"He means list," Jennie Ware said.
"What list?" Ronson asked.
"On ze listen of zozen waiten to see ze great Les Ro," the waiter answered.
Inside of him, Ronson felt cold come up. Strictly on his own, he had to decide how he was going to handle this. He made up his mind on impulse. "Who the devil is Les Ro?"
Across the table, Jennie Ware lifted startled eyes toward Ronson. The waiter's face showed astonishment, then embarrassment, at the idea that anyone existed who had not heard of Les Ro, Ronson thought. "You do not knowen ze great Les Ro. He is ze greatest zinker, ze greatest doer, ze greatest—"
"Stinker?" Jennie Ware said. "That sounds about right."
"You are maken ze kidden wiz me," the waiter said, indignation in his voice. "You have hearden of ze great Les Ro. You came here to see him. You musten haven. Everybody who comes here, comes to see him." The waiter spoke with authority.
"I'm sorry," Ronson said. "If he is that important, I would like to talk to him, of course. But do you mean all of these Martians are waiting to see him?" A wave of his hand indicated the group in the room.
The waiter, mollified, leered at Ronson. "Ze girls didn't. Ze girls come here for anuzzer purpose." The leering gesture included Jennie Ware in it. It said that obviously she had come here for the same purpose. What other purpose was there?
The girl gasped. Fire shot from her eyes. "I'll have you know—"