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When the girl arrived Kelli saw how Peter hurried to meet her. This was obviously a first date, and he had probably met the girl at school. She was a pretty thing and fashionably dressed for a high school girl. This was the first time Kelli had had an opportunity to stare unblinkingly at Peter and take his measure. He seemed exceptionally mature for an eighteen-year-old, and she knew a lot about the subspecies, having started to date eighteen-year-olds when she was thirteen, and having lost her virginity to the second one, at thirteen and a half. She had had an abortion at sixteen, as the result of carelessness with yet another eighteen-year-old, and she had turned her attention then to twenty-one-year-olds, who seemed to have a greater appreciation of the pitfalls of the menstrual cycle.
Peter did not have the native slovenliness of the current crop of eighteen-year-olds, nor did he seem to need the appearance of stubble or a patchy beard to build his confidence. She was willing to bet that his room was very neatly kept.
The headwaiter drifted by and Kelli snagged him. “Hey, Geoffrey,” she said.
“Kelli, how you doing? You want a table?”
“No, I’m fine at the bar. Tell you what I do want, though: see those two kids over there in the booth?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s a hundred in it if you can find out the girl’s name and where she lives.”
“Would you like to pay now or later?” he asked.
“Payment is on delivery,” she said.
Bruce ambled over to where the young couple sat. “Good day, folks,” he said. “Is this your first visit to the Brasserie?”
Both shook their heads.
“Well, we’re very happy to have you as regulars. I’m Bruce, your maitre d’.” He offered his hand to the boy, who shook it and replied, “Peter Barrington.”
He turned to the girl. “And you?”
“Hattie Patrick,” she replied, shaking his hand.
“I’m very pleased to meet you both. Do you live in the neighborhood?”
“I’m at Sixty-third and Park,” the girl said, “and Peter lives in Turtle Bay.”
“Great. I hope we’ll see both of you often.” He strolled away, spoke to a couple of other diners for cover, then went back to the bar.
“Hattie Patrick,” he said, “Sixty-third and Park.”
Kelli slipped him the hundred. “Bruce, you’re a dear, and very clever, too.”
He was nice,” Hattie said to Peter.
“Yes, he was. Maybe we’ll become regulars, like he said.”
“Are you a regular anywhere else?” she asked.
“Only at the Knickerbocker cafeteria,” Peter replied. “My dad hangs out at Elaine’s.”
“I’ve never been. Will you take me sometime?”
“Sure, I’d love to take you. We could ask my friend Ben along, but he’s headed back to Choate Monday.”
“Who are your friends at school?” Hattie asked.
“Just you. I haven’t been there long enough to make other friends.”
“I’m confused about something,” she said.
“What?”
“You did say you graduated from your last school in December.”
