The Filene's woman assured him that these were very faithful replicas. Probably from the Ukraine. The Intern and the Foreign Car Driver had never been to the Ukraine, and hence took it on faith. One of the models was beautiful enough to build one's life around, but the two figured there was no way to talk to her without lust implications, and it was too early for crudity. Instead they sat in the foyer, and watched the mob gather outside, waiting for the doors to open. The receiving committee was already inside, and they surveyed the mob with looks of pleased smugness--they were official. At first they had looked at the Intern and the Foreign Car Driver with mistrust, but then they became chummy. "We're all insiders here," winked one man. He looked as if he'd seen one too many Jimmy Stewart movies.

Out on Huntington Avenue, many imported cars were in evidence. As were many loafers from Gucci's. The brue blazer index had sky rocketed.

"The only thing standing between us and being trampled to death," said the Foreign Car Driver. "Is a sheet of plate glass and some was bucking at the front of the line.

The Intern looked again at the crowd, which was bucking at the front of the line.

"I suppose we should be thankful, though," the Driver said. "Usually, you don't even have the plate glass."

"Still, it gives me the creeps," said the Intern.

"Why don't we get some coffee, then, and try to stay out of the stampede," said the Driver.

"You bet," said the Intern.

They retreated to one of the buffet tables, but the waitress there told them to go to hell.

"Here," said the Foreign Car Driver, pulling a ream of paper from his pocket. "Read some Stephen Schiff. It'll keep you busy."

They opened the doors to the new wing at five o'clock and the crowd tumbled in cooing at the new building. The models stood perfectly still in the foyers. The building was extraordinarily hospitable, even to a crowd such as this. It made no judgements. Even if you can't believe in God, you could do worse than to put your faith in I.M. Pei. He builds friendly, inspiring places for stockholders and streetcleaners alike.

"We should have become architects," said the Intern. "Journalists are leeches."

"Scribes."

"Whatever."

"Maybe we should go to Div School," said the Driver.