She said, “What are you doing tonight?” and I said, “Nothing, what are you doing?” and she said, “Having dinner with you.” So at nine we converge on the lovely Lucien down on Houston and First, me and V. and Tom, and it’s cozy and candle-icious in a corner in the back of the room. And there’s crusty bread, a tasty Malbec, an asparagus salad with mesclun and mustard, sea scallops and capers in a butter sauce, and a large, warm cappuccino. And there’s talking and laughing, and feet up and lounging, and, as seems to be our m.o., we shut down the place. And all too soon I’m waiting for the train at Second Avenue, surprised at how it got to be a quarter past one in the morning.