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Lying there waiting for someone to steal it, find Clarence’s address and—
My God, I thought, no!
“Child,” said Constance, “let’s get you a drink!”
The maître d’ was presenting a bill to his last customers. The eye in the back of his head read us and he turned. His face exploded with delight when he saw Constance. But almost instantly, when he saw me, the light went out. After all, I was bad news. I had been there outside on the night when the Beast had been accosted by Clarence.
The maître d’ smiled again and charged across the room to dislocate me, and kissed each one of Constance’s fingers, hungrily. Constance threw her head back and laughed.
“It’s no use, Ricardo. I sold my rings, years ago!”
“You remember me?” he asked, astonished.
“Ricardo Lopez, also known as Sam Kahn?”
“But then, who was Constance Rattigan?”
“I burned my birth certificate with my underpants.” Constance pointed at me. “This is—”
“I know, I know.” Lopez ignored me.
Constance laughed again, for he was still holding her hand. “Ricardo here was an MGM swim-pool lifeguard. Ten dozen girls a day drowned so he could pump them back to life. Ricardo, lead on.”
We were seated. I could not take my eyes off the rear wall of the restaurant. Lopez caught this and gave the corkscrew on the wine bottle a vicious twist.
“I was only an audience,” I said, quietly.
“Yes, yes,” he muttered, as he poured for Constance to taste. “It was that stupid other one.”
“The wine is beautiful,” Constance sipped, “like you.” Ricardo Lopez collapsed. A wild laugh almost escaped him.
“And who was that other stupid one?” Constance put in, seeing her advantage.
“It was nothing.” Lopez sought to regain his old dyspepsia. “Shouts and almost blows. My best customer and some street beggar.”
Ah, God, I thought. Poor Clarence, begging for limelight and fame all his life.
“Your best customer, my dear Ricardo?” said Constance, blinking.
Ricardo gazed off at the rear wall where the Oriental screen stood, folded.
“I am destroyed. Tears do not come easily. We were so careful. For years. Always he came late. He waited in the kitchen until I checked to see if there was anyone here he knew. Hard to do, yes? After all, I do not know everyone he knows, eh? But now because of a stupid blunder, the merest passing idiot, my Great One will probably never return. He will find another restaurant, later, emptier.”
“This Great One …”Constance shoved an extra wine glass at Ricardo and indicated he fill it for himself, “has a name?”
“None.” Ricardo poured, still leaving my glass empty. “And I never asked. Many years he came, at least one night a month, paying cash for the finest food, the best wines. But, in all those years, we exchanged no more than three dozen words a night.
“He read the menu in silence, pointed to what he wanted, behind the screen. Then he and his lady talked and drank and laughed. That is, if a lady was with him. Strange ladies. Lonely ladies …”
“Blind,” I said.
Lopez shot me a glance.
“Perhaps. Or worse.”
“What could be worse?”
Lopez looked at his wine and at the empty chair nearby.
