I watched Patricia study her reflection in the wide blade of her silver butter knife.

The waiter came back with a silver ice bucket and set it on a metal stand next to our booth.

An hour later, the valet line ran all the way down the country club’s circular driveway.

The afternoon sun baked the glass walls of the lobby.

I waited by the brass luggage carts for our cars.

Patricia took a little compact out of her purse and checked her powder.

“This humidity is just awful today,” Patricia said.