In the kitchen Ryan opened the cupboard beneath the sink and dropped the glass fragments into the trash basket.

“Goddamn it, sign the goddamn thing! Now!”

Ryan tensed. In the silence that followed, he let himself relax. He lit a cigarette, then took the tin paper and screw-top off the fifth of Gallo on the counter. He was in the living room when Mr. Perez and Raymond came out. Ryan looked at the papers in Mr. Perez’s hand.

“She sign them?”

“She can’t see to pee straight,” Mr. Perez said.

“Goddamn drunken woman. There’s nothing worse than a drunk woman.”

Ryan stepped aside to let Mr. Perez walk over to his attachй case on the counter.

“Maybe when she sobers up a little,” Ryan said.

“I swear, all I been doing on this one is waiting. Waiting to find her, waiting for her to make up her mind, waiting for her to sober up.” He dropped the papers into the open case.

“I was thinking,” Ryan said, “she starts to come around she’s gonna want a drink, glass of wine. So let’s say I give her about a half a glass. Then when she wants some more, dying for it, I say, Okay, but you got to sign some papers first. I think, the condition she’s in, it’ll work.”

Mr. Perez turned a little to look at Ryan. “You’re betting thirty thousand dollars it works. If it doesn’t, I don’t see I’ll need you anymore.”

Ryan shrugged, showing he was at ease. “It’s okay with me. I never intended making a career out of this. Give me till about noon and I’ll call you.”

“Maybe it won’t take that long,” Mr. Perez said. “Maybe, but I think a couple of hours the way she’s sleeping,” Ryan said. “Let her dry out a little, she’ll wake up dying of thirst.”

“Well, Raymond and I could wait around for that matter.” Mr. Perez was playing with him now.

Ryan shrugged again, as though it didn’t matter. “It’s up to you,” he said, “you want to sit around.”

“Or I could leave Raymond.”

“You decide what you’re going to do,” Ryan said. He was tense and had to move. He walked around into the kitchen and turned the burner on under the kettle. “You want some coffee?”

“No, I guess we’ll leave it in your hands,” Mr. Perez said, taking the papers out of the attachй case and laying them on the counter. “Two copies of the agreement, two giving us power of attorney. It won’t hurt to get them both signed, and the copies.” Mr. Perez picked up his case and started out. “You’ll be sure and call me, now.”

“The minute she signs,” Ryan said. “You got my word.”

Denise sat up as she heard the door close. She was scuffing her feet into her sandals when Ryan came in, looking at the papers.

“What does it say?”

“Wait-‘We believe you are the legal owner of assets you are entitled to receive.’” He paused. “No, this is the agreement.” He looked at the other typewritten form. “‘I, Denise L. Leary, hereby appoint Francis X. Perez’-I love that, named after Saint Francis Xavier, the son of a bitch. This is it.” Ryan looked through the form quickly, then read it slowly, every word, before shaking his head.

“What?” Denise said.

“No company or stock name. The spaces are blank.” He dropped the papers on the bed. Denise didn’t pick them up or even look at them.

Ryan walked over to the window. He looked out at the wet asphalt of the parking area that was empty except for a few cars. His light-blue Catalina stood alone near the entrance. It was quiet in the bedroom.

“They didn’t have to break my lamp.”

Ryan was thinking, Get in the car and go.

There was silence.

“Look, I don’t care,” Denise said. “If I don’t sign, then he doesn’t get anything either, does he? So why don’t we let it go at that? I’m tired and I really don’t care one way or the other. Really. I’d just as soon forget the whole thing. Shit, everything.”

There was silence again for at least a minute, maybe a little longer.

Ryan turned from the window. He said, “Pack a bag, a suitcase.”

Denise looked up at him. “Why?”

“Come on, pack something and let’s get out of here.”

THEY WENT TO FLORIDA. Ryan was going to drive, but changed his mind heading south on 75 and made the turn to Detroit Metropolitan, got them seats on a Delta flight to Lauderdale and a Budget Rent a Car to Pompano Beach, a Pinto without air, and by seven o’clock that evening they were in an efficiency at the Vista Del Mar with groceries, new bathing outfits, thongs, and Coppertone, looking out at the Atlantic Ocean.

“There,” Ryan said. “No more thinking for a week. Whoever mentions Perez or the stock or anything connected with it has to put five bucks in the kitty.”

Denise looked around the room, from the picture window to the flowered rattan chairs to the twin beds, against opposite walls, that featured tailored beige spreads and bolsters that disguised them as sofas. Forty-five dollars a day including color TV and the ocean view. What more could you want? Ryan said.

Denise said, “What I’d like more than anything is a glass of wine.”

Ryan went into the kitchen and dug into a grocery bag. He came back out with a bottle of Blue Nun and two jelly glasses.

“You mean it?” Denise said.

“If the corkscrew works,” Ryan said. He took it out of his coat pocket.

Denise watched him twist it into the cork. “You’re gonna have one, too?”

“So you won’t have to drink alone,” Ryan said. He got the cork out. Pouring the wine, he said, “It’s not cold, though.”

“I don’t care.” She took the glass he offered, with yellow daisies on it, and said, “Jesus, I don’t believe it.” Then took a drink and closed her eyes and opened them. “Jesus,” she said again, and watched Ryan sip his wine. “Why’re you doing this?”

“I guess-I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I want us to be like normal everyday people on a vacation. Not think-I don’t mean get drunk and not think. I mean not worry about anything, relax, and have a good time. We can have the steak and a salad, I thought, instead of getting dressed and going out someplace.”

“That sounds fine.”

“I got a bottle of red, too, we can have with the steak.”

“I didn’t see you get the wine.”

“No, well-we can have this before, then the red with dinner. You want to fix it, or you want me to?”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“You feel okay?”

“I feel fine. This morning, it seems like a long time ago,” Denise said. “I was going to take a shower, unless you want to eat right away.”

“No, go ahead,” Ryan said. “We’re not in any hurry. We’re on our vacation.”

They were polite, but it didn’t seem forced. That was the idea, to be natural.

Ryan went outside with his wine. He turned on the orange light by the door, then turned it off again and sat down in a deck chair, propping his feet on the low wall that separated the patio area from the empty beach. It was a good time of the day: alone, feeling the breeze and listening to the ocean as it came in out of the darkness and broke and washed in forty yards away. He was here and she was in the shower and Mr. Perez was somewhere and out there were the Gulf Stream and Bimini, the Bahama Islands, and way out there in the darkness some of Denise’s whales talking to each other, not giving a shit about Mr. Perez getting mad and tense as he telephoned and got no answers. Maybe he’d go out to Denise’s again. Then what? Ryan could think about Mr. Perez without putting five bucks in the kitty, but he wished he could turn the man off in his mind. Kick the habit. He didn’t know what he was doing with the wine. Playing a game. Helping her through a bad time. Having some with her so she wouldn’t feel like a drunk. Making excuses. It didn’t taste that good, yet. She was probably pouring herself another one. He almost got up, but he made himself sit there, looking out at the ocean, and smoked a cigarette, and then, after a few minutes, smoked another one.