Paul had a very pleasant voice with a wide enough range to have some left over, beyond the song's limits - the previous conversation had left him quite blue, so the high parts of the chorus came out sounding like a wolf howling at the moon and his leads, over Aqualung's rhythms, were downright inspired and peppered with spared leanings on the whammy bar that gave it an ethereal quality. When he finished with 'Nobody loves no one.' he felt like he'd just given away a piece of himself, but somewhat happy in his sadness. He noticed the black haired Lady measuring him with her eyes. 'This will be the evening of significant stares,' he thought, while she seemed to come to some kind of decision.

"Come!" she said.

His heart started beating a little faster, but he zipped up his gig bag, waved Aqualung good night and followed her. She took him to a loft above a ceramics workshop, somewhere on Thompson Street.

He was ablaze with ambiguous feelings; on the one hand, the hope that what he thought was going to happen, was really going to. On the other hand, the fear that after all these years of waiting, he would not be up to it. And of course, on some other appendix, just what was more and more obvious, plain lust.

His fears were all but forgotten, when she led him into the bedroom and proceeded to remove her clothes; she was like a Rembrandt model come to life, full were it counted, without being fat, rosy all over and vibrantly alive. When she started taking off his clothes, she realized that he was trembling and said:

"Don't be afraid," as she made him lie down on her bed.

"I don't think it's fear," he answered.