Diamonds I had, a bagful of them, for we knew
that huddlers treasured diamonds. But no money.

"I've got money," she said. "I've got a hell of a lot more money than I
have sense. Have you ever been in love, Bogart?"

"Never," I said.

We were coming into a small huddled area, now. A sign read, _Pacific
Palisades_.

"I have," she said. "I still am. Isn't it a miserable rotten world?"

"This one?" I asked, and then said quickly, "I mean--this part of it?"

"Any part of it," she said. "I've seen most of it, and any part where
there's men is bad, Bogart."

"My name," I told her, "is not Bogart. My name is Fred Werig."

"A pleasure, Fred," she said. "My name is Jean Decker. And I'm beginning
to feel better."

"It couldn't be my company," I said, "so it must be the air. I haven't
seen any coffee places that are open."

I caught a flare of light from the corner of my eye, and turned to see
her applying flame to something in her mouth. I remembered from our
history; she was smoking. It was a habit long dead where I came from.

And then I remembered what she'd said about being drunk, and knew that,
too, as one of our long disused vices. What was it Akers had said about
'being directed'? A theory, but discredited now, since our scientific
advance. But this almost parallels evolution?

"Cigarette?" she said, and I said, "No, thanks. I--don't smoke."

"You're the only thing in Los Angeles that doesn't," she said bitterly.
"Where are you from, Fred?"

"New York," I said. "Where are you from, Jean?"

"Believe it or not, I was born here," she said. "I'm one of the three
people in this town who was born here."

"It's a big town, isn't it?" I said. "Less huddled than the others."

"Huddled," she said, and laughed. "Huddled. I like that. They huddle,
all right, and not just the football teams. The gregarious instinct,
Freddy boy."

"Well, yes," I agreed, "but why, Jean? Why haven't they outgrown it? Is
it--fear?"

"You would have to ask somebody bright," she said. "When you get to
Bundy, turn over toward Wilshire. We'll find an eating place that's
open."

"You tell me when I get to Bundy," I said. "I'm not exactly familiar
with this part of town."

She told me, and we got to Wilshire, eventually, and on Wilshire there
were many eating places.

We went into one; it was too cold to eat outside. And it was bright in
there, and I got my first really clear look at the face and figure of
Jean Decker.

Well, it w