Me and the Bentley

When I was a young man, I spent $1,800 on a silver 1951 Bentley sedan, which I bought from an Episcopal bishop’s son with alimony troubles. He was a friend of mine, but he was what people used to call “a bad influence”—a recreational alcoholic and womanizer so relentlessly pursued by bill collectors that he kept his telephone at the office in a desk drawer, where the sound of its ringing would be muffled.