tricky."
"Not to worry," Otto said. "Let's see, I never been much on martinis so I think I'll try a martini. How about a vodka martooni, my dear."
"Twist or olive?"
"Both. And a cocktail onion. Make it two cocktail onions."
"Vodka martini," she said, writing on her pad. "With a dinner salad."
As the cocktail waitress hip-swayed toward the bar, Otto sighed and put his hands behind his head and stopped sucking in his belly. He was wearing brand-new white doubleknits and white loafers with yet another acrylic golf sweater, this one pink and maroon, over a maroon shirt.
Sidney Blackpool was wearing the same pants as earlier, but had switched to a green golf shirt and white V-necked sweater for the evening. Palm Springs is very casual and they'd been told that only a few restaurants in the entire desert required a jacket. Nobody demanded neckties except dining rooms in the country clubs, but they'd brought coats and ties in case.
"Was it hot enough for you today, dah-ling?" Otto asked, watching a pair of thirtyish women stroll out by the pool, look toward the two detectives, and go back inside without apparent interest.
"Yeah, I guess it was hot enough," his partner shrugged.
"That's half a the conversation. Now, where we eating tonight?"
"I dunno. Should I worry about it?"
"That's the other half a the conversation."
"What conversation?"
"The Palm Springs conversation," Otto said. "I listened to a bunch a people by the pool today. That's the only thing they say. Hot enough today and where we eating tonight. That's it."
"Exciting."
"That's all people got to worry about around here,"
Otto said. "They don't even move enough to keep their watches wound.
"Rich people, Otto. Not people like you and me." "We're rich, Sidney," Otto reminded him.
"This week only."
You got that right," Otto said, which next to Tom Selleck aloha shirts and moustaches was this year's cop mannerism. The phrase "You got that right."
"That waitress is all time," Otto said. "She's the kind tries to lick you with her eyes."
"I thought you said you were looking for ugly broads."
To marry. A rich ugly broad to marry. Not to spend a vacation with. That's what I like about Yoko Ono. She looks like the leading lady in Kabuki theater and they're all men. I'd marry her in a minute."
"Let's sign for the drinks and go to dinner," Sidney Blackpool said.
"Signing for drinks." Otto grinned. "Let me sign. I wanna write in a big tip for that little heartbreaker. She'll remember Otto Stringer before this week's out."
"I hope ten grand's gonna be enough," his partner said, as they strolled inside.
The dining room was like the rest of the hotel, but there was less wicker and rattan, and the floral patterns weren't out of control. The maitre d' dressed formally and the waiters wore standard desert chic: white dress shirt, black bow tie, no coat.
The menu required two hands to lift. In fact, Otto Stringer, hidden behind it, said, "Sidney, I could take this thing out by the pool tomorrow, shove two poles under it and have enough shade for me, a golf cart, and Liz Taylor."
"She's not your size anymore," Sidney Blackpool said, trying to decide whether to order things he couldn't spell or keep it a cop's night out. That is, steak or prime rib.
"I'm glad they translate the French," Otto said. "I hate restaurants where the menu's all in French or Italian. , "How often do you eat at restaurants where the menu s in any language but English, Spanish and Chinese?"
"Sidney, I'm a man a the world! Let's get a win e s teward."
Just then the dining-room captain came to the table and said, "Have you gentlemen decided yet?"
"I'll have grease," Otto said. "I usually eat grease."
Otto didn't end up with grease, but he did get a lot of unfamiliar and very rich continental cuisine. He started out with champagne and escargots, and red caviar because they didn't have the good stuff. He went on to veal with a champagne cream sauce you could lose a fork in. He had a side of
"Not to worry," Otto said. "Let's see, I never been much on martinis so I think I'll try a martini. How about a vodka martooni, my dear."
"Twist or olive?"
"Both. And a cocktail onion. Make it two cocktail onions."
"Vodka martini," she said, writing on her pad. "With a dinner salad."
As the cocktail waitress hip-swayed toward the bar, Otto sighed and put his hands behind his head and stopped sucking in his belly. He was wearing brand-new white doubleknits and white loafers with yet another acrylic golf sweater, this one pink and maroon, over a maroon shirt.
Sidney Blackpool was wearing the same pants as earlier, but had switched to a green golf shirt and white V-necked sweater for the evening. Palm Springs is very casual and they'd been told that only a few restaurants in the entire desert required a jacket. Nobody demanded neckties except dining rooms in the country clubs, but they'd brought coats and ties in case.
"Was it hot enough for you today, dah-ling?" Otto asked, watching a pair of thirtyish women stroll out by the pool, look toward the two detectives, and go back inside without apparent interest.
"Yeah, I guess it was hot enough," his partner shrugged.
"That's half a the conversation. Now, where we eating tonight?"
"I dunno. Should I worry about it?"
"That's the other half a the conversation."
"What conversation?"
"The Palm Springs conversation," Otto said. "I listened to a bunch a people by the pool today. That's the only thing they say. Hot enough today and where we eating tonight. That's it."
"Exciting."
"That's all people got to worry about around here,"
Otto said. "They don't even move enough to keep their watches wound.
"Rich people, Otto. Not people like you and me." "We're rich, Sidney," Otto reminded him.
"This week only."
You got that right," Otto said, which next to Tom Selleck aloha shirts and moustaches was this year's cop mannerism. The phrase "You got that right."
"That waitress is all time," Otto said. "She's the kind tries to lick you with her eyes."
"I thought you said you were looking for ugly broads."
To marry. A rich ugly broad to marry. Not to spend a vacation with. That's what I like about Yoko Ono. She looks like the leading lady in Kabuki theater and they're all men. I'd marry her in a minute."
"Let's sign for the drinks and go to dinner," Sidney Blackpool said.
"Signing for drinks." Otto grinned. "Let me sign. I wanna write in a big tip for that little heartbreaker. She'll remember Otto Stringer before this week's out."
"I hope ten grand's gonna be enough," his partner said, as they strolled inside.
The dining room was like the rest of the hotel, but there was less wicker and rattan, and the floral patterns weren't out of control. The maitre d' dressed formally and the waiters wore standard desert chic: white dress shirt, black bow tie, no coat.
The menu required two hands to lift. In fact, Otto Stringer, hidden behind it, said, "Sidney, I could take this thing out by the pool tomorrow, shove two poles under it and have enough shade for me, a golf cart, and Liz Taylor."
"She's not your size anymore," Sidney Blackpool said, trying to decide whether to order things he couldn't spell or keep it a cop's night out. That is, steak or prime rib.
"I'm glad they translate the French," Otto said. "I hate restaurants where the menu's all in French or Italian. , "How often do you eat at restaurants where the menu s in any language but English, Spanish and Chinese?"
"Sidney, I'm a man a the world! Let's get a win e s teward."
Just then the dining-room captain came to the table and said, "Have you gentlemen decided yet?"
"I'll have grease," Otto said. "I usually eat grease."
Otto didn't end up with grease, but he did get a lot of unfamiliar and very rich continental cuisine. He started out with champagne and escargots, and red caviar because they didn't have the good stuff. He went on to veal with a champagne cream sauce you could lose a fork in. He had a side of
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