The other lady is demure in nature compared to the woman seated next to her. Dressed in all black, her deep brown hair has a distinctly defined streak of silver, and her face is commanded by overly arched, thin eyebrows. She says, “She’s such a sweetheart and doesn’t deserve this trouble.”

I top off the iced tea glasses, weaving in and out of the tables at the Ladies Who Lunch crowd. I’m still clueless as to what exactly this club is about. All I hear is a bunch of sniping-with-a-smile comments and gossip spreading faster than a wildfire in heavy winds.

I’ve come to expect certain behavior from a few “ladies” I recognize from other events I’ve worked. And a few are always polite. Even now, they’re not enjoying the gossip but talk more about fashion and traveling, their kids, and the gifts their husbands bought them.

“Delta has her hands full with the youngest male Westcott.” I’m drawn to the conversation when I hear Harbor’s mother’s name and his last name. The woman picks the glass up just before I’m going to refill it and sips the remaining tea. Normally, that would be no big deal, but the way she eyes me over the crystal makes me think she did that on purpose. I roll my eyes. If it makes her happy to have us peons waiting on her, whatever. It’s not worth expending my energy on trivial things.

I also don’t mind hanging around a little longer to hear the rumors they’re spreading about the Westcotts. I refill her gossiping cohort’s glass, slowly, as she says, “My Tiffy says he’s quite the playboy on campus.”

“Did I mishear somewhere that Tiffy and he briefly dated?” She finally sets her glass back down on the white-clothed table, then clears her throat and coughs to get my attention. When I look at her, she taps the rim of the crystal.

When I first started working for Larry, those kinds of behaviors used to drive me bonkers. Over time, I’ve realized it’s not personal. It’s not about me at all. It’s about how they feel about themselves. They’re desperate to find someone “less than” so they can sit on their DIY pedestal to look down on.

“They did.” She leans in and whispers, “Very briefly. He broke her heart after a few dates.”

The snootier of the two doesn’t bother to whisper at all when she says, “I overheard on the tennis courts that it was a one and done.” Reaching out to her friend, she consoles her. “Poor Tiff.”

The other lady still appears confused. “What does one and done mean?”

Snooty poos-poos her with a wave of her hand. “I have no idea, honey, but he’s trouble like his older brother if you ask me. Something I do know is that Harbor Westcott has been sneaking around with some floozy downtown.”

Floozy? My head jerks back. Did they just call me a tramp? Or worse?

“Ech.” Disgust covers both of their faces as Tiff’s mom leans back and adjusts her napkin. “He’ll get the deviance out of his system and settle down soon enough.”