"Very warm, very friendly, yet surprisingly modern." "Roberto wanted it to be the color of zabaglione. He brought Italian artisans over to do the plastering." She handed them menus and recommended the tagliatelle con salmone affumicato and the vitello alla griglia. Her boss, always a perfectionist, had coached her on the pronunciation. She added, "Roberto wishes you to be our guests tonight.
Would you like something from the bar?" Considering Miss Roop's former attitude toward anything stronger than weak tea, this was a right-about-face. She suggested Pinot Grigio as an aperitif. Amberina shrugged and accepted. Qwilleran asked for mineral water with lemon.
Meanwhile, a waiter displaying professional ‚clat draped napkins across their laps - heated napkins.
"Real flowers," Amberina whispered as she fingered the rosebuds in a Venetian glass vase. "I wonder how many of these vases they lose." There was little general conversation as they adjusted to the elegance of the room and the awesomeness of the menu. Finally she said, "Tell me honestly, Mr. Qwilleran. What do you think of the Casablanca?" "It's a dump! Does anyone really think it's worth restoring? Does anyone think it's even possible to restore such a ruin?" "SOCK is positive," she replied earnestly. "Mary Duckworth and Roberto are officers, and you know they don't waste their time on a lot of baloney. They've had an architect make a study for SOCK, and he knows exactly what has to be done and how to do it and how much it will cost. I don't have the exact facts, but Mary can fill you in on that stuff." "Where is she?" "Right now she's flying back from Philadelphia. There was a big antique show there, and she took a double booth.
Her porters drove a truckload down, and she expected it would return empty. Mary has that snooty manner, you know, and she can sell anything and get a good price for it. People believe her! I wish I had her class. But that's the way it goes!
The rich get richer. Her family is in banking, you know." "Does she still wear kimonos embroidered with dragons when she waits on customers?" "No, she's gone back to being preppy, pearls and everything... EEK! Did you see these prices?" she squealed when she saw the right-hand side of the card. "I'm glad I'm not paying for this! I'm going to order the most expensive thing on the menu. The chances are I'll never come here again." They each ordered an antipasto, soup, and a veal dish. Then Qwilleran said, "I have a few questions to ask, Amberina. Is the elevator service always as bad as it was today?" "I wish you'd call me Amber," she said. " And you seem to have forgotten that you used to call me Qwill." "I didn't forget," she said sheepishly, "but now that you've got all that money, I thought I should call you mister...
What were we talking about?" "The elevators." "Oh, yes... You just happened to hit a bad weekend. Usually they break down one at a time, and that's not so bad. Or if it happens during the week, we're in luck, because the serviceman comes right away - if it's during the day. It's time and a half after five o'clock, you know, and the management doesn't go for that." "I should have taken an apartment on a lower floor," Qwilleran said. "Another question: What's the meaning of the notice in the elevator about cats and spraying? It doesn't sound good." "Oh, that! Mrs. Tuttle posts a notice every time the exterminator is scheduled. He sprays the hallways, plus any apartments that request it, so people keep their cats locked up on Spray Day." "My cats never go out under any circumstances." "That's a good idea. They can get on the elevator and just... disappear. There's a big turnover in cats at the Casablanca." "Do you have one?" "No, I have fish. They're cheaper and they don't have to go to the vet. They just die." "Frankly, I fail to understand the roving-cat policy at the Casablanca." "It's for rodent control." "Does the building have rats in addition to everything else?" "Only around the back street, where they keep the dumpsters. I've had mice in my apartment, athough. I don't know how mice get up to the eighth floor." "On Old Red," Qwilleran suggested. The antipasti were served: breaded baby squid with marinara sauce, and roasted red peppers with anchovies and onion.
"I wish my sisters could see me now!" said Amber. "Eating squid at Roberto's with a millionaire!" "Getting back to the notices in the elevator," he said, "is there a large market for baby grand pianos at the Casablanca?" "You'd be surprised! There's still some money floating around the building - and a few good-sized apartments.
We have elderly widows who are loaded! They don't move out because they've always lived here." "Who's selling the piano? The sign says apartment 10-F." "That's Isabelle Wilburton. Her rooms are crammed with family heirlooms, and she sells them off one at a time to buy booze." "What does she look like? I saw a middle-aged woman in a cocktail dress, tippling in the phone booth when I moved in." "That's our Isabelle! Her family made a killing in the furniture business, and they pay her basic living expenses, so long as she stays out of their sight. I warn you! Don't let Isabelle latch onto you! She'll drive you crazy." The antipasto plates were whisked away, and the proficient waiter - who was always there when needed and absent when not - served the soup, a rich chicken broth threaded with egg and cheese.
"What do they call this?" Amber asked Qwilleran. "I wish I had written it down so I can tell my sisters." "Stracciatella alla romana. What will happen to tenants like Isabelle if the building is restored to its original grandeur?" "What will happen to any of us?" said Amber with a shrug. "I'll have to find a rich husband and move to the country. Maybe he'll set me up in a shop of my own." She had a suggestive twinkle in her eyes, which he ignored.
He said, "You had a husband the last time I saw you." She twisted her lips in an unattractive smirk. "Husbands come and go like the Zwinger Boulevard bus." "You've changed your hair color, too." "This is my natural color. I dyed it for him because he liked brunettes. I suppose you're having a tough time staying single now that you've got all that money." "So far I've been successful without trying very hard," he said, and then added to keep the record straight, "but I have a good friend up north who shares my interests and tastes. I hope she'll come down for a visit while I'm here." "That must be nice," said Amber. "We weren't so compatible. I don't know why we ever happened to get married.
I'm a slob around the house, but my ex liked everything just so. A place for everything and everything in its place, you know. If he repeated that remark once more, I swore I'd shoot him, and I didn't want to go to prison, so I filed for divorce. I hope he marries a computer. Mary tells me you're divorced." "Right." He popped a chunk of crusty roll into his mouth to preclude further elaboration.
Amber was not easily put off, however. "What happened?" "Nothing worth mentioning." He gobbled another morsel. "What do you do at the auction house?" "Just clerical work. It doesn't pay much, but I'm working with antiques, so I like it. You should come to one of our auctions. Last month a painting went for $2.3 million - right in your class, Qwill." He huffed into his moustache and ignored the remark. "Here comes the veal." She had ordered the top-price rib chop with wine and mushroom sauce, and now she asked for a bottle of Valpolicella, explaining, "What I don't drink, I can take home." As Qwilleran knifed his medium-priced vitello alla piccata, sauteed with lemon and capers, he inquired about Mrs.
Tuttle. "She seems to have a remarkable blend of motherly concern and military authority." "Oh, she's wonderful! Can you believe that she was actually born in the Casablanca basement?" Amber replied.
"Her father was the custodian. They lived in the basement, and she grew up playing in the boiler room and on the stairs.
By the time she was twelve she knew the building inside out, and it was always her ambition to be manager. She's very obliging, as long as you don't break the rules. Ask her for anything you need. You may not get it, but she'll smile a lot." "I might need some more pails. The skylight leaks. Also, the hot water in the shower is unpredictable." "We all have that problem," said Amber. "You get used to it." "Do you know the person in 14-B?" "No, she's new, but I've seen her on the elevator-sort of wild-looking." Amber was gobbling her food hungrily.