We sat down and examined the menus. Raphael’s was one of those restaurants that didn’t think it was classy to have the prices on the menu. Not that it mattered. I had a trio of Benjamin Franklins in my wallet. This dinner was going to be on me.
The waiter took our order, and returned to place a basket of breadsticks on the table. The wine steward presented Quinn with a vintage he seemed happy with, and he poured our glasses.
As we waited for our appetizers to be prepared, we chatted desultorily about this and that, and somehow the conversation came around to the 1980 Olympics.
“You would have participated?” Apparently he hadn’t dug deeply enough into my files. Which was good.
“You don’t have to look so surprised.” That was the year the US boycotted the summer games in Moscow because of
