(Continued from May 26, 2004.)

No call from Nikki through the weekend, and the bistro's closed Mondays. I go in today for lunch, ask casually about Nikki -- and learn that she's been fired. No explanation. Moreover, Pilar won't give me her phone number -- on principle, she says, she doesn't give out the contact info of employees, though I suspect she doesn't mind forestalling a potential romance between a valued customer and an ex-waitress (possibly disgruntled).

That explains no phone call. So I have to leave it up to Nikki to get in touch, unless I bump into her on the street or at the supermarket, which hasn't ever happened. Meanwhile, I have Bacardi limon chilling in the fridge, ice cubes made, a dozen limes ripening, sugar, club soda -- all dressed up and no one to get silly with over mojitos and lewd with afterwards . . .

What gives? Feast or famine is one thing, but it's another to show me a full plate and then take it all away.

(Postscript, September '04: I never heard from or saw Nikki again.)