That evening it began to snow. After finishing my dinner, I went out onto my balcony to watch the falling flakes, but soon had to retreat back inside; it had become bitterly cold. As I closed the sliding door behind me, I thought of Robbie, and wondered how he was doing. Surely, I thought, he had finished “work” and gone home, wherever that might be. I had to be a bit fierce with myself about this. Evidently, I was beginning to be a bit silly about this virtual stranger.

“None of your business!” I muttered to myself.

After doing a bit of work I had brought home from the office, I stretched and decided to build a fire in my living room fireplace, not for heat but for comfort. And I poured myself a Bailey’s on the rocks. I sat down in my La-Z-Boy chair, enjoying the feel of the supple leather, and pointed my toes towards the warm of the fire. With my stereo playing Bach, I relaxed and began to feel quite cozy. I found myself distracted, however, turning my head several times to look out to the balcony where the snow still fell, the flakes illuminated by the light streaming through my windows. I tried to appreciate their beauty as I often did, but tonight the drifting flakes spoke only of intense cold, and finally I had to close the blinds to shut them out, and their reminder of Robbie, possibly standing, shivering in that jacket, under a street lamp.

Cocooned at last, I was able to turn off my mind, with the help of the Bailey’s, and I went to bed and was soon asleep.

* * * *

I was brought out of confused dreams at last by a buzzing noise that seemed endlessly repeated. But, when I sat up in bed at last, my heart pounding, it was totally silent.

I remained in that position, listening, until I was reassured that the sound must have been part of my dream, and lay down again, hugging my pillow.

I was almost asleep when I heard a quiet knocking. It sounded like someone at my door. I sat up, putting my feet into my slippers, and waited. The knock came again.

Wondering what and who it might be, I put on my housecoat and went out to the living room and down the short entry hall to my door. Peering through the eyepiece, I started. Despite the distortion the fish-eye lens gave, there was no questioning the person’s identity.

It was Robbie.

I reached for the knob and the lock automatically, before catching myself. Was it safe? I mean -- he was a street prostitute, possibly with a drug habit, and I had seen documentaries of what aggressive behavior the need for a fix often brought such individuals to. I lowered my hands.

The knock came again, still not very loud; I was surprised that I had be wakened by it.

I thought fiercely, for I knew I had to decide, and be smart, but also -- well, compassionate. I played back Robbie’s behavior in the alley, how he had taken only his fee from my wallet. The picture of his face, those eyes, came to mind, and without further thought I found myself unlocking and opening my door.

“Hello?” I said cautiously opening the door only wide enough to look through with both eyes, and keeping the toe of one slipper against the inside of the door.

“Hi!” he said, and smiled.

Oh, I thought. That smile!

Fully aware that I was being less than fully cautious, I opened the door and stood aside.

“Come in,” I said.

He bobbed his head and came in. After locking the door again, I led him into the living room where we stood facing each other. That’s when I noticed he was shivering.

“You’re cold,” I said. He nodded, smiling, and gave a sheepish chuckle.

“Can I get you something?” I suggested. “Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?”

“Oh, I --” He looked even more sheepish, even embarrassed.

Seeing this, I made a decision and went over to the fireplace. Kneeling there, I built another fire, using kindling on the still-glowing embers. When this was going well, I gestured to the La-Z-Boy chair, then turned and went into the kitchen.

Hot chocolate, I thought. I had instant packets, and in three minutes I brought back two steaming mugs of chocolate into the living room.

Robbie was lying in the chair, asleep.