Filthy Rich by Dorothy Samuels Page B

go to the trouble of selling the ring for me. I was alsoimpressed by the financial result. Hey, I thought to myself, $5,200 is probably $5,000 more than Neil paid for it. Amazing thing, the power of television.
    “He’s in the lobby, waiting,” Frank said. “I told him I could give you the check, but he said he’d rather wait and do it himself.”
    “You left him alone there in the lobby?” I asked Frank.
    “Yeah, he seems like a nice enough guy,” Frank said. “Decent-looking. I don’t think he’s the type to steal Social Security checks from the mailboxes when no one’s looking. No harm in you saying hello. I could send him up if you want.”
    “Frank,” I said, “not so fast. We don’t know anything about this mystery benefactor of mine. Maybe he’s from the National Enquirer , and the eBay bit is just a ruse to get an interview or a photo of me looking like a slob. Or, he could be a more conventional weirdo who saw me on TV and developed a sick obsession. Or maybe he just wants to worm a big tip out of me. I can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. And then, of course, there’s always the possibility that this Cliff Jentzen, if that’s his real name, is as nice as you say.”
    “Maybe,” Frank said. He was now my co-conspirator. If I met this guy in the lobby, the two of us strategized, I would be sacrificing any expectation of privacy, as a handful of reporters and lensmen were still camped outside the building hungry for breaking developments in the Marcy Lee Mallowitz story. I could also be sacrificing a lot of money, since once informed of the ring’s fate, Neil, thecheapskate, was certain to insist on being cut in. Knowing Neil, he would probably demand the whole wad. So my doorman and I devised Plan Two: I would meet this Jentzen fellow in the basement laundry room. The place has security cameras up the wazoo, we figured, so Frank would be able to keep an eye on things from the monitors in the lobby.
    “If he’s bad news, I’ll signal for you to come running,” I said. “Just promise me, Frank, you won’t leave on a coffee break.”
    We shook on it.
    “Okay, then,” I said. “The laundry room in five minutes.”
     
    Within seconds of laying that plan, the stomach butterflies from the other night came fluttering back with a vengeance. As I rode the elevator down to the basement, I felt as jittery as Marcia Brady at the very beginning of Episode Seventy-five. It was very perplexing. Marcia had good reason to be nervous: She was facing her first day of high school. What was my excuse?
    The elevator doors opened, landing me in the middle of the musty basement storage area. On the left, just before the door to the laundry room, I was surprised to see Neil’s ugly black-leather “thinking chair.” He’d apparently parked it there for safekeeping on his hurried way out the door the other night. It had a white piece of paper Scotch-taped tothe seat with his name on it, and a notation: “Save for Pickup.” On it, someone in the building—I assumed it was my doorman Frank—had scrawled “Good riddance, you bastard” in red Flair pen, and signed it with a reasonable approximation of a skull and crossbones.
    I had a good mind to remove the note and ask this Jentzen guy with whom I was about to rendezvous to try making another sale for me on eBay.

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    What was the name of the restaurant opened by Jack Tripper on Three’s Company ?

    a. The Galloping Gourmet
    b. Jack’s Eatery
    c. The Regal Beagle
    d. Jack’s Bistro

    See correct answer on back….
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    ANSWER
    d. Jack’s Bistro
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Eight
    Quick, give me a five-letter word meaning “Dumped Female Lifeline.”
    The answer, of course, is M-A-R-C-Y. Yes, me. Marcy Lee Mallowitz. If you got that right, give yourself a generous pat on the back; you’ve clearly been paying close attention. Moreover, you’ve correctly completed number 8 Down in The New York Times crossword puzzle that appeared the same day my mystery eBay hero