It was 28.8°Farenheit. Simon decided to walk. Think this through. Headed down 5th Avenue, took a left on 76th and entered the lobby at 35 East.

The Art Deco style hotel is named for the Scottish essayist Thomas Carlyle.

Simon took the elevator up to his room. Poured himself two fingers of a twenty one year old scotch, lit a cigar, sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone.

"Moses, track down Jean Pierre. Have him call me at The Carlyle, today!"

"Got ourselves a small problem, have we laddie?"

"Not so small, Uncle Moe. I'll be in touch."

Simon stripped, shaved and took a hot shower. Put on a clean suit and went down to the lobby. At the front desk he told the clerk, "Please have all my calls forwarded to the Cafe."

The Cafe Carlyle is famous for the murals by Marcel Vertes who was, of all things, a Hungarian costume designer.

After placing his order the Maitre d approached, placed a phone on his table and plugged it in. "There is a call for you, Mr. Jones."

Bobby Short was at the piano… "Do I hear you saying, I love you! I love you! Are those lovely words for me?"

"Darling, just making sure that you're alright." Elisabeth calling from London.

"Tell me you're not playing, It is true; you do, too, It's too wonderful to be…"

"Yes, dear. Trying to finish and tidy up. Shouldn't be much longer. How's my little man?"

“Just to think that now I hold you in my arms, Sent from heaven just to call mine, all mine!"

"Brilliant. Running around getting into all sorts of mischief."

"If I hear you saying, I love you! I love you! Life's been awfully good to me."

"Tell the little bugger I'll be home soon."