"Did you forget?"

  "Is that your pimp?" 

  The woman looked at the two men.  Salad on fork frozen between plate and mouth. 

  A waitress dropped a tray of food. 

  The woman disappeared. 

  "She's in there with," a boney man looked at a list and pronounced, "Shoes." 

  "OF COURSE, with legs like that how could the guy not be a ballerina?" 

  "I don't think he's a ballerina." 

  "But you just said he was.  And that you saw him in a ballet in Virginia." 

  "I did!  But they don't call guys who do that ballerinas." 

  "So the guys a faggot who has a sissy job?" 

  "What do they call him?" 

  "In Russian?  I'm not sure.  And male dancer sounds, I don't know, weird or too strip club or something." 

  "Honey, that is not where you want to be." 

  "Tell me about it." 

  "Can you please leave." 

  "The room?" 

  "The City child.  Let's get lunch." The beautiful bald person flopped the wig back onto head, took heels in hand, went into the living room and "rescued" a party platter from a coffee table piled with "coffee table books".  "Are you the one that hangs with the North Korean guy?"  An eyeroll, penciled brows up and down.  "Kind of direct child.  Are you one of them?" 

  "Naw, I'm a Christian Republican.  Where are we going?" 

  "Rooftop.  Better view."