“Maybe that’s why I thought of Audrey. Roman Holiday, poor little princess all on her lonesome.” She laughed and snuggled against me. “Listen to us. The chance to be together and we’re messing in someone else’s business.”

The girl produced a cigarette, fit it into the holder, licked the ivory tip before inserting it between her lips and half smiling at the waiter.

He fumbled in his pockets, shook his head. Out of her clutch came an ivory lighter that she held out to him. He lit her up. She inhaled greedily.

No smoking in bars has been California law for years. When the girl in white created haze, no one protested. A moment later, someone across the room was also blowing nicotine. Then two more orange dots materialized. Then four.

Soon the place was hazy and toxic and oddly pleasant for that. The commercial ended. Music resumed. Some imitation of Roberta Flack being killed softly.

Robin and I had been ignored for nearly ten minutes while Red Jacket lingered with the girl in white. When she turned away from him and began concentrating on her Martini, he returned to the bar, chatted with the befuddled brunette.

Robin laughed. “I am definitely losing my touch.”

“Want to go?”

“And lower my odds for lung cancer? Perish.”

“Okay, I’ll go educate Surfer Joe.”

“Be gentle, darling. He’s still wrestling with puberty.”

As I stood, the barkeep said something to Red Jacket and he swiveled. Mouthed an O.

Loping over, he grinned. “Hey. You just get here?”

Robin said, “Seconds ago.”

“Great … er … so … welcome to the Fowlburg. Can I get you guys something?”

“We guys,” I said, “will have a Sidecar on the rocks with light sugar on the rim, and Chivas neat, water on the side.”

“A Sidecar,” he said. “That’s a drink, right? I mean, it’s not a sandwich. ’Cause the kitchen’s basically closed, we just got nuts and crackers.”

“It’s a drink,” I said. “Any wasabi peas left?”

“There’s no vegetables anywhere.”

“That’s a bar snack. Peas coated with wasabi.”

Blank look.

Despite Robin’s soft elbow in my ribs, I said, “Wasabi’s that green horseradish they put on sushi.”

“Oh,” he said. “We don’t got sushi.”

“We’ll just take whatever you have.”

“I think we got almonds.” He ticked a finger. “Okay, so it’s Champagne and a … Sidecar.”

“A Sidecar and Chivas,” I said. “That’s a blended whiskey.”

“Sure. Of course.” Slapping his forehead. “I never did this before.”

“You’re kidding.” Robin kicked my shin.

“A Sidecar,” he said, repeating it again in a mumble. “They just called from the temp agency yesterday, said there’s a place closing down, you got five hours to get over there if you want it, Neil. Mostly I work in places with no drinking.”

“McDonald’s?” I said.

Kick kick kick.