“Look at that guy. Bowtie and all. Glad he sat at one of your tables.”

George smiled at his fellow waiter. “It’s okay. I know the type.” He draped a white napkin over his forearm. “Think I’ll have some fun with him.” George moved out from behind the screen that separated the kitchen from the dining room, and walked toward the table where a man wearing a checkered sport coat and bowtie, sat with his menu closed and his fingernails clicking on top of the table. “Good afternoon,” George said to his customer.

“Thank you for coming over,” the man replied, a slight smirk detectable.

George deliberately glanced at his watch. “Sorry. I wanted to make certain that everything on the menu is still available. Our luncheon service ended five minutes ago.”

The man looked at his own watch. “It’s not yet three.”

“Several minutes after,” the waiter replied. “But if you let me know what you’d like, I’ll rush your order into the kitchen.”

“How about a glass of water while I decide.”

George stood in place until he had the man’s full attention. “Do you prefer regular water or the new wetter variety?”

The man’s eyebrows drew together. His forehead furrowed. He looked at the waiter, incredulous. “Wetter water?” he said and scoffed.

George nodded. “I’m told it’s quite refreshing. Naturally, there’s an extra charge for it, but people seem to think it’s well worth the price.”

“You haven’t tried it?”

“It’s not an indulgence a waiter can afford, but I hear that our most prestigious customers will never drink any other kind of water again.”

The man shifted his position. “Why haven’t I heard about this wetter water before?”

“It’s brand new.” The waiter raised his hand. “Hold on. I’d better check and see whether we still have any left. The Broadway crowd was in here earlier, drinking it down like––well––like water.” He chuckled.

“How much is it?” the fellow asked.

“You know what they say,” the waiter replied, speaking over his shoulder as he walked from the table, “if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.” He gave the man his best and most earnest smile.

George went into the back of the restaurant, took one of the fancy refillable glass bottles from the shelf and filled it with tap water. He put it on a silver tray along side a cut crystal tumbler into which he’d tossed a few ice cubes, and carried them out to the man. “It’s our last bottle,” he said, his smile gleaming. “Enjoy.”

The man watched the waiter pour water into the glass. “Think the kitchen can manage a Niçoise salad, and some bread and butter to go with it?”

“I’m sure,” the waiter answered. “Anything beyond the water to drink?”

The man took two long slow slurping sips of the water through pursed lips. “No, nothing else.”