Gemstone Butterfly

The quality of the entertainment series here varies, the food is delicious, and the music is passable. Compared to the handkerchief-sized dance floors in some more expensive nightclubs, the dance floor here is slightly larger. Paige showed her press card, bypassing the restrictions imposed on unaccompanied female guests, and quickly entered the Royal Partridge Nightclub. Dressed in her best semi-formal attire, she found a table and sat down, sipping a cocktail while waiting. Half an hour passed, and nothing happened. The maître d’ approached, “Another cocktail, Miss Castle?” Surprised to hear her name, she remembered showing her press card and smiled, shaking her head. “We want you to enjoy yourself,” the maître d’ continued, “We hope you’ll write something nice about us.” Paige felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps the club management thought she worked for a magazine with a large circulation. “In fact,” he went on, “I read every column you write.” “Really?” she asked, astounded. “Mr. Halsey has mentioned your column to me,” the maître d’ continued, “He’s a frequent visitor here. He put me on your mailing list. Your column is excellent.” Paige felt a sense of relief: “Oh. I’m very pleased—very pleased you like it.” “The big shots from your company have brought us a lot of business,” he said, “We’re truly honored by your visit. So, naturally, you’re entitled to all our perks.” “All the perks?” she repeated. “Everything’s on the house,” he explained, “Another cocktail?” “No, thank you, not now.” “Tonight’s show is quite good, and we’re honored you’re here.” He walked away, taking with him Paige’s guilt, leaving her secretly pleased.