The reporters were local. They had no idea who I was, which was to my advantage. A Chicago man or woman might recognize me because I’d been around so long. The clerk said, ‘This gentleman would like to get through. I’d appreciate it if you’d stand down the counter, please.’ They were not happy, the dears. I was interrupting the fun they were having tormenting the kid. ‘Welcome to the Regency. May I help you, sir?’ ‘Thanks. I’ll need a single for a few days.’ By tomorrow morning there would be no rooms to let. I’d brought a suitcase with two changes of clothes and balled-up underwear and socks. After signing my credit card slip, I carried the suitcase over by the elevators where a bellman who appeared to be in his sixties watched me suspiciously. He was a sharp and cynical sixty and he probably watched everybody suspiciously. He’d seen it all and maybe done it all and he knew that we’ve all got it in us. ‘You want some help, sir?’ His jacket was ruby red with gold-sprayed buttons and epaulets that looked in danger of slipping off.
