I got to my feet and walked to the mirror. "You did a great job, thank you. We'll have to work something out about future haircuts."

"Hmm, we'll see. His shaving supplies are behind the mirror. I'm going to change, I'll be down in a bit. Antonio put your shoe at the end of the bed."

She left and I looked at myself in the mirror again. She had done a great job. I looked good. I ran some water, grabbed Antonio's shave cream and razor and finished my makeover. She kept popping into my head as I shaved. The more I knew about her the more mysterious she became. The one thing I did know was that I felt more like that banquet pig with each passing hour.

"Time to get a little fatter," I said to the mirror as I wiped off the leftover shaving cream.

Antonio had cleaned my shoe. It sat lonely on the floor in between the bed and the nightstand. I put on the sock stuffed inside it, laced up the sneaker and hobbled out toward the front doors of the vestibule. A wicker picnic basket sat on the floor at the foot of the stairs that led up to the loft. I walked up and almost stumbled over it as I bent down to peek inside. Two bottles of wine, one white, one red, lay next to a brick of cream cheese, a package of sliced roast beef, a tube of rye crackers, and a tin with Russian Cyrillic letters across it, caviar. I looked up when I heard her light footfalls on the stairs.

"Do you think it's enough food?" she asked.

"Yes," I said somewhat stupefied as I looked up at her. She had worn jeans and a cotton shirt when she'd cut my hair but came down the stairs wearing a short shapely black and white dress, black high heeled shoes and a white hat with a black fishnet veil pulled down over her face. She carried a small black purse in one hand and an ornate cane in the other. She walked slowly down the stairs and stepped carefully around the basket at the bottom.

"Here," she said, handing me the cane. "This is for you. I found it this morning and thought it would be easier for you to use than that unwieldy crutch."