When Mildred came to Tokyo they'd spent the evening in the hotel bar, listening to a negro kid play piano. God, she was a sight, finest woman he'd ever known, her eyes shining like a new penny and the two of them dancing to the kid singing "Smile, Smile, Smile."
About an hour before midnight she'd started to cry, so he asked her why. Music was starting and he looked over at the piano, saw that dreamy look, couples dancing cheek to cheek as the boy started in on "I'll Be Home For Christmas."
"Not this song," Mildred had said, steering him up to their room. "It's been too many years."
"It's been too many years," she said, kissing him on the cheek, and they both tried not to listen to the words, pressing that button, waiting for the elevator.
"I'll be home for Christmas," the boy sang.
Potter took Mildred in his arms, held her close. They were tired of being lied to.