A LEGGY French woman wanted to know if the white lace pajamas she had purchased had been delivered.
Manuel Mulero shook his head. The concierge desk, at the moment, was innocent of pajamas.
“Could you make a reservation for us tonight at La Grenouille? Nine-thirty. Four people,” said a man whose smile was enhanced by perfect dental work.
“Absolutely,” Mulero said.
A small, wrinkled man with an energetic stammer came up. “I’m looking for a place close by to get some copying done.”
Mulero directed him to an establishment several blocks away.
“What is the best way to get down to Wall Street this time of day?”
“Best way?” Mulero said. “Cab.”
“That’s quicker than a subway?”
“Yes, yes. Cab.”
After the man left, Mulero told me, “It always kills me ...