I’d worked late each night that summer, before the crash in Eighty Nine. So, it was only natural when I needed to unwind. I’d grab a meal and have a glass (or two) till final call Then show up in the morning for my stint at Broad and Wall.
The Blue bar at the Algonquin was always my first choice. Steve Ross was singing in the oak room, You may recall his tenor voice. The bartender and the waiters knew my wants without a word. As I waited for my supper a distinctive voice was heard.
Even in her eighties, Garbo struck a regal tone. Despite age’s indignities She would have honored any throne. .
She knew I’d recognized her, though I never said her name. I was just a child when she had her last brush with fame.
She knew me from the brokerage house Her account was with my boss. We’d sometimes spoken on the phone about a gain or loss.
I asked if she would like a drink when next the barkeep came. She eyed the Bourbon in my glass and said “I’ll have the same.”
We were two people, both alone, She famous, me, obscure. For me it was her solitude that acted as a lure.
I knew she’d never married though there were lovers and affairs. It was as if the single life was answer to her prayers.
“You know I never really said: ‘I want to be alone.’ Its just I knew I had the strength to be out on my own.”
She knew I had just lost my Dad, The pain was very keen. She said “I lost my Father back when I was seventeen.”.
“I appreciate your kindness... It‘s going to take some time.” “If you know where your heart lies,” She said,” You’re going to be fine.”
I paid the bill and we stepped out into a warm and humid night. I hailed a cab for her and then we said our last good Night.
I never saw her face again or beheld those striking eyes. It was just a few months later We got word that Garbo died.