Chapter Nine

I rode down to the Columbia Buffet in a taxi. The driver wheeled to the kerb directly in front of the open door. I got out and handed him a twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have the change. I was glad because when I finally found a smaller bill and paid him off, there was Camilla standing in the door. Very few taxis stopped before the Columbia Buffet. I nodded casually to Camilla and walked in and sat at the first table. I was reading Hackmuth’s letter when she spoke.

‘Are you mad at me?’ she said.

‘Not that I know of,’ I said.

She put her hands behind her and looked down at her feet. ‘Don’t I look different?’

She was wearing new white pumps, with high heels.

‘They’re very nice,’ I said, turning to Hackmuth’s letter once more. She watched me with a pout. I glanced up and winked. ‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Business.’

‘You want to order anything?’

‘A cigar,’ I said. ‘Something expensive from Havana.’

She brought the box. She said, ‘A quarter.’

I smiled and gave her a dollar.

‘Keep the change.’

She refused the tip.

‘Not from you,’ she said. ‘You’re poor.’

‘I used to be,’ I said. I lit the cigar, let the smoke tumble out of my mouth as I leaned far back and stared at the ceiling. ‘Not a bad cigar for the money,’ I said.

The female musicians in the rear were hacking out Over the Waves. I made a face and pushed the change from the cigar towards Camilla. ‘Tell them to play Strauss,’ I said. ‘Something Viennese.’

She picked up a quarter, but I made her take it all. The musicians were aghast. Camilla pointed at me. They waved and beamed. I nodded with dignity. They plunged into Tales from the Vienna Woods. The new shoes were hurting Camilla’s feet. She didn’t have her old sparkle. She winced as she walked, gritted her teeth.

‘You want a beer?’ she asked.

‘I want a Scotch highball,’ I said. ‘St James.’

She discussed it with the bartender, then came back. ‘We don’t have St James. We have Ballantine’s, though. It’s expensive. Forty cents.’

I ordered one for myself and one each for the two bartenders. ‘You shouldn’t spend your money like that,’ she said. I acknowledged the toast from the two bartenders, and then I sipped my highball. I screwed up my face.

‘Rotgut,’ I said.

She stood with her hands stuffed inside her pockets.

‘I thought you’d like my new shoes,’ she said.

I had resumed the reading of Hackmuth’s letter.

‘They seem all right,’ I said.

She limped away to a table just vacated and began picking up empty beer mugs. She was hurt, her face long and sad. I sipped the highball and went on reading and rereading Hackmuth’s letter. In a little while she returned to my table.

‘You’ve changed,’ she said. ‘You’re different. I like you better the other way.’

I smiled and patted her hand. It was warm, sleek, brown, with long fingers. ‘Little Mexican princess,’ I said. ‘You’re so charming, so innocent.’