“You have to go,” she said.
“Tell me about a place you went. Let me be an ear for a while.”
This was not a good idea, Vivienne knew. When the work was done, the work was done. She had grown fond of him, or at least fond of the spell they wove together. He went with the music of hazard. “Okay,” she said, “just one, but then you go.”
“Yes, boss,” he said.
He settled back on the pillow dunes. Vivienne began, “It was 1965, November. I flew down to New York from TO. Marty had a place in Tudor City on East 43rd, at The Hermitage, up the stairs from the United Nations. Marty was in Saigon. I had to stretch my legs, so I took my camera for a walk down by the East River. Down the stairs on bedrock, across First Avenue and over to the UN building.
“So there I am, on Tuesday, November the 9th, 1
