She said, "Rah, team, rah," and blew smoke in my face. She was impressed,however; her eyes were dited by unhappy visions, as were mine: iron rooms, steelcorridors of gradually closing doors. "Oh, screw it," she said, and stabbed out hercigarette. "I have a fair ce they wont catch me. Provided you keep your bouchefermez. Look. Dont despise me, darling." She put her hand over mine and pressed itwith sudden immense siy. "I havent much choice. I talked it over with thewyer: oh, I didnt tell him anything regarding Rio -- hed tip the badgers himself,rather than lose his fee, to say nothing of the nickels O.J. put up for bail. Bless O.J.sheart; but on the coast I helped him win more thahou in a single pokerhand: were square. No, heres the real shake: all the badgers want from me is acouple rabs and my services as a states witness against Sally -- nobody hasany iion of proseg me, they havent a ghost of a case. Well, I may berotten to the core, Maude, but: testify against a friend I will not. Not if they prove he doped Sister Kenny. My yardstick is how somebody treats me, and oldSally, all right he wasnt absolutely white with me, say he took a slight advantage,just the same Sallys an okay shooter, and Id let the fat woman snatch me soohahe w-boys pin him down." Tilting her pact mirror above her face,smoothing her lipstick with a crooked pinkie, she said: "And to be ho, that isntall. Certain shades of limelight wreck a girls plexion. Even if a jury gave me thePurple Heart, this neighborhood holds no future: theyd still have up every rope fromLaRue to Peronas Bar and Grill -- take my word, Id be about as wele as Mr.Frank E. Campbell. And if you lived off my particur talents, Cookie, youduand the kind of bankruptcy Im describing. Uh, uh, I dont just fancy a fadeoutthat finds me belly-bumping around Rosend with a pack of West Side hillbillies.While the excellent Madame Trawler sashayes her twat in and out of Tiffanys. Icouldnt take it. Give me the fat woman any day."A nurse, soft-shoeing into the room, advised that visiting hours were over. Hollystarted to pin, and was curtailed by having a thermometer popped in hermouth. But as I took leave, she unstoppered herself to say: "Do me a favor, darling.Call up the Times, or whatever you call, a a list of the fifty richest men inBrazil. Im not kidding. The fifty richest: regardless of race or color. Another favor --poke around my apartment till you find that medal you gave me. The St.Christopher. Ill for the trip."The sky was red Friday night, it thundered, and Saturday, departing day, the cityswayed in a squall-like downpour. Sharks might have swum through the air, thoughit seemed improbable a pne could pee it.But Holly, ign my cheerful vi that her flight would not go, tinuedher preparations -- pg, I must say, the chief burden of them on me. For she haddecided it would be unwise of her to e he brownstone. Quite rightly, too: itwas under surveilnce, whether by police or reporters or other ied partiesone couldnt tell -- simply a man, sometimes men, who hung around the stoop. Soshed gone from the hospital to a bank and straight then to Joe Bells Bar. "She dontfigure she was followed," Joe Bell told me when he came with a message that Hollywanted me to meet her there as soon as possible, a half-hour at most, bringing:"Her jewelry. Her guitar. Toothbrushes and stuff. And a bottle of hundred-year-oldbrandy: she says youll find it hid down itom of the dirty-clothes basket.Yeah, oh, and the cat. She wants the cat. But hell," he said, "I dont know we shouldhelp her at all. She ought to be protected against herself. Me, I feel like telling thecops. Maybe if I go bad build her some drinks, maybe I get her drunkenough to call it off."Stumbling, skidding up and down the fire escape between Hollys apartment andmine, wind-blown and winded ao the bone (cwed to the bone as well, forthe cat had not looked favorably upon evacuation, especially in suclemeher) I managed a fast, first-rate job of assembling her going-away belongings. Ieven found the St. Christophers medal. Everything iled on the floor of myroom, a poignant pyramid of brassières and dang slippers and pretty things Ipacked in Hollys only suitcase. There was a mass left over that I had to put in papergrocery bags. I couldnt think how to carry the cat; until I thought of stuffing him ina pillowcase.Never mind why, but once I walked from New Orleans to Nancys Landing,Mississippi, just under five hundred miles. It was a light-hearted rk pared tothe jouro Joe Bells bar. The guitar filled with rain, rain softehe papersacks, the sacks spilt and perfume spilled on the pavement, pearls rolled ier: while the wind pushed and the cat scratched, the cat screamed -- but worse,I was frightened, a coward to equal José: those st streets seemed aswarmwith unseen presences waiting to trap, imprison me for aiding an outw.The outw said: "Youre te, Buster. Did y the brandy?"And the cat, released, leaped and perched on her shoulder: his tail swung like abaton dug rhapsodic music. Holly, too, seemed inhabited by melody, somebouncy bon voyage oompahpah. Unc the brandy, she said: "This was meant tobe part of my hope chest. The idea was, every anniversary wed have a swig. ThankJesus I never bought the chest. Mr. Bell, sir, three gsses.""Youll only wo," he told her. "I wont drink to your foolishness."The more she cajoled him ("Ah, Mr. Bell. The dy doesnt vanish every day. Wontyou toast her?"), the gruffer he was: "Ill have no part of it. If yoing to hell,youll go on your own. With no further help from me." An inaccurate statement:because seds after hed made it a chauffeured limousine drew up outside the bar,and Holly, the first to notice it, put down her brandy, arched her eyebrows, asthough she expected to see the District Attorney himself alight. So did I. And when Isaw Joe Bell blush, I had to think: by God, he did call the police. But then, withburning ears, he announced: "Its nothing. One of them Carey Cadilcs. I hired it. Totake you to the airport."He turned his ba us to fiddle with one of his flower arras. Holly said:"Kind, dear Mr. Bell. Look at me, sir."