BESTSELLERS & BEST FRIENDS
My book publishing blog, with murder mysteries woven through it.
If this is your first visit, be sure to start with “1. Let’s do it!”
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Like they do on all those police detective TV shows, I parked across, and a bit down the street, from Lajos Antal’s fancy house. I was halfway through my thermos of coffee (See? I was really into this), when a couple walked out of the place. Good timing!
She was dressed, tightly, showing off her body, and ready for a run.
He was handsome, sort of the model look, with a bright green sport coat, polo shirt, and no socks to go with his fancy shoes...like he’d just won the Masters golf tournament but was rushed out of the locker room.
They kissed, they embraced, body tightly against body, he put his hand on her ass, and she teasingly reached for his crotch.
Wow, Tarrytown!
Then they laughed, she jogged off, and he waited just a few minutes before being picked up by what was probably an Uber.
I didn’t take a photo using one of those long camera attachments. I wasn’t that into it. Besides, I didn’t have to. Both of them were familiar, maybe from photos I had seen, or maybe I had bumped into one or both of them in person, perhaps at a conference or reception.
But this I was sure of: the guy was NOT Allan Jatos. I’ve looked at Jatos’ photo on scores of book jackets. And I’m also guessing he’s NOT Lajos Antal, owner of the house he just walked out of, because that Lajos Antal guy is buried 40 feet from Dorothy Parker.
Where have I seen these two? Where? When? Why?
I can barely wait until I have to get up in the middle of the night to pee. I’ll remember then.
Tomorrow: I’m walking over to 151 West 21st Street. Something I want to check out.