“Fran? Mister V.”
“Yes, sir. We weaned that playboy away from his fair charmers. They’re out.”
“Swell.” I appreciated her choice of words. “That’s not what I’m calling about. I’m at the Brulard. Know it?”
“Why, certainly.”
“Hike over. Room four-one-six. Bring a nightgown or pajamas or whatever you wear.”
“Sir?” She must have thought I was completely off my rocker.
“This is not Lothario Vine speaking.”
“Oh?”
“And, Fran. Do you happen to have any Rip Van Winkles?”
“I can get some.”