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But the comfy personal warmth I knew with Martha and Ronnie, and even Anita, was missing entirely.By eight-thirty I returned to Martha's. She wasn't home. I brought a cup of tea and a pack of cigarettes with me to the front steps of the building. I lit up and sat and waited. I said aloud, as if Fiore were there watching me, "Yes, I know: exactly what I'm not supposed to be doing." I finished the tea and brought the cup upstairs and went down to the steps again. The damn cigarette smoke was sticking in my throat, so I threw them away. I did a little pacing as time wore on. At a quarter after nine I saw Martha turn the corner at Second Avenue and start walking toward me.When she was halfway down the block she waved at me. I walked to her, and when I joined her on the sidewalk she put her arm through mine and gave me a kiss."What are you doing out here? Are you out here waiting for me?" Yes." Well, hon, if I'd known you were so worried..."I lied, "Naw, I was just bored." Bored? Becky. But Oleg came up on stage as well and, without a trace of fear, said:“LADIES! GENTLEMEN! I HAVE ANNOUNCEMENT! I HAVE HIRED MISTER BUTLER FOR TO SING! Give me.”He wrenched the iPad from my hands and read the index.“I can’t sing them all,” I warned.“I pay, you sing,” he said, without looking up. “AH! THIS! NUMBER FOURTY!”The band, rather shaken up but unwilling to risk not getting paid, located the song on their own screen. I could see eyebrows jumping up all arcoss the line-up.“A song from my country,” said Oleg, as he handed me back the iPad and jumped off the stage. (Which was only about two feet high, I’ll remind you.)“That can’t be good news,” I muttered. And then I read the title. Twice. That song was no more from his country than fortune cookies are from China.“You’re kidding,” I said to Oleg, with the benefit of amplification. The audience tittered in anticipation. Obviously they wanted to see me get in trouble.“SING!”I turned to the band, which was already playing the lead-in,.
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