Tina smiled. “I can tell you’re on something. Be careful with that stuff. When you come down, you really come down. And when you’re up, like you are now, you have to watch yourself. Be mindful of your voice, you’ve practically been screaming. And focus, OK? Are you with me? Here, you’re going to need to say these words with a French accent.” Tina pointed at the menu, divided into Les Entrées, Les Grillades, Les Desserts, and Les Cafés. The meals cost around eight dollars, more than twice the price of the meals in the Sidewalk Café. “The chef is from Paris. Read this.”

“Lays Grill-aids,” Sherri said.

“No, Ley Grillahds. And this—” She pointed at the smaller print.

“Pra-vyance sauce.”

Tina laughed. “You sound like you’re pinching your nose. Prah-vance.”

“Nobody around here even knows how to speak French.”

“Some of them do. And the ones who don’t, well, don’t try to correct them when they butcher the language the way you just did. Just smile and write their order down.”

Arthur spoke French. He was the only person she knew who’d actually been there. He told her about country houses made of stone, fields of lavender, and grapevines that were hundreds of years old and worth thousands of dollars—just the vines! He’d called Sherri “ma chérie” instead of “Sherri” and told her it meant “my darling.” He whispered to her in French when they were intimate. It was sexy to hear him speak that strange, liquid-sounding language.

“Tina, why did Gloria move me up here to the Cabaret?” Sherri asked.

Tina’s expression grew dark, serious. She looked intently at the napkin she was folding while she spoke. “Because she needs someone to replace me.”

“Replace you? What are you talking about?”

Tina nodded, her chin quivering. “I gave my notice.”

“No!”

“People quit jobs all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“But you can’t leave. You’re the reason I’m a Bunny. You love it here.”

“I do!” Tina gave up folding the napkin and instead expertly tucked it under her bottom eyelashes to catch her tear. “I really do. You and the other Bunnies, you’re like my family. I’m having the very best time.”

“So why are you leaving?”

“It’s my grandfather.”

“He’s sick?”

“Sick in the head is what he is! He’s horrible, one of those holy rollers. My brother told him that I’m working here, and now the old man thinks I’m a prostitute. He doesn’t listen to a word I say about all the security guards and the rules. I told him that this is a family resort, and it is, you know that. We play tiddlywinks with kids in the game room for crying out loud. I’ve even seen nuns have lunch here! He doesn’t listen. He says I’ll burn in hell.”