“No, Geri.” Brenda put her fork down, tines hanging off the edge of the plate. “Not again. Last time, you wanted me to believe in these little creatures that would multiply if you got them wet. Then there was that time when you thought the mafia bought the abandoned house across the street from you to use as a safe house.”

“But that was true, Brenda!” Geri took a bite of the parmesan-crusted salmon, doing her best not to smudge the lipstick she applied a few minutes earlier. “Besides, they were low-level criminals, not the Gotti family, so I suppose you were right, also.”

Brenda sighed, picked up her wine glass, and swallowed the last drop of the white zinfandel. Waving the glass, their server, a lovely young man who went by Tony. “Yes, Ms. Wheeler? Would you both like another bottle?”

“Yes, Tony. And could I get another glass?” Brenda held the glass up to the sunlight. “This one has several water spots I didn’t notice until I drank the third glass.” She managed to drink most of the bottle before Geri had one glass. This wasn’t unusual for both women. Especially not when they met for lunch on a Wednesday afternoon. Marco’s was a tiny, high-end Italian bistro most famous for their linguini and fettuccini alfredo. Geri didn’t eat gluten after an ‘episode,’ as she termed it, caused her to break out in small pimple-like dots all over her arms and legs. Thankfully for her friends, it didn’t touch her face. If it had, they’d be hearing about it for weeks! As it was, this was over in a few days, and she never ate or touched anything with wheat. Angela, a friend on the outs with Brenda, tried to tell her some wines were made with gluten. Brenda removed her from their social circles and refused to eat with her. That was nine years, six months, and three weeks ago, almost to the day!

“Right away, Ms. Wheeler.” Tony bowed, rushing back to the kitchen in a hurried walk. No one ran inside the bistro that wasn’t really a bistro. It was a restaurant except for those who had wealth and status. For those people, this was a small bistro.

“I swear, Geri. If not for your husband buying this place, I would never eat here.”

“I thought you liked it here.” Geri’s reply was terse. Howard bought controlling interest in the small restaurant not because he liked the food or was fond of the service. Howard bought it because the owner was a cute blonde woman, Naomi, who found the older gentleman attractive. He thought he might have a shot with Naomi, so he bought out her high-interest loan. Ironically, that loan was supplied by a close personal friend. So Howard, out of the goodness of his heart, helped Naomi restock and replenish all the food and wine, making the price list four times as high. Geri knew her husband cheated on her from time to time. And as for Naomi, she wasn’t worried. Howard couldn’t have sex without medication, and his doctor refused to prescribe him anymore until he had a diagnosis from a sex therapist. Tony returned to the table with another open bottle of wine and two fresh glasses. “Look, I don’t even care if you do.”

“Well, that certainly was rude.” Brenda interrupted Geri, referring to the busser clearing dishes from a nearby table. Far enough from theirs, the brunette-haired girl shouldn’t have bumped her chair. But she did. Brenda turned around, addressing the twenty-something gal with lime green hair. “Excuse me? Did you hear me? I said that was. . .” The girl bumped her chair again, harder than the first time. Brenda stood up. “Tony!” she shouted. “Where are you, boy?” Tony bolted to the table.

“Yes, Ms. Wheeler?”

“Get Franco out here before I start calling the papers and putting out bad reviews because of this,” she pointed at the green-haired young lady, “woman? Is that right? Is that your ‘proper pronoun?’ Sheesh. All this garbage about personal pronouns and what you prefer to be called. It’s utter nonsense.”

The green-haired girl got in Brenda’s face. “Listen here, woman. Yes. That’s right. I called you woman. Because at least I have enough respect to call you what you were born as, right? Personal pronouns for you are she and her, correct? Well, I have enough respect for myself and my gender that I won’t call you what you are but your friend over there,” she pointed to Geri, “she knows and thinks it too. I can tell. Reading people is kind of a thing servers and bussers do. Dishwashers. Vallets. Those people who hold the doors open for you. And even your favorite concierge knows precisely what to expect from the likes of you.” She picked up an empty glass from the table and poured herself a glass of wine, downing it all in one shot. “Rudeness. And you know something?” Green-haired stood close enough to Brenda that she could smell the wine on her breath. “I don’t care what you could possibly do to me. I quit!” She threw the glass back onto the table and stormed out the door.

Geri’s face was white, and Tony looked like he had stopped breathing.

“What’s wrong with you both? Go get that girl!” Brenda shouted. “I want her fired! Franco! Franco! Get out here NOW!”

Tony stepped over the Geri, trying to avoid the hostile Ms. Wheeler. “Did you see that?” Tony asked Geri. Geri nodded. “I want to go home now,” he whispered.

“Me too,” said Geri.

“Franco! Franco! Franco!!” Brenda’s feet stomped the carpeted floor. It didn’t have the effect she wanted. Instead, she started pounding on the hardwood table.

“We need at least another bottle, Tony,” Geri squeezed his arm, patted his lower back, and sent him off. Brenda was still stomping on the carpet when Franco came tearing out of the kitchen, his bad combover flopping into his eyes.

“Ms. Wheeler! What seems to be the problem?” Franco wiped the sweat from his forehead. It looked like he had stepped out of a sauna, although that would be ridiculous, especially not in the middle of lunchtime. “I was in the middle of steaming some vegetables. What can I do for you?”

“You can fire that green-haired young lady that bumped my chair, made me spill my wine, and drank my wine right in front of me! Then, you tell me who she is, and I’ll see to it that she never works anywhere ever again!” Her tirade was loud, drawing attention from the six other tables in the establishment.

“Ms. Wheeler? I don’t have a green-haired young woman working for me. I would never hire anyone with unnatural-colored hair! That is, how you say, stupid?”

“Then who was?” She looked at Geri. In her hand was a business card. “Ready to listen to me now?”

“No. No, no, no, no! We did not.”

“Yes, we did. I think you should listen to me now. Sit down, Brenda.”