A prominent bosom followed the maître d’hôtel as he threaded his way through the dining room to my table. Cyrus hitch-stepped to keep up. He made ...he intros, smiling, proud of her.Once our waiter — she was wearing the formal black and whites of the 50-year old steakhouse — had taken drink orders, I asked Mabel, “How did you and Cyrus meet?”Off to the races. Cyrus smiled through the narration. “I told my cousin —Annabelle? — that I wanted to meet an illegible gentleman.”I nodded; didn’t mention. Another gin and tonic awaits – my fourth… fifth? After more small talk, that glass, too, is empty. The boy – one of the dancers – sitting next to me puts his hand on my thigh. I take his hand to move it away, but he resists, and for some reason I don’t fight it. He leans in and whispers, “C’mon, I want to show you something.” I know I should say no, but I am curiously aroused by, and trusting of, this handsome young man. He takes my hand and leads me into the clubhouse, through a doorway and. More

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