“Sir?” Andre says, coming to my rescue as he walks to my side, polishing a glass as he does. His hands are always in motion, I’ve noticed – always busy fixing, cleaning, setting straight.
“Well, Andre?” Romano says, shifting his eyes to the man in charge. “How’s she fitting in?”
“So far so good,” Andre says, and as I look up at him I realize that that might be high praise from a man who has high standards. “Should we quiz her, see how far she’s gotten?” He holds out his hand to me, and, understanding his meaning, I hand him the cocktail menu.
“Be my guest,” Romano says, his lips lifting into a smirk.
“The Manhattan,” Andre snaps at me, his face blank. “What’s in it?”
“Bourbon,” I answer instantly, “sweet vermouth, and bitters. Garnish is a black cherry in the bottom of the glass.” I
