“Yeah, waters really would be great,” Cybill added. “The whole time I’ve been sitting here no one’s offered me a glass. You waiter guys do depend on tips, don’t you?”

Charlie could feel Stan’s eyes on her, but she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the napkin in her lap, ashamed of herself for not speaking up. Not enough ashamed, though, to actually speak up

“Yes, we waiter guys do depend on tips,” he said coolly. “I’ll be right back with those waters.”

As he walked off to the kitchen, Jude said to Cybill, “Jesus, you want to be a little less of a raging bitch to the help?”

“Sorry, I just hate it when they get so friendly, acting like we’re all equals here, pulling that kumbaya bullshit. It’s like, no, you’re serving me. We are not on par.”

“He goes to Wolcott, you know,” Charlie said quietly.

Cybill rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah? On whose dime? Not his own, obviously.”

“Just take it down a notch or two,” Jude said. “I’m thinking of ordering the clam chowder and I’d rather it didn’t come with a side of loogie or sperm.” Jude turned to Charlie. “You know, if that guy’s bothering you, or making you feel uncomfortable in any way, just tell me. I’ll have him fired. Cybill’s right. He’s out of line. The staff’s really not supposed to fraternize with the guests.”

But it’s okay when Lucy, the sexy tennis pro, does it. Why? Because she graduated from your prep school and paid full tuition for the privilege? Because her parents are both members? Because she’s obviously taken the job more for fun and to work on her tan than because she needs the actual cash? Charlie didn’t say any of this, though. Just thought it. She shook her head.

“You’re too nice, Charlie,” Cybill said.

Jude leaned in close to Charlie. “And I suppose it wouldn’t be right to punish a guy for having good taste.”

Charlie gave a tight smile, then opened her menu, hid her face behind it. She didn’t think she could feel like a bigger loser than she did after beating Jude on the court this morning. She was wrong. This victory lunch had the victory match beat. Hands down.

• • •

It was back to the club for dinner that night, a family affair. It was meant to be a celebration. The old guy with all the wives had called Richard that afternoon to tell him he was giving him the commission for the museum—or, as Charlie liked to call it, the snoozeum—job. It was a formalish occasion, so they were eating in the dining room rather than in the café. Charlie was praying that Stan wouldn’t be on duty this evening. He was, naturally, but at least he wasn’t assigned to their table.