The waiter hovered over us and coughed significantly.
“Two more Martinis,” I said. “We were interested, talking, and let these get a little warm. I can’t stand a warm Martini.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, picking up the glasses.
“Why do you do that, Donald?” she asked.
“What?”
“Give them a chance to rub it in.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’m built that way.”
She said abruptly, “Would you have tried to pick me up and be my escort if I hadn’t made the break?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
“You’re wondering why I wanted to come in here, aren’t you?”