The idle ramblings of a Jack of some trades, Master of none

Jason Anderson's Showbiz recounts the monomaniacal investigation by Nathan Grant, a budding journalist, into the death a quarter century earlier of a comic impersonator of John F. Kennedy, who met a fate almost as grisly as that of America's beloved president. In the passage below, he meets Danny Pantero, a famous performer idolised by all and sundry, at a wine-bar, where waitresses with nipples perked up by the refrigerated atmosphere soar through the air to deliver the tipples.
Before entering the restaurant I had decided that I was not going to be meek about ordering. My confidence would send a message to Pantero that I was not to be trifled with, that I would assert myself however I saw fit. "Can I have the, uh, jumbo lump crab gratine to start? And the lamb rôti? With the crust of truffles?" 
She was a little thrown when I didn't hand back the menu. I planned to steal it for Lance. "Can I hold onto this?" 
Her face betrayed a split-second's worth of pique. "Of course." 
"How's the monfish bisque tonight?" 
"I'll have that. Bring two bowls - I'm sure my guest here would enjoy it. Then the foie gras terrine with pineapple and mache and the medallions of fallow deer. That'll be terrific." She began to move away when Pantero touched her arm. "Oh, yes. Nearly forgot. We'll both have lobster tails." He turned back to me. "Don't get the idea that I eat like this every night. My dietician would murder me if she found out. But I say, after what happened to my poor keister, I deserve a night of indulgence. We'll keep this between us, won't we?" 
I nodded solicitously, suppressing the urge to ask what made a deer fallow.


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