Chapter Ten
A PADDED jacket sheathed the otherwise austere menu, reminding Chandler of his college diploma. He opened the binder and glanced across the page, his eyes immediately locating prices.
“Are you okay?” Chandler set down his menu and looked across the table at Marcus. “I’m sorry that man—”
“You shouldn’t be sorry for him. You had nothing to do with his ignorance. And it’s not like that was the first time something like that happened to me.”
The thirtyish waiter arrived with their wine, and Marcus nodded as he placed a third-full glass in front of him. “We’ll take the tomato-basil bruschetta appetizer, please. And give us a couple more minutes to peruse the menu.”
“Very well, sir.” His clipped gestures seemed robotic to Chandler as he filled Chandler’s glass and excused himsel
