``I had a rather small place of my own. A nice bachelor apartment in a place called the Lancaster Arms.''

``Uhhu,'' she said, hardly listening as she studied her left eyelid.

``And then I had another place farther downtown I used as a studio.''

``Uhhu.''

``I'm not a man who has many close intimate friends, Carla,'' he said, wanting her to know all about him. ``Oh, I'd drink with newspaper people. I think I was what you might call a convivial man, and yet it was when I was alone in my studio, doing my work, that I really felt alive. But I think a man needs at least one intimate friend to communicate with.'' Pausing, he waited for her to turn, to ask a question. She showed no interest at all in the life he had led back home, and it hurt him a little. ``Well, what about you, Carla?''

``Me?'' she asked, turning slowly. ``What about me?''

``Did you make friends easily?''

``Umm, uhhu.''

``Somehow I imagine that as you grew up you were alone a lot. How about it?''

``I guess so,'' she said taking a Kleenex from her purse. When she had wiped some of the lipstick from her mouth, she stared solemnly at her image in the mirror.

``Are your people still alive?'' he asked, trying to touch a part of her life Alberto hadn't discussed; so he could have something of her for himself. ``You talk so well, Carla,'' he went on. ``You seem to have read so much, you have a natural gift for words,'' he added, trying to flatter her vanity. ``You must have been good at history at school. Where did you go to school?''