Chris patted Marilyn's leg. "You sound like you're an old lady. I'll bet there's not ten years difference in our ages."

"You'd lose kiddo. I'm nearly forty. Only the pelvis thinks it's still eighteen," Marilyn laughed.

She drove with enthusiasm. The car hugged the rode as they sped along. In a very short time they pulled up to the front of a large rambling structure that was some addled California architect's idea of an antebellum mansion.

A young man dressed in a white shirt and black tie and trousers came running. "Good afternoon Mrs. Short," he said with a grin lighting up his freckled face.

"Hi Tommy. Usual rules when you park this, OK?."

"Sure." He jumped in and moved the red car away quietly and swiftly.

"I think that kid comes every time he sees that Ferrari."

"He sure seemed anxious to get to drive it."

"Yeah. He's one of the few reliable one's at this place – let's go in."

Chris followed Marilyn very conscious of her sudden hauteur. Marilyn walked across the spacious lobby head held high, studiously ignoring the stares of the members lounging in overstuffed sofas and chairs scattered about the room.

"What gives? You acted as if those people didn't exist," Chris said catching up to her dark haired friend.

"I'll explain when we get to our table and have a drink," Marilyn whispered continuing to stride toward the double doors of the large dining area.

The maitre d'hotel greeted Marilyn effusively and led the two women to a table that overlooked the golf course. Leaning so that he could whisper conspiratorially into Marilyn's ear the said, "We have a only a few more fresh crabs left Mrs. Short – I recommend them highly."