Rachel, your bartender, takes another detour to the kitchen to bring out trays laden down with food. The order is perfect, prepared exactly as requested; the rare steaks are slightly cool in the middle, the panini on Allison's sandwich given a thin coating of olive oil, Roger's french fries nice and crisp.  Rolls of linin-napkin wrapped silverware were placed beside each plate before Rachel made another round of the bar.  "Last call," she said.  "I have to do inventory of the liquor before I close up."<br/><br/>Cynthia looked at Vivian, and pushed her glass forward.  "I choose not to have another one," she said, speaking very clearly, very deliberately.  "But you are right.  Let's not do this here, especially since the wandering perverts have settled down next to us.  Yeah, I'm talking about you.  Take another good look folks, it's dinner and a show.  Don't forget to tip your waitress, and be sure to visit Miner Foley's exciting. . . well. . .something while you're here."  The doctor lurched to her feet, and put a hand on Vivian's shoulder to steady herself.