“Here, drink this,” I said, handing him some Johnnie Walker Black that I grabbed from behind the bar. Technically, I was looting. Officially, I didn’t care.

“Thanks,” Dwayne mumbled, reaching for the glass. That’s when I saw that his hands were trembling badly. Is there a Valium in the house?

Or maybe it was his anxiety disorder kicking in. He had that look, like the restaurant walls were caving in on him. Better make that two Valium…

It didn’t help matters that people were beginning to recognize him. You didn’t need any poker skills, though, to read his body language. It basically screamed, Back off!

Unfortunately, one idiot couldn’t help himself. He walked right past Donald Trump, Orlando Bloom, and Elisabeth Hasselbeck, heading straight for us.

“Hey, aren’t you Dwayne Robinson?” he asked, removing a slip of paper from inside his suit jacket. “Do you think maybe you could sign -”

“Now’s not really a good time,” I interrupted.

The guy turned to me, raising his tweezed eyebrows. He looked like a real slickster, maybe from Madison Avenue. “Who are you?” he asked.

Good question. Who was I to Dwayne Robinson at this moment? But the answer seemed to come easily. “I’m a friend of his,” I answered. Then I channeled my best tough-guy imitation. “And like I said, now’s not really a good time.”

I must have been convincing enough, because the guy backed off. He even mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Thanks,” Dwayne said again.

“You’re welcome. So what brings you here?” I said, and grinned so he’d know I was trying a joke to ease the tension. Not a good joke, just a joke.

Dwayne took a big gulp of the Johnnie Walker and finally managed to find his voice. “Man, I don’t know if I can do this,” he said. “How long do you think they’ll keep us here?”