10Slow night. No call from Dotty. No call from anyone. I heated up the leftover canned stew, gobbled down a couple of cupcakes, and called it a meal for want of a better word. Nothing much on the radio, so I headed to the Elbow for a few quick ones and a friendly face or two.
You would have thought that they were holding a wake, and not an Irish one, at the joint. It was quiet as the city morgue, and only a solitary rummy sat there getting misty-eyed over the pair of deuces life had dealt him. Even Gertie wasn't there. This must be her night for the opera, Gus said. I had a Cuba Libre, thought better of a second one, and went home.
Next morning when I got to the office Dotty was all hepped up. I figured that Proust had been giving her a thrill, but it turned out that someone had called a
