Liz and I moved through downtown like ghosts, laughing and talking and very aware of how our dresses trailed behind us and how glamorous we looked. We knew that we were turning heads and we needed to tonight, so we sat on an attractive but uncomfortable stool in one of the most fashionable bars in town - Le Francais. Neither one of us had money enough for a drink, so we merely sat, talking amiably, and keeping up the appearnce of looking unattached. The bartender glanced at Liz's long dark hair and revealing dress before asking -

"You ladies want a drink?"

"Oh no darling." she said in a way that clearly meant the exact opposite. She trailed a hand across her forehead and let it linger at her chest before resting it at her hip.

"On the house." he persisted. He was a mousy looking thing - surprising at a good club - and seemed enchanted with us. Liz looked bored for a moment before finally nodding.

"All right, but we're rather particular about our drinks. A bloody mary, darling, but mind you're careful mixing it." she turned to me. I looked back at her lazily. "Honey, something for you?" I turned to the bartender and leaned inwards.

"Vodka on the rocks. Something vintage. You look as if you have good taste."