A brown-haired slim girl and her husband were sitting on a bench on Riverside Drive near 110^th street. Her hair, tied into a pony tail with a ribbon, was matted with perspiration. She dabbed her throat and the nape of her neck with a handkerchief. Her cotton dress, purchased at a nearly-new shop, was a jot large in the shoulders and the waistline hit her slightly below her natural waist. She resented the poor fit of a bargain, but it was too hot to use the sewing machine and they could not afford having it altered by a tailor. She wore white sandals that cried out for new soles. The husband wore cotton chinos and his old army shirt. It was open at the throat and revealed curls of coarse brown hair that had, only four years before, been the blond fuzz of adolescence.

They watched the cars speed north to New Jersey across the river or up to Scarsdale; some went as far as Westport in Connecticut, Eve thought. The people who went to New Hampshire, Massachusetts or Vermont, had probably left Friday afternoon. She imagined these weekend visitors in the spacious country homes of friends sipping tall drinks on cool patios shaded by great leafy maple, oak, and elm trees. They were dining on poached salmon in shimmering aspic accompanied by a variety of sauces, salads, and baskets of bread and dinner rolls. She was certain frozen souffès were served for dessert on a table set with embroidered napery, Limoges or Sèvres porcelain, Waterford crystal, and sterling flatware passed down to the current owners by generations of American aristocrats.

She broke the silence. "Never buy me a black car. I hate black cars, they look like hearses. Pale blue, white, or yellow, that's what I would like."

"Blue fades," Larry said, "and white needs constant washing."

"Yellow then."

"Would you like a Cadillac or a Rolls?"

"Neither. I'd like a Bentley. Owning a terrifically expensive car that practically nobody ever heard of, that's classy."

"I'm glad you have no trouble making decisions. Shall we have a hot dog first and then take the ferry across or do you want to eat in Jersey?"

"Can we afford both?"

Larry reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of change. Eve emptied her purse. They counted four dollars and seventeen cents. He gathered all the money into his palm and slipped it in his pocket. The weight of the change pulled his trousers down on one side. He clasped his wife's hand as they walked to 125^th street where they boarded the ferry. There was a gentle breeze on the Hudson. Breathing was less of a chore and the sweat on their faces evaporated.

Eve and Larry leaned against the railing of the Queen Mary as the ship was approaching the white cliffs of Dover. The breeze playfully rippled her silk chiffon dress. Larry, wearing his white dinner jacket and holding a brandy snifter in his right hand, put his left arm around Eve's waist. They listened to the dance music softly wafting through the windows of the first class lounge.

They walked among the ugly red brick buildings, relics of another century in Hoboken, had a hot dog and soda each, then took the ferry back to New York. They stripped and took a cold shower together and made love under the running water. They rubbed each other dry and giddily sprinkled talcum powder all over their bodies, some of it spilling on the bath rug.

The walls of their small and squalid furnished apartment radiated heat. They sat in their underwear and read with a small electric fan blowing the hot air about the room. Eve made iced tea. Later, when the sun set, she took mayonnaise, some lettuce, a tomato, and a cucumber out of the ice box, opened two cans of tuna fish and arranged a platter garnishing it with radish roses. She had learned how to make them from another graduate student who worked as a salad man at the faculty club. She sliced a loaf of French bread, set the table for two, and made more iced tea. There was just enough ice cream for two in the tiny freezer. They played cribbage after the simple repast and went to bed early for Larry had a nine-o'clock class and Eve had a job interview downtown.

It was difficult to sleep on the lumpy mattresses of the trundle bed in the oppressive heat. They whispered about their carefully planned future. Larry wondered out loud if he would get the teaching assistantship he was in line for. It paid a hundred dollars a month. The money would make it possible for Eve to work part time and return to school to finish her degree. She tweaked his nose and whispered, "Of course you'll get it, silly. You're the most qualified in the whole department, and after you get your doctorate, they'll offer you a full time appointment as an instructor."

"What have you been sniffing?" He laughed at her faith in him, teased her about it, told her she was extremely biased. She got very upset whenever he did this. She said it meant he had no faith in her cool judgment. He told her his stomach contracted with fear as he contemplated their future. His mind was crowded with vivid recollections of his father selling pots and pans, vacuum cleaners, encyclopedia and magazine subscriptions door-to-door during the depression.

She knew he dreamed of moving her into an elegant apartment on Riverside Drive, newly decorated with expensive furniture, carpeting, drapes, and wallpaper of her choosing, and a large bed with the best mattress money could buy. He often said he was sick of seeing his beautiful wife wearing bargains and her sister's hand-me-downs. He had expressed his wish to see her in chic, custom-made clothes that showed off her lovely figure. She realized his whole manhood was tied up in his ability of providing well for her, maintaining her in style and comfort for the rest of his life. Each time he mentioned his financial dependence on her it caused him deep feelings of inadequacy. Eve protested, but knew he still felt second rate and hoped, for his sake, that he would fulfill his every dream.

Eve took the Fifth Avenue bus down to fifty-third street the following morning. After waiting for forty-five minutes, she was told that the job she hoped to get had already been filled. What to do now? She walked up Fifth Avenue looking at the elegant shop displays, acutely aware of the discrepancy between her shabby appearance and the chic, cool, sleek style of the mannequins in the windows of Tailored Woman, Bergdorf Goodman, and Bonwit Teller and the elegant women who purchased all their clothes in these stores.

Something caught her eye in Black, Starr and Gorham's window as she passed. It arrested her attention and she returned to have a good look. The diamond tiara on a black velvet cushion was the most magnificent piece of jewelry Eve had ever seen. There was a card next to it written with flawless penmanship. Eve concluded it must have been done by a professional calligrapher. The text informed the viewer that the tiara was a gift from Napolèon Bonaparte to the Empress Josephine. Eve stretched out on an Empire chaise and accepted the diamond tiara from Napolèon, who was on his knees, begging her to accept it.

She passed the Plaza Hotel, walked into Central Park, and took a seat on a bench, dejected, at a loss for something to occupy her for the remainder of the day. It was too late to look for another job. Whatever had been advertised in the newspaper was usually taken by ten-thirty or eleven in the morning.

A man with a swarthy complexion and dark, wavy hair sat down beside her. He wore a white linen suit, a navy blue silk shirt with diamond cufflinks, and a white-on-white silk tie with a diamond stickpin. He turned to her and asked, what's a beautiful girl like you doin sittin by herself on a park bench? I have a yacht anchored at the boat basin at 79^th. I'm takin her on a cruise in the Mediterranean. Come away with me. Eve said she didn't have appropriate clothes for the journey. He snapped his fingers. That's no problem, baby, we'll just walk over to Bergdorf's and you pick out all the outfits you need. She confessed she had a husband whom she could not desert. Her loyalty was greeted with derision. He must be a yo-yo to let a gorgeous doll like you run around in these rags. Your heels are run down. Don't he have two bits to have your shoes fixed? He took her hands and examined them closely. Your skin is rough and your nails are not manicured. Baby, you hook up with me and you'll never wash another dish as long as you live.

Eve left the park bench and took the bus back to the apartment. She scanned the help-wanted ads again and her eyes caught sight of a very small notice placed by a travel agent near Columbus Circle. It was only part-time but they were completely broke and she would be lucky to get anything at all. She made herself a sandwich from the left-over tuna, brushed her teeth, and took the subway to Columbus Circle. The office was empty, save for one man, youngish, deeply tanned, and quite good looking. He exposed a perfect set of teeth when he smiled to greet her. She noticed he wore navy suede shoes. Yes, he said, the job was still open. He asked her if she could write her own correspondence. She replied she always had.

"The salary is eighty-five dollars a week, four days during the week and two hours Saturday morning. Can you start immediately?"

"Yes."

Eve sat down at the typewriter and looked at the international travel posters on the walls of the agency. As she composed business letters, she gazed at Michelangelo lying on his back on the scaffolding painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.