Peggy did not fail to notice Helena’s sly, yet admiring, appraisal of Bette’s moving appendage. With a satisfied smile, she relaxed into her chair, twisted her body, crossed her legs, and pointed her toes away from Helena.

“Très bien,” the young man grinned amorously, in his affected French accent, unable to take his eyes off the younger Peabody. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent from her hair.

Peggy rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. “Garçon?”

Startled, the waiter moved his gaze to Peggy. “Oui, Madame?”

“Have you forgotten our Shrimp Cocktail?” she queried, displaying her annoyance.

“Your ‘Post Haste Shrimp Cocktail’, Madame?” he answered.

Looking at him quizzically, then rapidly understanding his utter lack of mental ability without the use of the knob at his groin, Peggy cocked her head and scrunched her face. “Yes, the ‘Post Haste Shrimp Cocktail’,” she mimicked.

“No, Madame, I haven’t forgotten,” the server replied meekly but smiling.

Peggy sighed and smiled wearily back.

Bette and Helena looked at one another and braced themselves.

The waiter stared blankly at Peggy.

“Young man, do you know the most important ingredient of a ‘Post Haste Shrimp Cocktail’?”

Helena’s palms began to sweat. And Bette’s hands tore anxiously at her linen napkin.

“The shrimp?” the bewildered waiter squeaked, after thinking for several moments.

“No,” Peggy replied calmly, while staring long and intently at the boy.

The quaking waiter gulped anticipatorily.

“It’s the fucking ‘Post Haste’, you imbecile! Those shrimp could have swam from the Aswan Dam by now. So stop ogling my daughter, do your job, and get the fucking little fish in front of us before I use my fingers as a crowbar to ply your eyes from their sockets! Capiche?”

“Capeesh?”

“It means, ‘Get your ass to the kitchen! Vite!”

“Veet?”

“That’s French for ‘Go! You moronic, libidinous sloth!’” Peggy commanded.

As the red-faced server darted away, Bette and Helena doubled over in tension-relieving laughter. Peggy sat back smugly and sipped her gin. Dabbing at her eyes with her right hand, Helena reflexively clasped Bette’s hand with her left and squeezed it.

“Mummy, you never tire of having fun with the hired help do you?” Helena asked as she wiped beneath her right eye.