She said, “Will this be difficult?”
“I don’t think so.”
We went back to the cocktail lounge. The manager was waiting right behind the door.
I said, “What’s the idea of telling my sister she can’t come in here?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s a custom, a rule and a law. Unescorted women are not allowed.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know. I asked her to meet me here.”
He bowed frigidly and escorted us to a table. Then he went over and said something to the bar-tender.
A waiter came and took our orders.
“Dry Martini,” she said.
“The same,” I told him.