startled her a little, and even startled him. But there wasn't much follow-up. The drugs 
took care of that, like folding up the kiss in a blanket.
  
  Age made such a difference. Kissing a man who'd been to bed a thousand times was 
nothing like kissing a boy who'd done it twice, maybe. All the machinery was here. She 
just needed a stronger jolt to turn it on.
  
  "Hold on, honey, hold on," he said gently, taking her by the left shoulder, and forcing 
her back.
  
  She found it almost painful suddenly that this man was right there, and she probably 
couldn't get him to do what she wanted, and maybe never would.
  
  "I know, Uncle Michael. But you have to understand that we have our family traditions."
  
  "Is that so?"
  
  "Oncle Julien slept with my great-grandmother in this house when she was thirteen. 
That's how come I'm so clever."
  
  "And pretty," he said. "But I inherited something from my ancestors too. It's called 
moral fiber." He raised his eyebrows, smiling at her slowly, taking her hand now and 
patting it as if she really were a little kitten or a child.
  
  Best to step back. He looked groggier now than when they'd started.  It seemed wrong, 
really, to try to draw him to her. Yet she ached for him. She really did; she ached for 
intimacy with him and the entire world of adults which he embodied for her. Stranded in 
childhood, she suddenly felt freakish and confused. She might have cried.
  
  "Why don't I put you in the front bedroom?" he said. "It's all clean and neat in there, 
has been since Rowan left. You want to sleep in there? That's a nice room." His voice was 
thick. His eyes were closed as he talked. He stroked her hand affectionately.
  
  "Front bedroom's fine," she said.
  
  "There are some flannel nightgowns in there. They were Rowan's.  I gave them to her. 
They'll be too long. But wait a minute, maybe Aunt Viv is still awake. Maybe I should 
tell her you're here."
  
  "Aunt Viv is uptown, with Aunt Cecilia," she said, venturing to squeeze his hand one 
more time. It was beginning to feel a little warm.
  
  "They've become famous friends, Aunt Viv and Aunt Cecilia. I think Aunt Viv is now an 
honorary Mayfair."
  
  "Aaron. Aaron is in the second bedroom," he said, as though thinking aloud.
  
  "Aaron's with Aunt Bea. He and Bea have a thing together. They went back to his suite 
at the Pontchartrain, because she is far too proper to take him home."
  
  "Is that true? Bea and Aaron. Gee, I never noticed."
  
  "Well, you wouldn't. I'll bet Aaron will be an honorary Mayfair soon too."
  
  "Wouldn't that be something? Beatrice is perfect. You need a woman for Aaron who 
appreciates a gentleman, don't you think?" His eyes closed again, as if he couldn't 
prevent it.
  
  "Uncle Michael, there's no such thing as a woman who doesn't appreciate a gentleman," 
said Mona.
  
  He opened his eyes. "Do you know everything?"
  
  "Nope. Wish I did, but then again, who would want to know everything? God must be 
bored. What do you think?"
  
  "I can't figure it out," he said, smiling again. "You're a firecracker, Mona."
  
  "Wait till you see me in a flannel nightgown."
  
  "I won't. I expect you to lock your door, and go to sleep. Aaron might come home, 
Eugenia could get up and start her ceaseless walking..."
  
  "Ceaseless walking?"
  
  "You know old people. I'm so sleepy, Mona. Are you sleepy?"
  
  "What if I get scared all alone in that front bedroom?"
  
  "Doesn't compute."
  
  "What did you say?"
  
  "Just means you're not scared of anything. And you know it, and you know I know it."
  
  "You want to sleep with me, don't you?"
  
  "No."
  
  "You're lying."
  
  "Doesn't matter. I won't do what I'm not supposed to do. Honey, I think I should call 
somebody."
  
  "Trust me," she said. "I'm going to go to bed now. We'll have breakfast in the morning. 
Henri says he makes perfect Eggs Benedict."
  
  He smiled at her vaguely, too tired to argue, too tired perhaps to even remember the 
phone numbers he ought to call. What evil things drugs were. They made him grope for the 
simplest verbal constructions. She hated them. She never touched alcohol, or drugs in any