McNally's luck Read Free Page A

(including your humble servant) a great deal of tsores. But her sudden thaw intrigued me, and I reacted like Adam being offered the apple: "Oh boy, a Golden Delicious!"
    "Listen, Meg," I said, "after I leave you I planned to have a spot of lunch and then go back to my office. But why don't you have lunch with me first, and then I'll drive you to the garage."
    She hesitated, but not for long. "All right," she said.
    We went to the Pelican Club. This is mainly an eating and drinking establishment, although it is organized as a private social club. I am one of the founding members, and it is my favorite watering hole in South Florida. The drinks are formidable and the food, while not haute cuisine, is tasty and chockablock with calories and cholesterol.
    The place was crowded, and I waved to several friends and acquaintances. All of them eyeballed Meg; the men her legs, the women her hairdo. Such is the way of the world.
    I introduced her to Simon Pettibone, a gentleman of color who doubles as club manager and bartender. His wife, Jas (for Jasmine), was housekeeper and den mother; his son, Leroy, was our chef, and daughter Priscilla worked as waitress. The Pelican could easily be called The Pettibone Club, for that talented family was the main reason for our success. We had a waiting list of singles and married couples eager to become full-fledged members, entitled to wear the club's blazer patch: a pelican rampant on a field of dead mullet.
    Priscilla found us a corner table in the rear of the dining room. "Love your hair," she said.
    "Thank you," I said.
    "Not you, dummy," Priscilla said, laughing. "I'm talking to the lady. Maybe I'll get me a cut like that. You folks want hamburgers?"
    "Meg?" I asked.
    "Could I get something lighter? A salad perhaps?"
    "Sure, honey," Priscilla said. "Shrimp or sardine?"
    "Shrimp, please."
    "Archy?"
    "Hamburger with a slice of onion. French fries."
    "Drinks?"
    "Meg?"
    "Do you have diet cola?" "With your bod?" Priscilla said. "You should be drinking stout. Yeah, we got no-cal. Archy?"
    "Frozen daiquiri, please."
    "Uh-huh," she said. "Now I know it's summer."
    She left with our order. Meg looked around the dining room. "Funky place," she observed.
    "It does have a certain decrepit appeal," I admitted. "How come no hamburger? Are you a vegetarian?"
    "No, but I don't eat red meat."
    "I know you don't smoke. What about alcohol?"
    "No."
    "Then you must have a secret vice," I said lightly. "Do you collect cookie jars or plastic handbags?"
    Suddenly she began weeping. It was one of the most astonishing things I've ever seen. One moment she was sitting there quite composed, and the next moment tears were streaming down her cheeks, a perfect freshet. Then she hid her face in her palms.
    I can't cope with crying women. I just don't know what to do. I sat there helplessly while she quietly sobbed. Priscilla brought our drinks, stared at Meg, then glared at me. I knew she thought I had been the cause of the flood: Priscilla believed breaking hearts was my hobby. Ridiculous, of course. I may be a philanderer, but if there is one thing I have inherited from my grandfather (a burlesque comic) it is this inflexible commandment: Always leave 'em laughing when you say goodbye.
    "Look, Meg," I said awkwardly, "did I say the wrong thing?"
    She shook her head and blotted her face with a paper napkin. "Sorry about that," she said huskily. "A silly thing to do."
    "What was it?" I asked. "A bad memory?"
    She nodded and tried to smile. A nice try but it didn't work. "I thought I was all cried out," she said. "I guess I'm not."
    "Want to talk about it?" I asked.
    "It's so banal," she said. "You'll laugh."
    "I won't laugh," I said. "I promise."
    Priscilla brought our food, glanced at Meg, gave me a scowl, then left us again. While we ate our lunch, Meg told me the story of her demolished romance. She had been right: it was banal.
    It had been a high-voltage affair with a handsome rogue. He had vowed undying love and