“The silk suit was blue this time, almost an electric blue. The shirt and tie were fresh, but still white on white. His anxious-to-please smile was unchanged. Outside on the street we hailed a cab. "The St. Georges," Louie told the driver, then settled back smugly in the seat. It was only six blocks and we could have walked, but that wasn't what bothered me. What did was the fact that the St. Georges was the one place in Beirut where I was known as Nick Carter. The possibility that a roo...m clerk or floor manager might greet me by name, however, was miniscule. Overfamiliarity is not a way of life in Beirut if you're obviously an American. I needn't have worried. Even in my down-at-the-heels clothes, no one paid me the slightest bit of attention as Louie first made a quick call on the house phone in the lobby, then ushered me into the elevator, chattering nervously. "This is a real good-looking lady, man!MoreLessRead More Read Less
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