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instead. Reportedly, Sally was viewing the fire as a kind of cosmic purification, a message that it was time for a fresh start. Now she was meditating and waiting for a sign to point her to the next “phase.”
    â€œMr. O’Brien and his housekeeper are staying at a motel in Brighton Beach,” he said.
    â€œWatching porno and taking advantage of his Viagra prescription?”
    â€œWatching game shows and soaps and arguing. The Japanese film students have been squeezed into NYU dorms. Mr. Burpus is at the Y.”
    â€œAnd Dulcinia Ramirez?”
    â€œI saw her yesterday. She’s fine,” he said.
    â€œHow is she enjoying convent life? I hope the nuns aren’t too radical for her.”
    â€œIt’s not one of those hip, modern-dress left-wing feminist convents,” he said. “It’s the old-fashioned kind, on a wooded lot surrounded by high walls. The sisters wear traditional black-and-white penguin habits.”
    â€œMrs. R. must be happy out there with a lot of other old-fashioned, celibate women who love Jesus,” I said.
    â€œShe is ecstatic,” Phil said. “They pray a lot, they sing, they read from the New Testament, they bake cakes, they have different activities every night. Monday night is video night. Wednesday night is whist night. Saturday afternoons they go on an outing to a museum or a park. The nuns love Señor. One of them made him a little habit, and now they call him Sister Señor.”
    â€œAnd the nuns love Mrs. Ramirez?”
    â€œWell, Robin, they love her in that good, Christian way. Those nuns love everyone. There’s a little friction there though. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there.”
    â€œHow do you know these nuns?”
    â€œI did some handyman work for them, installed their security system and fixed the cistern. When I was in India, I rewired their mission. In return, they send me free cakes. They bake cakes, you know. Immaculate Confection …”
    â€œImmaculate Confection? THOSE nuns?”
    â€œYes, you’ve heard of them?”
    â€œI saw a report about them on ANNFN after they went public, or the bakery operation went public anyway. Those are great cakes. Piety and cake, it’s Ramirez heaven. Think she’ll stay on out there?”
    â€œOh, I think she may want to come back to the neighborhood when she can. She was quite concerned that, in her absence, crime was going to skyrocket because there’d be nobody to patrol and call in reports to the police the way she does.”
    â€œPublic urinators are probably running rampant.”
    â€œTake another swallow,” Phil said. “She may be calling you too. I let it slip out you were at the Chelsea …”
    â€œOh, great.”
    For years, Mrs. R. and I had been mortal enemies, on account of her thinking I was a transvestite-madam-drug dealer, and always trying to rap me with her cane. Once the misunderstanding cleared up, she decided we were friends, which was worse. She’d corner me, call me, follow me sometimes wanting to tell me about her ideas for TV shows, her conspiracy theories, to complain about her new favorite whipping boys, baby boomers, or just to show me the new electrified Ascension of Jesus display she’d bought for Easter.
    â€œThey’re keeping her pretty busy out there,” he said. “I don’t think she’ll be bothering you much. I’ll be visiting her again tomorrow. Want to send a message?”
    â€œJust my fond regards.”
    I turned to wave for our check, and saw the man in the bad toupee at a nearby table, talking into a telephone. Our eyes met for a moment, and then he looked away. He waved for his check too. I had to force myself to look away from the toupee. It was so bad it kept drawing my eye. By far, this was the worst toupee I’d ever seen in my life, and I’ve seen some bad ones, having once done a report on the shady side of the