The Last Coincidence

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Okay, so the Times called it the best Broadway musical of the year; this wasn’t the first instance where that esteemed journal and I found ourselves on opposite sides of the fence. I had gone only because Lily Rowan was aching to see the show, and as it turned out, she didn’t enjoy it all that much either.

The way Lily was acting that night, though, she probably wouldn’t have enjoyed Caruso at his peak. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet all through a superb dinner at Rusterman’s — we each had the trout Montbarry that Nero Wolfe introduced to the menu years ago when he was overseer of the restaurant following his old friend Marko Vukcic’s death. And even during what I thought were the show’s few good moments, the best she could generate was halfhearted applause or a weak chuckle. She never even gave my ribs a gentle jab with her elbow, which is one of her trademarks when she’s having fun at the theater.

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