Chapter 22 Breakfast at Tiffany's-22

It happened to fall on the 30th of September, my birthday, a fact which had no effect on events, except that, expecting some form of monetary remembrance from my family, I was eager for the postmans morning visit. Indeed, I went downstairs and waited for him If I had not been loitering in the vestibule, then Holly would not have asked me to go horseback riding; and would not, consequently, have had the opportunity to save my life. "Come on," she said, when she found me awaiting the postman. "Lets walk a couple of horses around the park." She was wearing a windbreaker and a pair of bluejeans and tennis shoes; flatness: "Dont think Im out to lose the heir. But theres a horse, my darling old Mabel Minerva -- I cant go without saying good-bye to Mabel Minerva."

"Good-bye?" "A week from Saturday. Jose bought the tickets." In rather a trance, I let her leadme down to the street. "We change planes in Miami. Then over the sea. Over the Andes. Taxi!" Over the Andes. As we rode in a cab across Central Park it seemed to me as though I, too, were flying, desolately floating over snow-peaked and perilous territory. "But you cant. After all, what about. Well, what about. Well, you cant really runoff and leave everybody." "I dont think anyone will miss me. I have no friends." "I will. Miss you. So will Joe Bell. And oh -- millions. Like Sally. Poor Mr. Tomato."

"I loved old Sally," she said, and sighed. "You know I havent been to see him in a month? When I told him I was going away, he was an angel. Actually" -- she frowned -- "he seemed delighted that I was leaving the country. He said it was all for the best. Because sooner or later there might be trouble. If they found out I wasn't his real niece. That fat lawyer, OShaughnessy, OShaughnessy sent me five hundred dollars. wedding present from Sally." I wanted to be unkind. "You can expect a present from me, too. When, and if, the wedding happens." She laughed. "Hell marry me, all right. In church. And with his family there.

That's why were waiting till we get to Rio." "Does he know you married already?" "Whats the matter with you? Are you trying to ruin the day? Its a beautiful day: leave it alone!" "But its perfectly possible -- " "It isn't possible. Ive told you, that wasn't legal. It couldn't be." She rubbed hernose, and glanced at me sideways. "Mention that to a living soul, darling. Ill hangyou by your toes and dress you for a hog. " The stables -- I believe they have been replaced by television studios -- were on West Sixty-sixth street Holly selected for me an old sway-back black and whitemare: "Dont worry, shes safer than a cradle." Which, in my case , was a necessary guarantee, for ten-cent pony rides at childhood carnivals were the limit of myequestrian experience. Holly helped hoist me into the saddle, then mounted her ownhorse, a silvery animal that took the lead as we jogged across the traffic of CentralPark and entered a riding path dappled with leaves denuding breezes danced about.

"See?" she shouted. "It's great!" And suddenly it was. Suddenly, watching the tangled colors of Hollys hair flash in the red-yellow leaf light, I loved her enough to forget myself, my self-pitying despair, and be content that something she thoughthappy was going to happen. Very gently the horses began to trot, waves of windsplashed us, spanked our faces, we plunged in and out of sun and shadow pools, and joy, a glad-to-be-alive exhilaration, jolted through me like a jigger of nitrogen. That was one minute; the next introduced farce in grim disguise. For all at once, like savage members of a jungle ambush, a band of Negro boys leapt out of the shrubbery along the path. Hooting, cursing, they launched rocks and thrashed at the horses rumps with switches.

Mine, the black and white mare, rose on her hind legs, whinnied, teetered like atitrope artist, then blue-streaked down the path, bouncing my feet out of thestirrups and leaving me scarcely attached. Her hooves made the gravel stones spitsparks. sky careened. Trees, a lake with little-boy sailboats, statues went bylicketysplit. Nursemaids rushed to rescue their charges from our awesome approach; men, bums and others, yelled: "Pull in the reins!" !" and "Jump!" It was only later that I remembered these voices; at the time I was simply conscious of Holly, the cowboy-sound of her racing behind me, never quite catchingup, and over and over calling encouragements. Onward: across the park and out into Fifth Avenue: stamped against the noonday traffic, taxis, buses that screechingly swerved. Past the Duke mansion, the Frick Museum, past the Pierre and the Plaza.

But Holly gained ground; moreover, a mounted policeman had joined the chase:flanking my runaway mare, one on either side, their horses performed a pincermovement that brought her to a steamy halt. It was then, at last, that I fell off herback . Fell off and picked myself up and stood there, not altogether certain where I was. A crowd gathered. The policeman huffed and wrote in a book: presently he was most sympathetic, grinned and said he would arrange for our horses to be returned to their stable. Holly put us in a taxi. "Darling. How do you feel?" "Fine." "But you havent any pulse," she said, feeling my wrist.

"Then I must be dead." "No, idiot. This is serious. Look at me." The trouble was, I couldn't see her; rather, I saw several Hollys, a trio of sweatyfaces so white with concern that I was both touched and embarrassed. "Honestly. Idont feel anything. Except ashamed." "Please. Are you sure? Tell me the truth. You might have been killed." "But I wasn't. And thank you. For saving my life. Youre wonderful. Unique. I love you." "Damn fool." She kissed me on the cheek. Then there were four of her, and Ifainted dead away.

That evening, photographs of Holly were frontpaged by the late edition of the Journal-American and by the early editions of both the Daily News and the Daily Mirror. The publicity had nothing to do with runaway horses. It concerned quite another matter, as the headlines revealed: PLAYGIRL ARRESTED IN NARCOTICS SCANDAL (Journal-American), ARREST DOPE-SMUGGLING ACTRESS (Daily News), DRUG RING EXPOSED, GLAMOUR GIRL HELD (Daily Mirror).