One night, upon returning from a "Musica Sacra" concert at Carnegie Hall, we saw our doorman propping up against the keo ruug shrine botw front wall a tall, drunken young lady. Mateo (the doorman) is a small man and was in bad need of help.

Needless to say, we --my husband and I-- immediately lent the poor doorman a hand, and in no time we walked Amy into the lobby and settled her in the wooden bench right across from the reception desk. In a while, Amy sobered up a little, letting us know that she could now walk. Since Mateo could not abandon his post, we decided to accompany Amy to her apartment. The rocking motion of the old elevator must have made her sick, for an abrupt avalanche non-digested hors d'oeuvres soiled her black taffeta cocktail, divinely deep-décolletage dress and my sequined sweater and white silk pants. Even my husband's Armani tux got speckled.