Bette peered quickly down at the hand which Helena had grasped and felt a ripple of pleasure course through her middle. She withdrew it rapidly, and placed it self-consciously in her lap.

Peggy watched Bette’s actions, as well as those of her daughter, inconspicuously.

Helena bent over and retrieved a tissue from her purse.

Peering into her glass and scrolling her finger down the stem, Peggy replied to Helena’s question, “I consider it an art, my dear. You know that.”

“Yes, and your technique is without reproach, Mummy,” Helena said, applying the tissue gingerly beneath her lower lashes.

“As is yours, my darling,” Peggy said with a delighted grin.

Helena swiped at her nose and gave Bette an uncertain and unobtrusive look.

Peggy’s foot lightly rubbed against Bette’s leg.

Bette’s eyes scoured the surface of her now empty drink as she picked up the one remaining olive in her glass and nervously began to chew. She surreptitiously glanced at Helena.

Interrupting an uncomfortable pause, the garçon returned with Helena’s drink.

“Your Grey Goose martini, mademoiselle,” he said, placing the potent potable before Helena. “And ‘Post Haste Shrimp Cocktail’ all around,” he announced proudly, circling the table and setting the dishes before each woman.

As he turned to leave, Peggy’s voice begged his return. “Garçon?”

“Yes, Madame,” the young server answered smugly, standing straight and tall.

“I believe you forgot something.”

“Oh?” he responded, disappointed in himself. “What would that be, Madame?”

“Why, the most important ingredient, young man!”

“The ‘Post Haste’?” the server guessed with embarrassment, looking over each piece of shrimp carefully for the missing component.

“Yes,” Peggy replied softly.

Bette and Helena’s eyes met and quietly twinkled knowingly.

“I’ll be right back with it, Madame. Really fast,” he said, as he began to walk away. “In a sec. Don’t you worry. As soon as possible. Uh…With your ‘Post Haste.’ Be right back.” He took another awkward step toward the kitchen. “Without delay. I’ll be quick as lightning!” he swore as he crossed his heart.

“Garçon!” Peggy snapped, looking around.

“Yes, Madame,” the young man answered, sliding back to the table.

“We’d like our entrées ‘Post Haste’ as well,” Peggy said nonchalantly.

“But of course!” he smiled, disappearing quickly and scratching his head.

Bette and Helena, each plucking a shrimp from their dish and dipping it in their sauce, tittered.

Peggy smoothed her hands across her lap.

“Hope you girls look forward to enjoying a long, leisurely dinner.”

“I’m in no hurry,” the young women replied simultaneously. They looked at each other and blushed.

A cell phone began to ring.

The trio began rummaging through their bags for the offending menace.

“It’s mine,” Peggy called out, holding up her phone victoriously. “Excuse me,” she said identifying the number and removing herself from the table.

When out of earshot, Peggy said, “Yes, Franklin. She’s here. You did well, my dear.”