“Not the dishwasher again! What, does he think that dishes wash themselves?” she moans at her head waiter, who rushes off to fix it.

“Troubles?”

He’s standing awkwardly in the doorway, trying to keep out of the way of the rioting good cheer of the customers. Over the din he’s hard to hear; but her ear is always open to him.

She grins as she smoothes her curls back into place. “The usual; aside that YOU are here, and on a Saturday!” She leans on the wall next to him; he has to turn around to face her, and it unbalances him.

“Business,” he’s curt to explain, and a note passes hands.

“You are a harbinger of bad luck for me!” she declares jovially, tucking the note away. “You come, and something happens to slow my club down!”

“Yea, what’s a girl to do?” he asks as he’s nearly bowled over by a group sweeping through the doorway, all laughs and yells. He’s finally resorted to raising his voice. She finds it endearing.

“Drink on me?”

“I’ll pass.”

He nods, and then he’s gone.