“Did it mean anything to them?”
“I don’t think so. Can’t we quit talking about this and have a drink?”
I called the waiter over. “Same thing?” I asked her.
“I’m tired of wine. Could we have something else?”
“Two Scotch and sodas,” I said. “How’s that, Rob?”
“That’s fine. And then do something for me, will you, Donald?”
“What?”
“Don’t let me drink any more.”
“Why?”
“I want to enjoy the night and not just get dizzy and a little sick and pass out and wake up in the morning with a head.”