At The Palace

The Palace Supper Club was a popular nightspot.  During the early evening the crystal chandeliers gleamed over polished silver and the elaborately coiffed heads of the ladies of the social elite.  Later, the clink of silver on china gave way to the tinkle of ice-filled glasses and the Palace came to life.  It was the cozy quiet of the intervening lull that drew Joan and me on that blustery January evening in 1961.

After twelve hours of grueling office routine, the urge to unwind with a cold drink was irresistible and what better place than the Palace.

We wended our way toward a back booth, past an elegant foursome of late diners whose faces clearly revealed their opinions of any two young women who would enter such a place unescorted.  Their stares didn't bother us much since both Joan and I were used to being a bit unconventional - if not downright improper.

With a sigh I sank onto the thickly padded bench and, luxuriating in its cushioned comfort, ordered a scotch-and-soda.  The dim lights were soothing to eyes strained by hours of poring over indecipherable invoices and I could already feel the tenseness beginning to drain away.  Joan lit a cigarette and leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table.

"Did you get that batch of Matthew's bills finished?" she asked.

"Yeah, ‘cept for a couple of problems.  I'll have to call tomorrow and see if I can get them straightened out."

"I'm glad Mr. Miller lets us make our own phone calls.  Sure makes it a lot easier.  So many bosses insist on handling everything themselves."

"It would help though if we could talk to the girls at the other end.  When I call Matthew's tomorrow, the invoicing supervisor won't know what I'm talking about.  He'll have to check with the girl who does the invoices and then call me back.  It'll probably take a half-dozen calls to accomplish what could be handled with one or two."

The waitress brought our drinks and sauntered back toward the bar.  I watched one of the men from the dining foursome get up and stagger toward the restrooms.  Joan took a sip of her drink and grinned at me.

"Now, Ruth, you know that we girls aren't capable of making those big decisions.  After all, we might say or do something to embarrass the Company."

"So they keep telling me - but I'm not convinced."

She giggled.  "Me either, but we got to keep up a front."

I sat silently, staring into my glass for several minutes, before looking up at Joan.  "Your ‘front' ", I said morosely, "is usually all they're interested in anyway."

She stared at me in mock surprise, and then giggled.  "So that's why I've been passed over for all those promotions!  My front's not impressive enough."

"You got it!  It's not what you know but who you . . ."  I paused as the inebriated diner returned from the restroom and stopped beside us.  He swayed against our table.  I looked up into his bloodshot eyes.

"You wanna dansh?" he asked, his drooping moustache contorting around rubbery lips as he struggled to form the words.

"No, thank you," I said coolly, suppressing my impulse to laugh.

"How ‘bout you?" He turned to Joan.  "You wanna dansh?"

She shook her head, looked at me and shrugged.

"What's the matter with you two anyway?  You in love with each other or somthin'?  Sitting here all alone and won't even dansh?"

My anger flared.  I was tired and didn't need anyone bugging me.  "Look, man, you're drunk.  There's nothing wrong with us just because we want to sit here and enjoy our drinks instead of dancing with you.  Now, why don't you just go back to your wife and leave us alone?"

I turned my back toward him, plucked a cigarette from the case in my purse, lit it, and blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling.  Both Joan and I sat silently, deliberately ignoring his continuing comments about our sexuality, until, mumbling to himself, he ambled away.

"What was that all about?"  Joan muttered when he had gone.

"Damn if I know, but he sure made me mad saying we were lesbos just because we didn't want to dance with him."

"How could he dance anyway?  He could hardly walk!"

"Uh-oh, here comes his old lady and does she look mad."

The woman, clad in a sharp-looking navy knit suit and draped with a mink stole, stalked up to the table and stopped.  Hands on her hips, she stood glaring down at me.

"What do you mean, trying to steal my husband?" she demanded shrilly.  I shrugged and blushed as every person in the place turned to stare at us.  She turned her snapping dark eyes on Joan.  "And you too!"

Joan's saucered blues stared back at her.  "Who?  Me?"

"Yes, you!  Both of you.  I saw you!"

"Just a minute, lady," I said as calmly as I could.  "No one is trying to steal your husband.  My friend and I just came in here for a quiet drink, so why don't you just go on back to your own table and sit down and leave us in peace?"

"I'll have you know he's my husband.  You hear me?  Mine!  And I'll not have a couple of two-bit young hussies trying to take him away from me."

Joan and I stared helplessly at each other.  Joan raised an eyebrow.  I shrugged.  "Ignore her," I mouthed behind my fingers.

At last our assailant left us and stormed back to her own table.  She yanked her husband to his feet, berating his philandering ways.  Their embarrassed companions hurriedly left and the warring couple followed - pushing, shoving, and shouting all the way.  With relief, I watched the door close behind them.

"Thank God, they've gone.  Suppose we'll get kicked out of here?"

"Why?  What for?"

I shrugged.  "Creating a disturbance?"

"We didn't do anything!  We're just innocent by-standers."

"I hope you're right.  I've had about all I can take for one evening."  We sat in silence for a long moment.  As I stubbed out my cigarette, I glanced around the room.  "Whoops, we'll soon find out, here comes our waitress."

She stood sternly silent beside our table for what seems like an hour; then she grinned.  "You girls have a little trouble there?"

"Just a little."

She nodded.  "We get a few like that.  Can't hold their liquor and end up making fools of themselves.  Can I get you another drink?"

We nodded and watched her walk away.

"See?"  Joan said.  "What did I tell you?  She could see it wasn't our fault."
I nodded.  "Yeah, but it's pretty bad when we can't sit here, minding our own business, without getting some kind of hassle."

With a fresh drink and renewed quiet, I sighed happily and reached for a cigarette.  A movement caught my attention and I glanced up as two grinning guys approached our table.

"Can we buy you gals a drink?" one asked, lounging against the back of the booth and leering at us.

I looked at Joan and raised an eyebrow.  She gave a slight nod.  I put my cigarette back in the case and picked up my purse.  "We were just leaving."