Eric spoke to me this afternoon. I looked up from a Nero Wolfe mystery to smile at him, as I often do when he comes in, and he gave me the smile back and came over to my table.
He said, “The Mother Hunt? I think I missed that one.”
“You could borrow it when I’m done.”
“I’d appreciate it. I enjoy Nero Wolfe. I prefer to believe that he exists, you know, and that some day I could be invited to that West Thirty-fifth Street brownstone for dinner. And then I would know that I had made a success of my life.”
I laughed pleasantly. The one time I would have liked to say something bright, and all I could manage was a laugh. Eric smiled somewhat warmly and then went on to his usual table.
Big deal.
I wonder if he’s fucking that teenybopper.