Chapter 58
“Are you famous, too?” she asked Car.
“No, sweetheart, I’m not. I just have famous fiends.”
The little girl held her notebook tightly. Her mother thanked us and they walked away.
Wilson looked at his watch. It was five thirty.
“We’d better get you upstairs,” he said, “or the Wicked Witch of the West will be filling all our underwear with common pins.”
* * * *
It was just past eight when Wilson and I arrived in the ballroom. Car and Ryan had gotten there ten minutes earlier, so they were standing there when we arrived. It seemed that there were more photographers than trade people and everyone wanted a picture of me, or of Wilson and me.