In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

his hand on the table. The sound of one hand clapping.
"Ciao, Pete, come vai?" Sandro said, cringing.
Pete came over to their booth. He stank of scotch, drawled,
"Benissimo. Sandro, is it? Hi, Penny, how you guys doin', not too good,
huh?"
"So, what are you writing about?" Penny asked, glad to change
tracks.
"As you were saying, 'the moral bankruptcy of the privileged
classes'―what I'm writing about." Pete belched. "I need another drink."
Sandro motioned to the garcon. Lucien nodded, he knew what
to get him.
"Et encore un pour moi."
"Have you been living in Paris long?"
"I'm in exile." He coughed a glob of phlegm into a napkin.
"'Scuse me. As I was sayin', my life's work. The Consequences of
Entitlement: A Comprehensive Analysis of Depravity among the
Modern Privileged Classes, that's the book I'm writing, (cough.) Been
workin' on it for years. "
"But this has been done, no?" Sandro snarled politely.
Pete blew his nose for thirty seconds. "Write screenplays,
too…" Still wiping his nose, he attempted to finish his sentence, "One
about the New York art world. Remember The Factory? Same theme.
Used t'be a painter…Lemme tell ya…bunch o' crooks, all'em." Pete's
hacking cough turned his face fuchsia.
"Yes, I know," Sandro sighed.
"Listen kids, I gotta go home to my inhaler, maybe I'll see you
'round? When you goin' back to New York?"
"Soon, why?"
"I prefer Italy. Ever bin to Lucca? Like our waiter, lucky Luca.
Wonderful dry weather. Where you from?" He peered at Sandro,
swaying.
"Rome."
"Of course, Romaniccio!"
"Mia madre e d'origine trasteverana, Vicolo del Cinque,
perche?"
Pete shut his eyes and nodded gravely. "You know the Bocca
Della Verita?"
"Yeah, we were just there, is that?" Penny glanced at the sleeve,
folded and safety pinned around his elbow stump.
"No, girl, it's not!" His chuckle reverted back to a cough.
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