Madison Avenue Shoot by Jessica Fletcher

I’ll have the skate,” I said to the waiter.
    “And I’ll have the Maine sea scallops, in your honor, Jessica,” Matt said, closing his menu.
    “I’ll have the venison and foie gras pie,” Kevin said. “And I’d like to see the wine list.”
    Two hours and three bottles of wine later, the men had moved to the bar for cognacs while I made my excuses, citing an early call and my hope to get some sleep before it. I thanked Matt for dinner, declined his offer to hail a cab for me, shook hands again with Kevin, and left the restaurant, taking a deep breath of the cool air as the glass door closed behind me. There was no way I could keep up with Matt and Kevin as they consumed glass after glass of wine, nor did I want to. My one glass had been sufficient, although they attempted to top it off several times as they regaled each other with the antics of their Hamptons neighbors, looking for my reaction to the outrageous stories.
    “You could write a book,” Matt had said.
    “Someone already is,” Kevin said, chuckling.
    “Is that what it’s about?” Matt asked. “She wouldn’t tell me.”
    “She wouldn’t tell me either. She’s very secretive, even rented an apartment on the West Side, just to use for writing. She says that way I can’t read her pages when she’s out of town.”
    “Is that Anne Tripper’s book you’re talking about?” I asked.
    Matt winked at me, but ignored my question. “What I don’t get,” he said to Kevin, “is how you two got together. You’re the classic bleeding-heart liberal, and she’s gotta be right of Attila the Hun.”
    “She has her charms,” Kevin had replied.
    I figured the Waldorf was less than a mile as the crow flies, if there are any crows in New York City. There are plenty of pigeons, of course, but I wouldn’t be seeing them tonight. It was already dark. Several taxis slowed as I stood in front of the restaurant buttoning my coat. I waved them off. A leisurely stroll to the hotel was what I needed to work off dinner, especially the warm apple tart Matt had insisted I try. It was worth every calorie. Years ago, I wouldn’t have attempted to walk back to my hotel, but the city is much safer now.
    As I started down the street, I replayed that last conversation in my head. Although they hadn’t mentioned her name, it seemed clear to me that if they were leaving messages for each other at breakfast, Anne Tripper was Kevin Prendergast’s live-in girlfriend. It began to make sense now. As neighbors, it would have been natural for Kevin to have talked to Matt about having Anne Tripper in a commercial for Permezzo. Perhaps Matt took the opportunity to suggest me for the campaign as well. When we’d sat at the City Bakery, he certainly seemed to know a lot about Permezzo’s marketing plans. If Kevin had mentioned me to Betsy Archibald, it was not so surprising that she would have jumped on it when Grady raised my name. Leave it to Matt not to tell me that he’d put a word in at the beginning. My participation didn’t hurt his relationship with his neighbor. In fact, it put them back on equal footing. Kevin had done Matt a good turn by providing him with a new client with lots of bestseller potential, and Matt had returned the favor by encouraging me to be in a commercial for Kevin’s client. Very neat.
    I ambled over to Lexington Avenue and headed south. It was only nine o’clock, but traffic was heavy and there were still many people on the street, window-shopping, walking dogs, or spilling out of the myriad restaurants and bars. Many, like me, seemed like out-of-towners. As I knew from my days as a city resident, there is no time of year when New York is without a sizable tourist population.
    I was halfway to the hotel when I felt my cell phone vibrate. I had turned off the ringer before dinner, so as not to be rude to my dining companions. I know I’m in the minority, but I still cling to the notion that people who talk on cell phones in restaurants are