Forget Tangerine, Velvet, Viva. Forget all the martini-and-sofa grope rooms, the Eisenhower-era knock-offs

where they show you in and let you go. St. Louis is a city where scandal can still be raised. Do it all at the Ritz without checking in or running a tab.
     If the Ritz bar were a woman, imagine the way she'd cross the deep pile floor, all that nimble rolling along on such handsome pins, all the old girls in pearls waving back as horsey as the art on the walls. She passes two partners of her husband's three-name firm, tennis chums, the whole junior league. Settle in near where she settles. She'll let a slingback dangle. Stare long so there is no misunderstanding.
     Order her anything the bar doesn't stock. The house rule is you'll get a substitute gratis. Grappa, Calvados — oddly, nearly any brandy will do. Tip handsomely and toast long life. Watch, don't talk. Forget the lawyer with checked pants and power belly, the woman prominently tossing down Manhattans, the ashtray brimming with knotted cherry stems before her. Watch instead the couples coming down that waterfall of a stairway to the mezzanine. Watch the newly rumpled so intently that she watches along. Watch until you enjoy telepathy.
     Now take her hand. Float up the same stair. Pass the pocket movie theatre even if the screen is dark and the seats are empty, even if she pulls. You're after light to better see her by. Nobody uses the phone booths anymore, but the bellboys still polish the brass handles every morning. There is a thin bar just under the mirror at the back of each. This is where she'll put her hands and grip.

The Lobby Lounge at the Ritz-Carlton
100 Carondelet Plaza, St. Louis
(314) 863-6300
Recommended drink: Cosmopolitan
(Photograph by Jennifer Silverburg)

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