Luncheon

By Jeffrey A. Paolano

“I’d like a chilled Grey Goose Gimlet up, thank you,” orders Rene eschewing eye contact.

Expressing a reactive shudder Claire looks to the server full on and smiles. “I’ll just have a peek at the wine list, thanks.”

Bantering ensues until the waitress returns. She places a white tissue square with the stemmed ware thereon. Ice swims within.

“’Up’ means ‘no ice,’” explains Rene, her gaze transfixed on the libation.

The waitress springs to remove the offending beverage, while Rene fans above the glass. “One expects better here,” she observes.

Claire puckers as though sucking on an astringent fruit. “Indeed, indeed.”