Then one day he bought the nightclub and had a new family. He - the only person I was calm around, the one I knew would never yell at me - got sick and called me as if I could solve even this problem at his still young age and mine much younger. Yet there were gatherings at the long bar with his old important glamorous friends, and the press returned.
Then one day, a friend of mine told me she had been in a car with some people when the driver said, "That nightclub is owned by the mafia."
"You're wrong," she said. "He's my friend's father."
"He knows so many people," I told her. "It's his charm. Everyone loves him."
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