“I can offer one hundred thirty-five dollars a day.” The waiter cleared the lunch dishes and poured coffee. “There are people I can get for half that.” Sometimes I run out of ammunition and have to buy more. “My role in this is beginning to take on definition.” Wallace has already had threats against her if the book is published.” “The tyrants are people in high places who discriminate against gay women.” “Don’t tell the guys down the gym,” I said. “I thought Simone de Beauvoir already said most of it.”

“Do you know very much about Rachel Wallace?” “I know some book reviewers,” he said, “but . no, neither of those.” He ate five more peas. “Were you thinking of commissioning a biography of me, or do you want to hire me to break someone’s arm?” Not a patsy even with the Bryn Mawr accent Not soft. He wore rimless glasses, which you don’t see all that often anymore, and had a square-jawed Harvardy face, and an unkempt gray crew cut like Archibald Cox. Ticknor ate a couple of green peas from the side dish. “I was also told that you were-I believe the phrase was, and I’m quoting-‘a smart-mouthed bastard’-though it was not said without affection.” Ticknor smiled again, but not like he wanted me to marry his sister. “I was debating here today whether to have lobster Savannah or just eat one of the chairs.” Ticknor was washing down a bite of salad with the rest of his Negroni. “If he’d been in his prime, he’d have killed me,” I said. “I fought Joe Walcott once when he was past his prime.” “Every once in a while I’ll do ten to sort of stretch out.” The salad was made with Boston lettuce and was quite fresh. “Two-oh-one and a half, this morning, after running.” People didn’t know anything about hiring someone like me, and they almost always vamped around for a while. “I might have to do something I don’t like in order to get to do something I like a lot.” The waiter returned with a draft Heineken for me and another Negroni for Ticknor. “Very good.” The waiter took our menus and hurried off. The company was Hamilton Black Publishing, and they had ten million dollars. And he didn’t need Master Charge, because he was paying with the company’s money. I wasn’t paying, John Ticknor was paying. Now anybody can go in there and do what they want. Downstairs is a room which used to be the Men’s Bar until it was liberated one lunchtime by a group of humorless women who got into a shouting match with a priest.

It is Old Boston the way the Custom House tower is Old Boston. LOCKE-OBER’S RESTAURANT is on Winter Place, which is an alley off Winter Street just down from the Common.

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