"Two for drinks," the boss says as he seats an African couple two tables away from the band's set-up in the corner as a crowd of Frenchies who are dining down stairs, a large party split into three long tables, has scattered around the bar as if trying to block us.  Several minutes later, the waiter tells me they, African couple, have strange indecipherable questions about drinks, and when I approach, cutting through the chaos, the gentleman, in a suit, wants to move to a table in the back, away from the band.  This will take some jee-hawing.  Coming back from pulling a four top apart, headed back to the bar, I'm flagged down by one of the old hens of a six top table.  "Uhm, we'd like to order," she tells me, aggressively, looking at me like I'm an idiot.  Okay, lady.  I pull out my little pad, write one through five on it, "what would you like."  In the process, finding out that two aren't ready to order, have to think about it, make a quick decision, "the trout."  The large one stares at me when I nod to her, recognizing her, as we dealt with her ex quite a lot, before he finally disappeared.  As if his behavior was my fault.  At one point the boss had to take him aside and explain to the guy something about the young women who come here to have a glass of wine:  they are not on a job interview.  I get the order, African couple sits, later still causing confusion as to their cocktails, including one mind change after the drink is brought forth.

In addition to the crowd of regulars, asking to save a seat for Kyle, back at the bar a Frenchman, a hair stylist celebrating a birthday, is asking for three to four seats himself.  By the time the Satin Doll Trio has spelled out the first chords of "Don't Get Around  Much Anymore," a three top is sat, needing a Bordeaux recommendation, Kyle has arrived, it's unclear where to put the Frenchies, table or bar, and here we go again.

By the time the night will end, Kyle will take it upon himself to play a Nancy Sinatra song, plugging his iPhone into the power amp there in the closet by the bar mouth, as busboy and waiter and bartender attempt to clean up things neatly, be offended when I unplug him, putting back on the Pandora station the waiter put on, Jill Scott, 'jazzy and funky,' like the boss likes, bemoan that we are listening to Prince cover a slow song...  Kyle wants to play Bonnie and Clyde for his friends over in the corner, order two more glasses of wine, is headed down the stairs when I tell him he has a check for it...