elt close to the payoff.

He spent most of the night smoking and walking around the room, trying
not to look at the jars and hairbrushes on the bureau. He missed the
bobbypins on the floor, the nylons drying across the shower rack, the
toothpaste tubes squeezed from the top. He'd put her perfumes in a
drawer, but the smell was so pervasively haunting that it was like
having her stand invisibly behind him.

[Illustration]

As soon as the sun came up, he hurried out and took a cab. He'd have to
wait until visiting hours, but he couldn't stand the slowness of the
train. Just being in the same building with her would--almost--be
enough.

When he finally was allowed into Zelda's room, he spent all his time
watching her silently, taking in every intently mumbled word and
movement. Her movements, in spite of their gratingly basic monotony,
were particularly something to watch, for Zelda had blue-black hair down
to her shapely shoulders, wide-apart blue eyes, sulky mouth, and an
astonishing body. She used all her physical equipment with unconscious
provocativeness, except her eyes, which were blankly distant.

Clocker stood it as long as he could and then burst out, "Damn it,
Zelda, how long can they take to learn a time-step?"

She didn't answer. She didn't see him, hear him, or feel him. Even when
he kissed her on the back of the neck, her special place, she did not
twist her shoulder up with the sudden thrill.

He took out the portable phonograph he'd had permission to bring in, and
hopefully played three of her old numbers--a ballet tap, a soft shoe,
and, most potent of all, her favorite slinky strip tune. Ordinarily, the
beat would have thrown her off, but not any more.

"Dead to this world," muttered Clocker dejectedly.

He shook Zelda. Even when she was off-balance, her feet tapped out the
elementary routine.

"Look, kid," he said, his voice tense and angry, "I don't know who these
squares are that you're working for, but tell them if they got you, they
got to take me, too."

Whatever he expected--ghostly figures to materialize or a chill wind
from nowhere--nothing happened. She went on tapping.

He sat down on her bed. _They_ picked people the way he picked horses,
except he picked to win and they picked to show. To show? Of course.
Zelda was showing them how to dance and also, probably, teaching them
about the entertainment business. The others had obviously been selected
for what they knew, which they w