> > She slides her arm into his, "Shall we eat?" > >"Yes, let's." Jac says. He turns and scans the tables and point up >toward the platform, "There are a pair of empty places up there. We >should be close enough so we can hear when the poetry begins." > >Jac leads the way. He waves at someone on the other side of the room and >pauses on the way to shake the hand of a gray haired man. > >"Ur...ah! Young Woodbridge, isn't it?" the man says after peering up at >Jac for a moment. > >"Yes, that is correct." Jac nods smiling, "Professor Scott, may I >introduce Sianna Mira Hasta-Rur, MD." > >The older man hitches around in his chair and smiles up at Mira, "Yes >you may! My pleasure, my dear." "And mine. Have you known," she glances mischievously at Jac, "Young Woodbridge long?" >After a short conversation, Jac and Mira take their seats at the table. >They have a good view of the platform where the string quartet is just >packing up their instruments and leaving the stage. A young woman with a >guitar is waiting just off the stage for her turn. > >On the table Mira sees that the food is spread out "family style" where >each diner can help themselves from the platters. There are several >kinds of meat and vegetables on the platters. Baskets of rolls with tubs >of butter are laid out between the platters of food. Large pitchers of >beverage are on the tables as well. > >Jac leans over to Mira and says, "The white pitchers are filled with >beer and the green ones are filled with tea. The clear ones are ice water." "Thanks. I was going to ask." If she has multiple glasses, she pours one from the white pitcher and one from the clear. If she only has one glass, she pours from only the white pitcher. She helps herself to more vegetables than meat, but still sampling each of the meats, and topping with a single roll that she guiltily slathers with a decadent amount of butter. "Did you say poetry, Jac?" Mira
