As soon as the music began, a candy bar thrown from the audience landed at my feet. Then an apple crunched against the front of Johnny’s desk, and coins began to ricochet across the stage, whining as they flew by our heads. Donna screamed and leaned toward Jimmy Stewart, hiding her face on his chest. An ominous growl bubbled through the crowd, and I saw Freddy DeCordova frantically signaling to the people in the glass-enclosed engineer’s booth. A plump gray-haired woman leaped from her seat in the front row, rushed to the edge of the stage, and shook her pudgy fist at me while shouting words I couldn’t hear above the clamor. Johnny, obviously shaken, leaned toward me and said, “For your own safety, and ours, why don’t you head on out through that curtain, right now!”

I rose and extended my hand, but he pretended not to see it.

“So how did everything go?” The same chauffeur who had brought me was now returning me to the Century Plaza.

“I’m surprised you’re taking me back. I thought for a while they were going to tell me to walk—in the middle of the freeway.”

“Why? What happened?”

I didn’t answer.

“Didn’t you get on the show, Mr. Lawrence?”

“Oh, yes, I was on.”

“Terrific! I’ll see the program when I get home tonight. My Rosie always gets a special thrill when we watch the Carson guests I had in my Caddy. And when she hears I’ve had you … wow!”

In front of the hotel I jumped out and handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Thanks for two nice rides. And tell Rosie I hope she’s not too disappointed in me.”

The hotel’s entranceway was crowded with overdressed couples either going out for dinner and a show or coming in to attend one function or another in the many banquet rooms. In the lobby a small Mexican combo struggled to be heard above the constant chatter and laughter that welled from the sunken cocktail area. I was positive that the last thing in the world I wanted to do was sit in my room and feel sorry for myself, so I stopped by the desk and left a wake-up call for seven thirty in the morning before hopping on the down escalator in search of a quiet corner and a drink. On the lower floor I found a phone booth and used my credit card to call Kitty. I told her everything that had happened, as best I could remember. All she did at first was repeat, “Matt—you didn’t! Matt—you didn’t!”

“Kitty, I did,” I replied hoarsely.

“What in God’s name made you do it? Why didn’t you just talk about the new book, turn on your charm and humility, and let Johnny stroke you?”