"I'm quite certain."
Several nearby diners had begun listening.
I noticed a man in a charcoal suit lowering his fork.
A woman beside him leaned toward her companion.
Madeline straightened her shoulders.
"Ma'am, Aureline normally requires reservations weeks in advance."
"I know."
"We have a lovely buffet across the street."
I waited.
"You might be more comfortable there."
The words were spoken pleasantly enough to sound harmless to anyone not paying attention.
I had spent enough of my life around people to understand what they really meant.
She was not recommending another restaurant because I had expressed interest in a buffet.
She was telling me that my coat, handbag, and winter boots belonged somewhere else.
"I'm comfortable here," I said.
A small laugh came from the dining room.
I turned toward the sound.
The businessman was smiling into his napkin.
The two women beside him were exchanging amused looks.
I had done nothing to entertain them except refuse to disappear.
Madeline heard the laughter too.
It seemed to strengthen her confidence.
"Please understand that we have standards to maintain."
I studied her carefully.
"What standards?"
"Our guests expect a certain experience."
"Do they?"
"Yes."
I glanced at the beautiful dining room.
"An experience that begins with being told they don't belong?"
Her smile tightened.
"I didn't say that."
"You suggested I would be more comfortable across the street."
"I was trying to be helpful."
"Then perhaps you could help me find my reservation."
For a moment, she stared at me as though I had refused to follow a script she had already memorized.
I suspected she was accustomed to people becoming embarrassed when confronted with that particular kind of politeness.
Some probably apologized and left.
Others might have become angry, giving her an excuse to call them disruptive.
I did neither.
I folded my glove and placed it in my handbag.
Madeline looked toward the entrance.
"Ma'am, we have other guests arriving."
"So do I."
My answer drew another laugh.
This one came from a young man near the bar.
I could feel the room turning toward us, drawn by the peculiar pleasure of watching a stranger being humiliated.
I had never understood that pleasure.
When I was younger, I thought people who laughed at another person's embarrassment simply failed to understand what they were witnessing.
Age had taught me that some understood perfectly.
They simply believed they would never find themselves in the same position.