“Our booking was scheduled for six. At six-fifteen I trudged into the eatery. Large windows faced the sidewalk, booths and tables were tucked into the right wall, a bar ran parallel to the left wall. I was greeted by the maître d’.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I’m Ricky Bellamy. Here to meet Branch.”
The maître d’ consulted his schedule book, riffed through a few pages.
“This way, please.”
I followed him past a row of tables. The people sitting at them were dressed up. At the bar every stool was occupied by someone in a suit. This was as close as I’d ever gotten to the financial district.
The maître d’ seated me at a table for two.
“Mr. Branch will be here shortly.”
A minute later Branch appeared. He was resplendent in a chocolate-colored Gucci outfit. He said hello to the maître d’, then to four women at a table.
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