In other words, H-E would have played professional basketball rather than have anything whatsoever to do with 9 East 71st Street. If that had been a choice offered. There were NO ZIP ZERO ZILCH opportunities in professional basketball. H-E could, on the other hand, walk right in, sit right down, at 9 East 71st Street, and immediately adopt a luxurious lifestyle, far from homelessness and dejection. Which was a choice offered.

Plus, at 9 East 71st Street, and this is a spiritual consideration, H-E received appreciation. Immediate appreciation. 6’1″, statuesque beauty, long, shapely legs requiring no shaving to be smooth, nary a Naire, and the skin literally shining with health and vitality. H-E stopped traffic. At 9 East 71st Street, jaws dropped. Yet conversation flowed. Some of the drops which jawed were those of elderly men, but young men, too, drooled.

It was ugly, but passion is fluid.

Yet 9 East 71st Street didn’t smell right. It was bothering H-E the way nothing in “Finishing School” NYC smelled right. Except the sea breezes. Central Park, at night, exhaling. These smells were to suffice, as H-E tried her mightiest to make of the house, townhouse, of 9 East 71st Street, her home.

H-E was shown to her bedroom, including with directions to the bathroom down the hall, and when to report for breakfast. Had H-E packed a swim suit? Was it one piece or two? It was one piece — a bikini bottom. There was a nod of appreciation from the maid, who, to H-E’s mind, was way cute, way way cute. Okay! H-E wanted to domicile in a place where maids had the looks of this maid.