"This is very nice," Rosanne said as she looked around the luxurious dining room at the Schuyler Square Country Club. Personally, she thought that it was more than a little creepy to be eating dinner there with Mavis. After all, Mavis--along with just about everyone in town--had found her husband in this room, dead as a door nail after an illicit meeting with a young lady who wasn't his wife. Well, whatever, Rosanne decided. If it didn't bother Mavis, why should she let it bother her?
"It is nice," Mavis responded. "I don't suppose either of you have ever been here before?"
"Well, no," Mike replied, "although I have been to the delivery entrance a few times but never up front. It's pretty fancy schmancy."
Mavis winced. "Yes. Well, there are some of us who prefer 'fancy schmancy' to the less, shall we say, quaint dining spots that I'm sure the two of you are used to. Such as Burger King or the Golden Arches."
"Two of my favorite spots," Mike agreed, winking at his wife. "Of course, now that we're loaded we can eat wherever we want. Even in overpriced joints like this one. Say, Mavis, doesn't it bother you to know that your husband died here?"
Rosanne kicked Mike under the table. Even if Mavis was being a condescending snob, she didn't want Mike to sink to her level. "Honey," she said, "let's not talk about that."
Mike looked at her innocently. "Why not? If we can talk about how Rosanne and I aren't good enough to eat at your country club, then why can't we talk about how your husband dropped dead after bopping a cutie young enough to be his daughter?"
"Mike!" Rosanne said. "Don't be so rude!"
"What did you say?" Mavis looked from Rosanne to Mike. "Did one of you say something to me?"
Rosanne couldn't believe it. Mavis hadn't even been listening while Mike had insulted her. That really wasn't too surprising; Mavis seldom listened to other people while they talked. "He didn't say anything," Rosanne hastily assured her. "You know, I'm getting a headache. I think I'd like to go home."
"You can't! A friend of mine should be here soon and I'd like you to meet him."
"You want us to meet a friend of yours?" Mike asked doubtfully.
"Yes, I do. Oh, there he is! I think you'll both like him and I know he'll like you."
"Mavis, I don't clean houses anymore," Rosanne reminded her. "Is that why you want me to meet your friend? Does he need a housekeeper?"
"Don't be silly," Mavis replied as she began to wave vigorously toward a tall, broad shouldered man with slightly graying hair. "He needs your lottery money."
Mike laughed. "That's one thing any friend of yours, Mavis, is never going to get."
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