The scarf flutters toward the wire mesh fence surrounding the camel enclosure. Two camels are laying on a straw bed, legs folded underneath them, the golden fur of their long faces iced with frost. The scarf floats above Tanya. And if she was two feet taller she tiffany key rings on sale could pluck it from the air. The camels bolt to their hooves, gallop to the other side of their pen, as if the two-ounce scarf is a predator bearing toward them. Tanya's shoulder grazes the wire mesh fence. With her left hand she grasps the wire mesh, and holds on. She jams the points of her leather boot toes into the openings of the mesh and the warmth clasped to her right hand squeezes it and then floats away. Tanya leans out and plucks the yellow scarf from the sky.

Inside the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel, Dr. Earhardt stamps the snow off his boots. He spots a group of women and men at the coat check in the corner of the lobby and heads toward it. Couples pass him and smile politely. All of the women are wearing black dresses of varying lengths. This penchant for black interests Dr. Earhardt. He ponders Western Society's adaptation of the traditional color of grief as one now used for celebration. He wonders about collective unconscious death wishes, the inevitable twining of fear and discount tiffany desire. He hands his overcoat to the young, gum-snapping woman behind the desk. She leans over to him and pulls something off his suit coat shoulder. "You devil," she says, handing him a long red hair. Dr. Earhardt knows he is supposed to be amused by the young woman's charade of flirting with him, but at his age, Dr. Earhardt is aware, painfully so, of being infantilized as opposed to sexualized. He looks at the red hair between his fingers and thinks about Louise and momentarily wonders how it came to be on his shoulder. He places the hair gently into the pocket of his suit jacket as if it were a talisman endowed with magical powers.

The dinner is on the third floor and Dr. Earhardt decides to take the escalator in the center of the lobby. Marion was always a good sport about these obligatory dinners and possessed an ease in social situations. An ease Dr. Earhardt does not possess. Rather he always feels as if he's forgotten something, a sock, a tiffany bangles for sale cuff link. Some small omission underlining his inadequacies.

The ballroom is full. Circular tables are adorned with floor length white tablecloths and glittering crystal chandeliers sparkle above them. tiffany bracelets for sale A silent auction table lines the west wall and boasts expensive water color paintings and soap stone sculptures. A red carpet cuts through the center of the ballroom and leads up to the head table and podium. Table number eight is in the middle row adjacent to the head table. As Dr. Earhardt approaches the table laughter subsides and the six psychiatric residents don their work faces. The residents both ridicule and fear Dr. Earhardt. They see him as a psychiatric dinosaur, a shrink passed his professional prime, yet they also know he harbors frightening knowledge.