"Coffee?" she asked. "Ruth, get the gentleman a cup. What can I do for you, sir, my husband is in, hm, New York, I believe. Won't be back for a week."...She glanced at me over her glass as she drank deeply and then touched her lips with her napkin."Pity," I said tasting the coffee. It was cold, weak and sour, a week old I guessed. "I'm in cartage," I told her. "And he spoke to me of a move, perhaps to New Brunswick or Amboy. Said you had accumulated some goods you were very fond of." I looked at. "If anyone in my school sees me, I'll be a dead man!" Ifigured I could fit into one of my sister's old sweatshirts and a pairof her old jeans, and we wouldn't be leaving the house. I wasterrified that I'd be outed by one of my friends."I doubt if any of the hooligans you hang out with will run into us atChez Panisse," my mother said snidely. "Today would have been yoursister's sixteenth birthday, and your aunt wants to make it a specialoccasion," she sighed. Once again my resistance melted. More

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