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Bradford Crane crossed the dressing room to his littered makeup table. He moved with a boxer's occupational grace -- even resembled a boxer in his stained silk robe and the towel around his neck. The loop of bulbs bordering the mirror shed a hard shadowless light. Beneath it he examined this season's face, each profile separately, like a butcher inspecting a side of beef for spoilage. It had heavy hair and eyebrows, a strong nose that saved its olive handsomeness from delicacy. But it was 49 years old, this face. (concluded on next page)

Thoughtfully, Bradford added more liner to his sideburns.

The door clicked shut and a girl stepped into the mirror.

"Care to buy a turkey, Mr. Crane? A nice fat, well-aged turkey?"

He swung around, smiling. "Didn't anyone bring you up to knock on doors? You might have caught me with my toupee down."

"No such luck," she said. "Oh, Brad, you were wonderful. The play reeks so far, but you're absolutely wonderful. You practically carry the whole cast on your back -- like a kangaroo."

He laughed. "It's an opossum, I think."

"You're so well-informed, dear. You're not only beautiful, but you have -- --"

"Skip it. When'd you get back?"

"Last week." She tried to be casual rather than accusing. "Anyway, I'm here. If it still matters." Then she came into his arms with a rush, tilting her face up.

Bradford kissed her lightly on the forehead. "You know I'm always glad to see you, Nancy."

She stepped back, hurt. "What is this, Friendship Week?"

In her green gabardine suit with the short mink jacket and matching hat, Nancy Otis looked unconvincingly mature as if brought to adulthood like a forced plant. Her hair, the same autumn luster as the season outside, not only made her hat superfluous, it made it criminal.

"I don't quite understand," Bradford said easily.

"That's right, be strong and silent. Make me draw it out of you."

Bradford busied himself at the makeup table. "Tell me, did you have a nice trip? How was Nassau?"

"How was Nassau," Nancy said. "Nassau was very warm. Not the least bit like the temperature in this room."

"I like your hat," he said.

She caught his arm, swiveling him around. "Listen, you hambone -- how about climbing off that horse so I can get an even start?"

He smiled in spite of himself.

"It's human," Nancy said, relaxing. "It reacts."

She reached a timid hand to his shoulder. "Come on, Brad, tell me where it itches. Have I done anything to hurt us?"

He refused to meet her eyes. "It's the other way around, if anything."

He heard her catch her breath.

"You see, I added it all up while you were gone, Nancy. I wasn't happy with the figures, even tried to doctor them. But the score kept coming out the same."

"Let me guess," she said. "I lost."

"You would have, if we'd gone on. But now we can call it a tie," he said lightly. "We can both quit winners."

Nancy sat down slowly. "Who is she, Brad?"

"I think you're missing the point -- --"

"Is it anyone I know?"

Bradford let out his breath. "As it happens," he said, "there is a she. But that's not the point at issue. She couldn't possibly compete with you on any level. She's a -- well, rather mature woman, frankly. Not that she hasn't a certain amount of money and common sense," he said defensively. "But she's a little closer to my speed -- or lack of it. After all," he said, "whether you know it or not, I'm getting to be fortyish."

"In other words, you're taking out an annuity for your old age," Nancy said.

"I suppose that's one definition."

"The premiums might turn out to be expensive. Just think of the upkeep on corsets alone."

"Well, we can buy them in pairs and save money."

"You poor broken-down bastard! How did you ever escape from your oxygen tent?" Nancy jumped to her feet. "Didn't it occur to you," she said, "that I'm not exactly going to be penniless myself on my twenty-first birthday? If you can manage to last that long -- --"

"Hold it," Bradford said. "You seem to have the wrong impression. I'm not planning to change professions. I'll earn my keep. No one will pity her ten years from now, because she'll never be mistaken for my daughter."

They faced one another, brought to a dead end. There was a quick rap at the door.

"Five minutes, Mr. Crane!"

Nancy's face was slack with resignation.

"I had a hunch," she said bitterly. "I should have stayed in town."

"That wouldn't have changed things."

"I suppose not." She wouldn't look at him. "Don't you ever change the air in here? It smells like the inside of an old trunk."

Bradford kept away from her. It took effort.

"I want you to know it wasn't a case of mistaken identity," he said. "There've been other women in my life, God knows. And there always will be, I suppose. But I have a feeling that they'll never fill your -- I was going to say shoes," he smiled, "but that doesn't quite express it."

Slowly lifting her head, Nancy smiled back. Her eyes were glistening.

"Was I that different for you, Brad? It would help so much if it were true."

"Oh, Nancy, Nancy . . ." He didn't have the words for it. "You were all I ever -- --" And now he found the words, his voice coming in rich conviction. "I'm not a religious man, Nancy. But somehow, being with you was like being let loose from a dirty cage. The world suddenly had a pattern to it, and clean smells. It was as if it had shrunk to the size of God's back yard, and we were the first two tenants . . ."

He broke off in embarrassment. "Listen to that, I must be getting senile."

"Oh Brad, I waited so long to hear you say it!"

"Well, I don't suppose anyone else'll ever hear it," he said. "Now look at you. You're running over at the edges." He rocked her loosely in his arms. "Stop it, it's contagious. I've got a performance to give, and my mascara's starting to run."

Nancy's voice was muffled against his chest. "I'll never forget this room. I guess I'm too conditioned to the smell of old trunks," she said. "Like Pavlov's dogs. Bitches, probably, or they wouldn't have been such pushovers."

"We were both pushovers," he said. "That's what made it so nice." Gently he pushed free of her. "Run, along, baby. Don't forget me too soon."

At the door she turned to him, tried to speak. Then she was gone, her quick heels diminishing toward the alley.

Bradford lit a cigarette and stood watching the slow unfolding smoke. Through it, he suddenly got a picture of Nancy ducking into the nearest cab and riding aimlessly beneath the sagging autumn sky until her pocket change ran out, along with her thoughts. But she'd get over it in time.

And that was more than he could predict for himself. There was no wealthy older woman. Although there probably would be when the time came.

The room echoed with a brisk knock. "Curtain, Mr. Crane!"

"Coming," he called.

Wearily, he caught up his tuxedo coat from the costume rack and slid into it. Outside the dressing room, the stagehands sprawled, idly watching the frantic, hushed activity of the actors. Hurrying toward the wings he bumped into Pamela Hampton, the leading lady. She grunted, elevating her bust severely.

"Really, Bradford, you ought to get yourself a seeing-eye dog."

"Why, darling," he said, "are you applying for the job?"

He watched her stalk on stage, tightly-girdled beneath her evening gown. Holding her age badly, Bradford thought in satisfaction. He stood in the wings, beside a prop man clucking in concern above his table.

And now the curtains drew back with a muffled rustle. Quiet settled over the matinee audience. The party music record came up full.

Pamela stood in the artificial moonlight before the glazed paper shrubs, an expectant smile on her face. She was humming to herself, off key as always. Confidently. Bradford stepped out on stage, saw Pamela turn and drift forward into the soft pink spot.

"Why, Hubert," she said, archly. "Won't you be missed inside?"

"I had to see you, Adrianne," Bradford said huskily. "You've been going around in my head like a crazy tune. I have to tell you . . ."

"Tell me what, Hubert?"

She was close enough for him to smell that atrocious perfume she insisted on. He caught her hand tenderly.

"I'm not a religious man, Adrianne," he said. "But somehow, being with you is like being let loose from a dirty cage . . ."