Ramona nervously slipped her fingers under the blond wig to scratch her scalp. While hunched over a table in Tujagues, she kept a constant eye on the front door. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows down Decatur Street and distorting the faces of each person who passed by the front window. She wiped her clammy hands on a napkin and looked around the restaurant. When she spotted the elderly man limping toward her, she nodded and held out her hand.
“The waiter said you asked for me,” he smiled.
“I"m a friend of Sam Lerner. He told me about you.”
“Sam"s like my own boy. What can I do for you, dear?” Antoine signaled a waiter to bring a menu.
“I"m not eating, I"m a bit short on money,” Ramona apologized.
“You"re a friend of Sam"s, so you"ll pay some other time,” Antoine insist
