THE MAN NAMED LUIS

I was searching for an inoffensive way to say that I had no interest in stamps, but at this point Pretty Boy put his hand on Luis's shoulder from behind and whispered something in his ear.

"David, please!" Luis snapped. "Let me talk with this young gentleman." David backed off, glaring at me.

"Luis, this is boring," he hissed.

Luis sighed. "I do apologize," he said to me. "My attendants are getting restless, and I need to get them under control. Here's my card. I hope to see you again. And if you ever do want to visit my museum, I'll be delighted." Luis grabbed David by the elbow and propelled him in the direction of Pretty Girl, who was now at the edge of the room having an amorous encounter with a random beatnik.

I took the opportunity to make for the door. Outside in the rain, waiting to hail a cab, I crumpled Luis' card and dropped it in the street.

It had been a truly unsettling evening. Could I have possibly been so foolish as to risk repeating the experience? Oh yes, and I did. Two months after that encounter, I saw Luis once more, again from across the room at another decadent party. The same pretty girl adorned his left arm. The pretty boy on his right arm was someone new.

The shrunken head hanging from Luis' neck was also different from the one I had seen before, but I recognized it, or I thought I did. I wasn't going to get close enough to make sure.

I left without speaking a word.

Tomorrow I'll be returning home, to Omaha