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After two months in Florida I had many acquaintances； or connections； but no friends。 I did not return any of the dinner invitations； and I had to avoid bars； night clubs； and restaurants where I might get stuck with a check。 The man who never picks up a check does not acquire friends。
Nevertheless； I felt that my various hosts and hostesses were repensed for my presence at their homes。 I put up genially with bores； I was an extra man at dinners where single； heterosexual young men were at a premium； and when I was in a good mood； I could tell stories or carry conversation over dead spots。
I had two dinner jackets； a red silk brocade and a standard white linen。 There were lipstick mouthings on the white jacket； where a tipsy Berenice had bitten me on the shoulder while I was driving back from a party。 I was forced； then； to wear the red brocade。
As I walked the six blocks from my apartment to Gloria's Gallery； I speculated on Joseph Cassidy's invitation to supper。 A social invitation wasn't unusual； but she had said that he wanted to meet me； and I wondered why。 Cassidy was not only famous as a collector； he was famous as a criminal lawyer。 It was the huge ine from his practice in Chicago that had enabled him to build his art collection。
He had one of the finest private collections of contemporary art in America； and the conclusion I came to； which seemed reasonable at the time； was that he might want to hire me to write a catalogue for it。 And if he did not want to see me about that （to my knowledge； no catalogue had been published on his collection）； I had a good mind to suggest it to him。 The task would pay off for me； as well as for Cassidy； in several ways。 I could make some additional money； spend a few months in Chicago； do some writing on midwestern art and artists； and my name on the published catalogue would enhance my career。
The more I thought about the idea the more enthusiastic I became； but by the time I reached the gallery my enthusiasm was tempered by the knowledge that I could not broach the suggestion to him。 If he suggested it； fine； but I could not ask a man for employment at a social affair without a loss of dignity。
And what else did I have to offer a man in Cassidy's position？ My pride （call it machismo） in myself； which I overrated and which I knew was often phony； was innate； I supposed…a part of my heritage from my Puerto Rican father。 But the pride was there； all the same； and I had passed up many opportunities to push myself by considering first； inside my head； what my father would have done in similar circumstances。
By the time I reached the gallery； I had pushed the idea out of my mind。
Gloria forced her thin lips over her buck teeth； brushed my right sideburn with her mouth； and； capturing my right arm in a painful armlock； led me to the bar。
〃Do you know this man； Eddy？〃 she said to the bartender。
〃No；〃 Eddy shook his head solemnly； 〃but his drink is familiar。〃 He poured two ounces of Cutty Sark over two ice cubes and handed me the Dixie cup。
〃Thanks； Eddy。〃
Eddy worked the day shift at Hiram's Hideaway in South Palm Beach； but he was a popular bartender and was hired by many hostesses during the season for parties at night。 I usually ran into him once or twice a week at various places。 Everybody； I thought； needs something extra nowadays。 A regular job； and something else。 Gloria； for example； wouldn't have been able to pay the high seasonal rent on her gallery if she didn't occasionally rent it out in the evenings for poetry readings and encounter…group therapy sessions。 She detested these groups； too。 The people who needed to listen to poetry； or tortured themselves in encounter…group sessions were all chain smokers； she claimed； who didn't use the ashtrays she provided。
Eddy worked at a sheet…covered card table。 There was scotch； bourbon； gin and vermouth for martinis； and a plastic container of ice cubes behind the table。 I moved back to give someone else a chance； and picked up a mimeographed catalogue from the table in the foyer。 Gloria was greeting newers at the door； bringing them to the table to sign her guest book； and then to the bar。
Her previews were not exclusive by any means。 In addition to her regular guest list for previews； she gave invitations to Palm Beach hotel P。R。 directors to hand out to guests who might be potential buyers。 The square hotel guests； 〃honored〃 by being given printed preview invitations to a private show； and thrified by the idea that they were seeing 〃real〃 Palm Beach society at an art show preview； occasionally purchased a painting。 And when they did； the publicity director of The hotel they came from received a sports jacket or a new pair of Daks from Gloria。 As a consequence； the preview crowd at Gloria's Gallery was often a weird group。 There were even a couple of teenaged girls from Palm Beach Junior College peering anxiously at the primitives and writing notes with balipoints in Blue Horse notebooks。
Herbert Westcott； I learned from the catalogue； was twenty…seven years old； a graduate of Western Reserve who had also studied at the Art Students League in New York。 He had exhibited in Cleveland； the Art Students League； and Toronto； Canada。 A Mr。 Theodore L。 Canavin of Philadelphia had collected some of his work。 This exhibit； recent work done in Haiti during the past three months； was Westcott's first one…man show。 I looked up from the catalogue and spotted the artist easily。 He was short…about five； seven…well tanned； with a skimpy； light brown beard。 He wore a six…button； 。powder blue Palm Beach suit； white shoes； and a pale pink body shirt without a tie。 He was eavesdropping on a middle…aged couple examining his largest painting…a Port…au…Prince market scene that was two…thirds lemon sky。
He drew well； as Gloria had said； but he had let his colors overlap by dripping to give the effect of fortuitous accident to his positions。 The drips…a messy heritage from Jackson Pollock…were injudicious。 He had talent； of course； but talent is where a painter starts。 His Haitian men and women were in tints and shades of chocolate instead of black； something I might not have noticed if it had not been for the Haitian paintings on the opposite wall； where the figures were black indeed。
The dozen Haitian paintings Gloria had rounded up were all surprisingly good。 She even had an early Marcel； circa 1900； so modestly different from the contemporary primitives with their bold reds and yellows； it riveted one's attention。 The scene was typically Haitian； some thirty peopie engaged in voodoo rites； with a bored； ical goat as a central focusing point； but the picture was painted in gray； black； and white…no primary colors at all。 Marcel； as I recalled； was an early primitive who had painted his canvases with chicken feathers because he could not afford brushes。 It was priced at only fifteen hundred dollars； and someone would get a bargain if he purchased the Marcel 。 。 。
〃James；〃 Gloria clutched my elbow； 〃I want you to meet Herb Westcott。 Herb； this is Mr。 Figueras。〃
〃How do you do？〃 I said。 〃Gloria； where did you get the Marcel？〃
〃Later；〃 she said。 〃Talk to Herb。〃 S