are y to ruin the day? Its a beautiful day:leave it alone!""But its perfectly possible -- ""It isnt possible. Ive told you, that wasnt legal. It couldnt be." She rubbed hernose, and g me sideways. "Mention that to a living soul, darling. Ill hangyou by your toes and dress you for a hog."The stables -- I believe they have been repced by television studios -- were o Sixty-sixth street Holly selected for me an old sway-back bd whitemare: "Dont worry, shes safer than a cradle." Which, in my case, was a necessaryguarantee, for te pony rides at childhood ivals were the limit of myequestrian experience. Holly helped hoist me into the saddle, then mounted her ownhorse, a silvery animal that took the lead as we jogged across the traffic of tralPark West aered a riding path dappled with leaves denuding breezes dancedabout."See?" she shouted. "Its great!" And suddenly it was. Suddenly, watg thetangled colors of Hollys hair fsh in the red-yellow leaf light, I loved her enough tet myself, my self-pitying despairs, and be tent that something she thoughthappy was going to happen. Very gently the horses began to trot, waves of windspshed us, spanked our faces, we plunged in and out of sun and shadow pools, andjoy, a gd-to-be-alive exhiration, jolted through me like a jigger of nitrogen. Thatwas one mihe introduced far grim disguise.For all at once, like savage members of a jungle ambush, a band of Negro boysleapt out of the shrubbery along the path. Hooting, cursing, they unched rocks andthrashed at the horses rumps with switches.Mihe bd white mare, rose on her hind legs, whieetered like atightrope artist, then blue-streaked dowh, boung my feet out of thestirrups and leaving me scarcely attached. Her hooves made the gravel stones spitsparks. The sky careerees, a ke with little-boy sailboats, statues went bylicketysplit. Nursemaids rushed to rescue their charges from our awesome approach;men, bums and others, yelled: "Pull in the reins!" and "Whoa, boy, whoa!" and"Jump!" It was only ter that I remembered these voices; at the time I was simplyscious of Holly, the cowboy-sound of her rag behind me, never quite catgup, and over and over calling encements. Onward: across the park and out intoFifth Aveampeding against the noonday traffic, taxis, buses that screeglyswerved. Past the Duke mansion, the Frick Museum, past the Pierre and the Pza.But Holly gained ground; moreover, a mounted poli had joihe chase:fnking my runaway mare, one oher side, their horses performed a pinent that brought her to a steamy halt. It was then, at st, that I fell off herback. Fell off and picked myself up and stood there, not altogether certain where Iwas. A crowd gathered. The poli huffed and wrote in a book: presently he wasmost sympathetic, grinned and said he would arrange for our horses to be returo their stable.Holly put us in a taxi. "Darling. How do you feel?""Fine.""But you havent any pulse," she said, feeling my wrist."Then I must be dead.""No, idiot. This is serious. Look at me."The trouble was, I couldnt see her; rather, I saw several Hollys, a trio of sweatyfaces so white with that I was both touched and embarrassed. "Holy. Idont feel anything. Except ashamed.""Please. Are you sure? Tell me the truth. You might have been killed.""But I wasnt. And thank you. For saving my life. Youre wonderful. Unique. I loveyou.""Damn fool." She kissed me on the cheek. Then there were four of her, and Ifainted dead away.That evening, photographs of Holly were frontpaged by the te edition of theJournal-Ameri and by the early editions of both the Daily News and the DailyMirror. The publicity had nothing to do with runaway horses. It ed quiteanother matter, as the headlines revealed: PLAYGIRL ARRESTED IN NARCOTICSSDAL (Journal-Ameri), ARREST DOPE-SMUGGLING ACTRESS (Daily News),DRUG RING EXPOSED, GLAMIRL HELD (Daily Mirror).