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ordered, and Tyson said to the young bartender whom he knew slightly,
    "Ed, you ever heard of the battle of Hue?"
    "Midway? Yeah, it was on TV.
    "Heard of the Tet Offensive?"
    The bartender turned and ran Tyson's tab through the register. "Tet?
    Sure. Vietnam. The VC attacked Tet and the Americans got beat. " He put the tab back on the bar in front of Tyson.
    "Tet was a time, not a place.
    "No kidding?"
    "No kidding."
    Ed shrugged and went off to serve someone else. Tyson said, "Smart kid."
    He sipped on his drink, then observed, "See . . . ultimately all battlefield deaths are in vain. No one really remembers any of it. So what's the big deal?"
    "You tell me."
    But Tyson could not. He sensed the alcohol working its magic and felt better.
    Marcy said, "Time to dance.
    Tyson smiled and took her hand. They retraced their steps through the lobby, arm in arm, nodding to a few people as they made their way to the Grand Ballroom. As they entered the mauve-colored ballroom, Tyson scanned the pale-blueclothed tables set around the large dance floor. The band wasn't playing, and there seemed to be a lull in the full room. Tyson said, "Let's split up and regroup at the bar."
    "Okay . . . oh, Christ. . . . "
    Mrs. Livander, the president of the Nassau Hospital Auxiliary, had spotted them and was sweeping across the room, arms prematurely spread for an embrace. Tyson stepped forward as though he were sacrificing himself so that Marcy might live. Mrs. Livander veered slightly and enveloped him in her plump arms. "Ben Tyson. Oh, you charming man. You're so devilishly handsome, if I were ten years younger I'd be after you. "

    WORD OF HONOR 9 57

    Tyson thought twenty years was closer to the mark, but he hugged Lydia Livander and gave her a peck on the cheek.
    Mrs. Livander turned to Marcy and effused, "You look lovety. What a stunning dress! How do you keep your figure?" She took Marcy by the shoulders as if to fix her in place and poured a steady stream of lavish praise on her. Tyson's eyes darted around until he spotted the bar.
    Without warning, Lydia Livander took their arms in a firm grip and propelled them toward a photographer from the Garden City News. "Sam," she bubbled, "Sam, you must get a picture of this beautiful couple this instant."
    Tyson and Marcy smiled, the flash went off, and before Tyson could see clearly, Mrs. Livander had him on the move again. Tyson glanced at Marcy and shrugged. If he'd intended to slip in unobtrusively, he was making a bad start of it. As Mrs. Livander moved them around to meet people they already knew or didn't want to know, he had the distinct impression that heads were turning toward him.
    Pleading an urgent call of nature, Tyson broke free of Mrs. Livander's ministrations and made directly for the bar. He ordered a Scotch and soda and carried it to a neutral comer. Shortly, Marcy came up to him and said,
    "You see, nothing has changed. Lydia did that for each of the two hundred couples who arrived tonight."
    Tyson swallowed half his drink. "I felt like the only Negro at a Liberal party dance. There wasn't enough of me to go around."
    Marcy smiled. "Hang in there, Benjamin. Balls."
    "Right. Nevertheless, it's going to be a long evening.
    "But a memorable one. And your last public appearance, I daresay. "
    "Perhaps." However, he suspected that his last public appearance would not be a black-tie affair but a dress-green appearance in a place less convivial than this one.

    Ben Tyson sat at a round table and surveyed the full ashtrays, empty bar glasses, and discarded programs: the detritus of another tax-deductible bash. If the hospital got 10 percent of the take, they were doing well, he thought. The tables hadn't been assigned, and he'd found himself 58 0 NELSON DEMILLE

    with different groupings of people throughout the evening. Now, finally, he found himself alone.
    Tyson glanced at his watch. On balance, he thought, he was glad he'd come.
    If there was any truth to the old saying that public