pewter ring in the shape of the World Trade Center.”
“A ring in the shape of . . .” I marveled.
“You’d be amazed,” the guy said.
I looked at Gregory. “That’s not Sharon,” I said.
He shook his head. “No. It’s not.” He turned to the salesman. “Sorry for wasting your time.”
The guy looked up. “Well, if you want to make it up to me . . .”
“I don’t want a 9/11 tea cozy,” I said. But I gave him a Comedy Tonight business card and told him to call if he thought of anything. The guy probably used it to pick his teeth and threw it away the minute I walked out the door. Some people just don’t pick up on my innate charm.
Gregory handed the guy a twenty-dollar bill. “Thanks for the help,” he said.
We left the store, and stood out on Forty-sixth Street. People went by on their way to see Wicked and Mamma Mia! , and we just stood there.
“Now what?” Gregory asked.
I had no idea.
12
WE couldn’t think of anything else to do, so we went to visit the other retailers on Dutton’s list. The first three were variations on the theme established at the “jewelry” store: an electronics outlet, a clothing store that specialized in “adult lingerie” where some rubber garments had been bought (Gregory came close to passing out a couple of times), and a high-end cookware outlet that didn’t seem to fit the list. None of the salespeople or managers at the stores remembered seeing Sharon, and none of the purchases were anything Gregory or I could imagine her buying, although I confess I did try to imagine the lingerie.
At the bar in the Affinia Manhattan hotel, across the street from Madison Square Garden, we struck pay dirt. Sort of.
“Yeah, I remember her,” the bartender said. My head broke the land speed record for swiveling in his direction. “Just a couple of days ago. Came in for about an hour. It was the busy time of the night, so I didn’t talk to her much.” The guy was maybe thirty, with the chiseled face of an actor who makes his living serving drinks to the well-off.
Gregory and I, stunned at our sudden success, must have had eyes the size of silver-dollar pancakes. I regained the power of speech first. “How do you remember her?” I asked.
“Well, she was pretty, but we get a lot of nice-looking women in here,” he answered. “I remember her because of what she was drinking.”
We waited, and he eventually came to the conclusion that we would like to know what that was. The bartender smiled. “Milk and seltzer,” he said. “Can you imagine?”
Gregory and I stared at each other. “Milk and seltzer?” Gregory asked, after a moment. “You’re sure?”
“I don’t get much call for it,” the bartender answered. “Believe me, I remember.”
“But you’re sure it was the woman in the picture,” I emphasized. “It couldn’t have been someone else.”
The bartender shook his head. “No, that’s her, all right. First thing when I saw her picture, I said, ‘Milk and seltzer.’ Does she drink that all the time?”
“No,” Gregory answered. “I’ve never seen her with that one.” He turned to me. “You?”
I shook my head. “Never,” I said. “You should have added some chocolate syrup and made her an egg cream.”
“I offered,” the bartender said.
Gregory remembered something then. “We have her credit card receipt from that night,” he told the bartender. “The total was over thirty-two dollars. That’s a lot of milk and seltzer to drink in an hour.”
“Well, the guy she was with was drinking Dewar’s,” the guy answered. “That’s most of the bill. I don’t even think I charged her for the milk.”
I jumped in before Gregory could inhale. “The guy she was with ?” I asked. “She was with a guy?”
“Yeah, for a while. He left after a couple of drinks, and she stuck around maybe twenty minutes.”
“What did he look like?” Gregory asked breathlessly.
The bartender shrugged. “Nothing
“A ring in the shape of . . .” I marveled.
“You’d be amazed,” the guy said.
I looked at Gregory. “That’s not Sharon,” I said.
He shook his head. “No. It’s not.” He turned to the salesman. “Sorry for wasting your time.”
The guy looked up. “Well, if you want to make it up to me . . .”
“I don’t want a 9/11 tea cozy,” I said. But I gave him a Comedy Tonight business card and told him to call if he thought of anything. The guy probably used it to pick his teeth and threw it away the minute I walked out the door. Some people just don’t pick up on my innate charm.
Gregory handed the guy a twenty-dollar bill. “Thanks for the help,” he said.
We left the store, and stood out on Forty-sixth Street. People went by on their way to see Wicked and Mamma Mia! , and we just stood there.
“Now what?” Gregory asked.
I had no idea.
12
WE couldn’t think of anything else to do, so we went to visit the other retailers on Dutton’s list. The first three were variations on the theme established at the “jewelry” store: an electronics outlet, a clothing store that specialized in “adult lingerie” where some rubber garments had been bought (Gregory came close to passing out a couple of times), and a high-end cookware outlet that didn’t seem to fit the list. None of the salespeople or managers at the stores remembered seeing Sharon, and none of the purchases were anything Gregory or I could imagine her buying, although I confess I did try to imagine the lingerie.
At the bar in the Affinia Manhattan hotel, across the street from Madison Square Garden, we struck pay dirt. Sort of.
“Yeah, I remember her,” the bartender said. My head broke the land speed record for swiveling in his direction. “Just a couple of days ago. Came in for about an hour. It was the busy time of the night, so I didn’t talk to her much.” The guy was maybe thirty, with the chiseled face of an actor who makes his living serving drinks to the well-off.
Gregory and I, stunned at our sudden success, must have had eyes the size of silver-dollar pancakes. I regained the power of speech first. “How do you remember her?” I asked.
“Well, she was pretty, but we get a lot of nice-looking women in here,” he answered. “I remember her because of what she was drinking.”
We waited, and he eventually came to the conclusion that we would like to know what that was. The bartender smiled. “Milk and seltzer,” he said. “Can you imagine?”
Gregory and I stared at each other. “Milk and seltzer?” Gregory asked, after a moment. “You’re sure?”
“I don’t get much call for it,” the bartender answered. “Believe me, I remember.”
“But you’re sure it was the woman in the picture,” I emphasized. “It couldn’t have been someone else.”
The bartender shook his head. “No, that’s her, all right. First thing when I saw her picture, I said, ‘Milk and seltzer.’ Does she drink that all the time?”
“No,” Gregory answered. “I’ve never seen her with that one.” He turned to me. “You?”
I shook my head. “Never,” I said. “You should have added some chocolate syrup and made her an egg cream.”
“I offered,” the bartender said.
Gregory remembered something then. “We have her credit card receipt from that night,” he told the bartender. “The total was over thirty-two dollars. That’s a lot of milk and seltzer to drink in an hour.”
“Well, the guy she was with was drinking Dewar’s,” the guy answered. “That’s most of the bill. I don’t even think I charged her for the milk.”
I jumped in before Gregory could inhale. “The guy she was with ?” I asked. “She was with a guy?”
“Yeah, for a while. He left after a couple of drinks, and she stuck around maybe twenty minutes.”
“What did he look like?” Gregory asked breathlessly.
The bartender shrugged. “Nothing
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