Blind Panic
“I just had to have one of their lobster-and-crab burgers. My driver opened the door of the car for me, and I high stepped it into the restaurant as if I was a fashion model. Everybody turned to look at me, but I stuck up my nose and swung my pearl necklace around like I really didn’t care. It was only then that the maître d’ said, ‘Hasn’t madame forgotten something?’ I said, ‘I don’t think so, Luigi. What?’ “He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, ‘Madame is wearing no clothes.’ “I looked down and he was right. Except for my pearls and my black patent Prada pumps, I was absolutely butt-naked. Brazilian and all, for pity’s sake.”
I almost choked on my rainbow-colored cocktail, and if you had ever seen Mrs. Zlotorynski, you would have known why. She was seventy-one and skeletally thin, with huge Chanel sunglasses and a nose like a buzzard on the lookout for a baby prairie dog to swoop down on.
“You know what that means, don’t you, Mrs. Z?” I asked her.
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