ing muffled through the locked door； and slowly his confusion had given way
to anger。 Things had never really changed。 Not to Wendy。 He could be off the
juice for twenty years and still when he came home at night and she embraced him
at the door； he would see/ sense that little flare of her nostrils as she tried
to divine scotch or gin fumes riding the outbound train of his exhalation。 She
was always going to assume the worst； if he and Danny got in a car accident with
a drunken blindman who had had a stroke just before the collision； she would
silently blame Danny's injuries on him and turn away。
Her face as she had snatched Danny away it rose up before him and he suddenly
wanted to wipe the anger that had been on it out with his fist。
She had no goddam right！
Yes； maybe at first。 He had been a lush； he had done terrible things。 Breaking
Danny's arm had been a terrible thing。 But if a man reforms； doesn't he deserve
to have his reformation credited sooner or later？ And if he doesn't get it；
doesn't he deserve the game to go with the name？ If a father constantly accuses
his virginal daughter of screwing every boy in junior high； must she not at last
grow weary （enough） of it to earn her scoldings？ And if a wife secretly…and not
so secretly…continues to believe that her teetotaling husband is a drunk 。。。
He got up； walked slowly down to the first…floor landing； and stood there for
a moment。 He took his handkerchief from his back pocket； wiped his lips with it；
and considered going down and pounding on the bedroom door； demanding to be let
in so he could see his son。 She had no right to be so goddam highhanded。
Well； sooner or later she'd have to e out； unless she planned a radical
sort of diet for the two of them。 A rather ugly grin touched his lips at the
thought。 Let her e to him。 She would in time。
He went downstairs to the ground floor； stood aimlessly by the lobby desk for
a moment； then turned right。 He went into the dining room and stood just inside
the door。 The empty tables； their white linen cloths neatly cleaned and pressed
beneath their clear plastic covers； glimmered up at him。 All was deserted now
but
（Dinner Will Be Served at 8 P。M。
Un…Masking and Dancing At Midnight）
Jack walked among the tables； momentarily forgetting his wife and son
upstairs； forgetting the dream； the smashed radio； the bruises。 He trailed his
fingers over the slick plastic dustcovers； trying to imagine how it must have
been on that hot August night in 1945； the war won； the future stretching ahead so various
and new； like a land of dreams。 The bright and particolored Japanese lanterns
hung the whole length of the circular drive； the golden…yellow light spilling
from these high windows that were now drifted over with snow。 Men
and women in costume； here a glittering princess； there a high…booted
cavalier； flashing jewelry and flashing wit every
where； dancing； liquor flowing freely； first wine and then cocktails and then
perhaps boilermakers the level of conversation going up and up and up until the jolly cry rang out
from the bandmaster's podium； the cry of 〃Unmask！ Unmask！〃
（And the Red Death held sway 。。。）
He found himself standing on the other side of the dining room； just outside
the stylized batwing doors of the Colorado Lounge where； on that night in 1945；
all the booze would have been free。
（Belly up to the bar； pardner； the drinks're on the house。）
He stepped through the batwings and into the deep； folded shadows of the bar。
And a strange thing occurred。 He had been in here before； once to check the
inventory sheet Ullman had left； and he knew the place had been stripped clean。
The shelves were totally bare。 But now； lit only murkily by the light which
filtered through from the dining room （which was itself only dimly lit because
of the snow blocking the windows）； he thought he saw ranks and ranks of bottles
twinkling mutedly behind the bar； and syphons； and even beer dripping from the
spigots of all three highly polished taps。 Yes； he could even smell beer； that
damp and fermented and yeasty odor； no different from the smell that had hung
finely misted around his father's face every night when he came home from work。
Eyes widening； he fumbled for the wall switch； and the low； intimate bar…
lighting came on； circles of twenty…watt bulbs emplanted on the tops of the
three wagon…wheel chandeliers overhead。
The shelves were all empty。 They had not even as yet gathered a good coat of
dust。 The beer taps were dry； as were the chrome drains beneath them。 To his
left and right； the velvet…upholstered booths stood like men with high backs；
each one designed to give a maximum of privacy to the couple inside。 Straight
ahead； across the red…carpeted floor； forty barstools stood around the
horseshoe…shaped bar。 Each stool was upholstered in leather and embossed with
cattle brands — Circle H； Bar D Bar （that was fitting）； Rocking W； Lazy B。
He approached it； giving his head a little shake of bewilderment as he did so。
It was like that day on the playground when 。。。 but there was no sense in
thinking about that。 Still he could have sworn he had seen those bottles；
vaguely； it was true； the way you see the darkened shapes of furniture in a room
where the curtains have been drawn。 Mild glints on glass。 The only thing that
remained was that smell of beer； and Jack knew that was a smell that faded into
the woodwork of every bar in the world after a certain period of time； not to be
eradicated by any cleaner invented。 Yet the smell here seemed sharp 。。。 almost
fresh。
He sat down on one of the stools and propped his elbows on the bar's leather…
cushioned edge。 At his left hand was a bowl for peanuts now empty； of course。
The first bar he'd been in for nineteen months and the damned thing was dry just
his luck。 All the same； a bitterly powerful wave of nostalgia swept over him；
and the physical craving for a drink seemed to work itself up from his belly to
his throat to his mouth and nose； shriveling and wrinkling the tissues as it
went； making them cry out for something wet and long and cold。
He glanced at the shelves again in wild； irrational hope but the shelves were
just as empty as before。 He grinned in pain and frustration。 His fists；
clenching slowly； made minute scratchings on the bar's leather…padded edge。
〃Hi； Lloyd；〃 he said。 〃A little slow tonight； isn't it？〃
Lloyd said it was。 Lloyd asked him what it would be。
〃Now I'm really glad you asked me that；〃 Jack said； 〃really glad。 Because I
happen to have two twenties and two tens in my wallet and I was afraid they'd be
sitting there until sometime next April。 There isn't a Seven…Eleven around here；
would you believe it？ And I thought they had Seven…Elevens on the fucking moon。〃
Lloyd sympathized。
〃So here's what；〃 Jack said。 〃You set me up an even twenty martinis。 An even
twenty； just like that； kazang。 One for every month I've been on the wagon and
one to grow on。 You can do that； can't you