"What can I get for you tonight, Mr. Dollington?"
Ken Dollington scratched the chin beneath his gray goatee.
"It's Ken... and you know what I want, Vinnie."
"Spaghetti and Meatball Pizza? With extra sauce?"
It was an easy guess. Ken Dollington and his cadre had been coming to Murals, the quaint family-run Italian restaurant in Cranbury, New Jersey, for 20 plus years, and nine times out of ten, they ordered their preference, which the oldest son of the owners had memorized. Vince had made it clear to the other waitstaff that if he was on shift, he and he alone would be the server for these heavy tippers.
He turned his attention to Ken's wife Krystal, a 50's-something bottle blonde who took great pride in her oversized saline nubes.
"And for you, Mrs. Dollington?"
Krystal put her menu down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. She arched her back just slightly, then looked up at Vince with her signature coquettish expression. He smiled, his eyes resting on her deep decolletage, his shiny black hair coming loose from behind his right ear and swinging onto his sweaty cheek. He tucked the hair back into place.
"Oh what the hell," said Krystal, slapping the table, "I'll just have what I always have."
Vince nodded as he took note, Veal Saltimboca, then made his way around the table collecting the orders from the additional two couples.
Like the Dollingtons, the Carys stuck to their script. Barb, a scant 4 foot 11, 90-pound vegan, would eat only one quarter of her personal pan gluten-free vegetarian pizza with no cheese. Being more moderate in his nonetheless healthy choices, her husband Blake ordered baked salmon, but with double the salad in lieu of pasta - dressing on the side. And Jeni and Tom Jones? They split a Greek pizza - a surprise departure from their usual Margherita-style pie.
"Magnum carafe of Chianti Classico?" suggested Vince, as he harvested the menus.
"Oh yeah!" exclaimed Krystal, with two thumbs up. She'd pregamed at home with a half bottle - it had tasted like more.
"And five glasses," said Vince, smiling at Blake Cary, for he'd never seen the man consume alcohol.
"Sparkling water no ice for me," said Blake, as expected, and Vince high-tailed it to the bar to get the order in, beating out his younger sister who was waddling her way there with an order for a table of 10.
"So," said Jeni in a low whisper, "Pam Anderson told me that she and Andy took a bottle of wine to their new neighbors - the ones who bought the yellow house next door to them, and get this!"
Jeni leaned in to further mask the salacious gossip she was about to impart.
"They have a welcome mat and a garden flag with an upside-down pineapple on it!"
Just then Vince appeared with the wine, prompting Jeni to sit back in her seat. The couples were quiet as Vince filled their glasses.
"Upside down mats and flags," shrugged Ken when the coast was clear, "So they're halfwits - so what?"
"It's a signal," said Jeni, "It means they're-"
"And sparkling water for you, Mr. Cary," said Vince, once again interrupting Jeni's revelation.
"It means they're swingers!" she blurted when Vince took leave.
"Wife swappers?" asked Barb Cary, her makeup-less face almost the same shade of gray as her long braid.
"It's more than just wife swapping," said Jeni, "They mentioned a place they went to recently - it's in Cancun - Cupidity I think the name is. It's a clothing optional resort for couples in the lifestyle."
Jeni air quoted 'the lifestyle.'
"We'd never heard of it until I did the research," said Tom, "but apparently there's a whole subculture of folks who go out to dinner just like we are now, then go back to someone's house for playtime."
Like his wife, Tom was a chronic air quoter, so naturally he emphasized the word 'playtime' in this way.
"Here we are," said Vince, as he lowered a large tray onto the buffet behind him, and having positioned the plates in front of their rightful owners, he executed a marginal bow.
"Buon Appetito," he said, and he scurried away.
While the others adjusted their plates and manipulated their cutlery, Blake considered whether or not to wade in to the lifestyle conversation. Like Tom, he'd done some research, but for a very different reason.
"From what I understand," he said, treading carefully, "it's a very respectful community of monogamous couples who just want to spice up their sex lives."
"How do you know anything about it, honey?" asked Barb, as she separated one slice of her pizza from the other three, then pushed her plate away.
"Yeah, Blake - how do you know anything about it?" Krystal teased with a wink.
He blushed.
"Just some article I stumbled on," he said.
"They've put in for a membership at the club," said Jeni, "I think we should warn the neighborhood."
"Nah," said Ken, wiping red sauce from his chin with his palm, "Just don't accept any backyard barbeque invitations, or you might find an unexpected wiener in your buns."
He chuckled.
Krystal rolled her eyes.
"I want to hear more about playtime," she said, as she poured herself another.
"Playtime happens in playrooms," said Tom, "There's mattresses and swings, and ropes and chains, and rocking horses with dildos built into the saddle, and who the hell knows what else!"
Jeni put a finger to her lips to shush her husband, and he lowered his voice.
"Sometimes the room has a theme," he said, leaning in, "like B...D...S...M."
"B...D...S...M.," said Ken, nodding, "I'll bet everyone here knows what it is, but not a one of us knows what the damn acronym stands for."
"And I'll bet you're right," said Tom, his eyes traveling around the table, "Anyone?"
Of course Blake Cary knew what it stood for, but he declined to enlighten his friends.
"I think the 'D' stands for dog collar," said Jeni, with a smirk.
"I think the 'D' stands for disgusting," said Barb.
Blake frowned.
"And I think you're all under the wrong impression," he said, "It's not a free-for-all; it's really quite civilized. There are clearly defined boundaries - no one does anything they don't want to do. And when playtime is over, everyone leaves with their respective partners."
Blake dipped his fork delicately in the Italian dressing and speared some house salad with it, then thought better of his impassioned defense and added, "At least that's what I gleaned from the article."
