“Baked oysters,” he said, his face lighting with enthusiasm. “The shells are placed in hot rock salt. There’s a little touch of garlic and a special sauce. That sauce is something of a secret. And then they’re baked, right in their shells.”
“It sounds good,” Bertha said. “I’ll try half a dozen-no, make it a dozen. Put some French bread in the oven, toast it brown, put on lots of melted butter, and bring me a pot of coffee with a big pitcher of cream and lots of sugar.”
“Yes, madam.”
Bertha glowered at me. “ Pure coffee,” she snapped.
“Yes, madam. Some dessert?”
“Well, I’ll see how I feel when I get done with that,” Bertha said.
After the waiter had gone. Bertha looked at me, waiting for me to say something. When I didn’t, she brought it up herself. “After all,” she said, “you can only put on just so much weight in any one day. I see no reason for counting calories, now that I’ve already put all the food into my system it can possibly absorb for one day.”
I said, “It’s your life. Why not live it the way you want?”
“I think I will.”
There was silence for a few moments; then she said in a low voice, “Look, lover, there’s something I want to say to you.”