NOW STARTS ANOTHER ADVENTURE.
NOW STARTS ANOTHER ADVENTURE. IT’S A MARVELous restaurant just like Johnny Nicholson’s in New York City, all marble-topped tables and mahogany and statuary, but very small, and here, instead of guys like Al and others rushing around in tight pants serving table, are girls. But they are the daughters and friends of the owner, Lebris. I come in and say where’s Mr. Lebris, I been invited. They say wait here and they go off and check, upstairs. Finally it’s okay and I carry my suitcase up (feeling they didnt even believe me in the first place, those gals) and I’m shown a bedroom where lies a sharpnosed aristocrat in bed in mid day with a huge bottle of cognac at his side, plus I guess cigarettes, a comforter as big as Queen Victoria on top of his blankets (a comforter, that is, I mean a six-by-six pillow), and his blond doctor at the foot of the bed advising him how to rest—“Sit down here” but even as that’s happening a romancier de police walks in, that is, a writer of detective novels, wearing neat steel-rimmed spectacles and himself as clean as the pin o Heaven, with his charming wife—But then in walks in poor Lebris’ wife, a superb brunette (mentioned to me by Fournier) and three ravissantes (ravishing) girls who turn out to be one wed and two unwed daughters—
