it would be at least a little bit cooler than outside. But no, it seemed hotter than a steam room in Hell, at least in his opinion.
"Look. There's Aunt Lil." Lilah turned on her stool and stared at the doorway. So did nearly everyone else in the restaurant. And no wonder. Auntie Lil was wearing a neon green pants suit of a diaphanous material. In response to the draft from the front door, it billowed about her like a cloud of poisonous gas. An enormous matching shawl exploding with bright purple flowers trailed off one of her shoulders onto the floor behind her. Suddenly, the front door opened again and a small man hurried inside, hot on the trail of the shawl's tail. Scooping it off the floor, he carefully brushed the dirt from the fabric and tucked it back over Auntie Lil's other shoulder.
"It's Herbert!" Lilah cried in delight.
Herbert Wong blinked his eyes slowly as he adjusted to the dim lighting. He was a petite Asian man of undeterminable age, with a military bearing and a small, rounded belly. His skin gave off a burnished glow and warm age spots dotted his pear-like complexion. Thinning hair was impeccably combed back from a jolly oval face that was dominated by sharply alert eyes. He was wearing a closely cut mustard-colored suit nicely set off by a gray and black diamond-patterned silk shirt. It was snazzy attire that any rock-and-roller would have been proud of, but on Herbert Wong it did not look out of place at all. Its gaudiness was tamed by an inner reserve evident in his regal bearing, and it suited him as appropriately as the colorful plumage of the male peacock. Preening ever so slightly, he scanned the restaurant's interior quickly and his face lit up with undisguised admiration when he spotted T.S. at the bar.
"Mr. Hubbert," he called across the foyer, following this respectful greeting with a tiny bow. Reflexively, T.S. tried to bow back and nearly toppled from his stool, saved only by the quick grasp of Lilah's surprisingly strong fingers. That first gulp of Scotch had gone straight to his head, he'd better slow it down.
Auntie Lil did not call out a greeting. She was too busy tussling with the new maître d', who had obviously not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. If he had, he would not have been wrestling with her or trying to convince her to give the shawl to the coat-check girl. As it was, he held one end of the enormous wrap and was tugging on it firmly while Auntie Lil gripped the other end with no intention of letting go. T.S. slid from his stool to intervene. He wanted the evening to start off smoothly.
"Madam, this is as big as a tablecloth," the maître d' was growling. "I really must insist that you check it." He was a small trim man with a pretentious pencil mustache, squeezed into a too-tight tuxedo. He was obviously singlehandedly trying hard to restore 1940s elegance to an unwilling Harvey's Chelsea Restaurant.
"Let go of my clothing, you worm," Auntie Lil said calmly. "This is a Donna Karan original and I'm not giving it up."
"Aunt Lil," T.S. interrupted. "Who would steal it? It screams louder than a burglar alarm. I don't think anyone will even try."
"I don't care. I like my clothing near my body. That is why I wear it." She and the maître d' squared off again and pulled, neither of them willing to let go.
Noticing the skirmish, a waiter hurried up, anxious to placate Auntie Lil. She was a notorious overtipper and thus, a favorite customer. The waiter had wisely decided that it would do no good to antagonize a valuable source of his income.
"Pierre," the waiter cried frantically. "It's no problem. I've plenty of room in my section." Before Pierre—who was more probably named Chip or Bruce—could protest, the waiter led Auntie Lil to her usual table at the rear of the dining room where she had an equally good view of the front door and the huge dessert cart. Herbert darted forward and pulled out her chair for her after cleverly outflanking the overly attentive waiter. The waiter countered by carefully wrapping the shawl around Auntie Lil's chair so many times that it was left looking positively upholstered. T.S. contented himself with helping Lilah to her seat and grabbing the spot next to hers.
"A lovely outfit," Lilah murmured Auntie Lil's way.