The Father Hunt

She answered a couple of questions Lily asked, and left, and we talked baseball, concentrating on what the Mets had, if anything, besides Tommy Davis and Bud Harrel-son and Tom Seaver, and what they might have if we lived long enough. We dawdled with the drinks, and at six o'clock I got up to go, leaving Lily plenty of time to change for a dinner she had been hooked for, where people were going to abolish ghettos by making speeches. I had a date, later, where I intended to abolish the welfare of some friends of mine by drawing another ace or maybe jack.

But down in the lobby I was intercepted. Albert, the doorman, was moving to open the door for me when a voice spoke my name and I turned, and Amy Denovo left a chair and was coming. She gave me a nice little smile and said, "Could you give me a few minutes to ask you something?"

I said, "Sure, shoot," and she glanced at Albert, and he took the hint and went outside. I said we might as well sit and we went to a bench at the wall, but the door opened again and a man and woman entered, crossed to the elevator, and stood.

Amy Denovo said, "It is rather public, isn't it? I said a few minutes, but I suppose… it might be more than just a few. If you could? And I… it's very personal… I mean personal to me."

I hadn't noticed the dimples before. They are always more taking on a dark skin than on a light skin. "You're twenty-two," I said.

She nodded.

"Then maybe one minute will do it. Don't marry him

now, you're too young to know. Wait a year at least, and-"

"Oh, it isn't that! It's very personal."

"Don't think marriage isn't personal. It's too damn personal, that's the trouble. If you mean a few hours, not a few minutes, I'm sorry; I have an eight o'clock date, but there's a place around the corner that sells drinks and makes good egg-and-anchovy sandwiches. If you like anchovies."

"I do."

The door opened and two women entered and headed for the elevator. That was not the place to discuss very personal matters.

She was all right to walk with, no leading or lagging and no silly step-stretching. At that time of day in August there was plenty of room in the back at The Cooler, and we got the corner table where Lily and I had often had a snack. When the waitress had taken our order and left, I asked if she wanted to put off being personal until we had something inside.

She shook her head. "I might as well…" She let it hang ten seconds and then blurted, "I want you to find my father."

I raised a brow. "Have you lost him?"