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the Council meeting adjourned with no record of it ever having taken place.
    â€¢ • •
    â€œMan, I
love
Mondays.” Annie closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair with the midday sun on her face and her long blonde curls falling like silk waves behind her.
    â€œYeah. Good thing the club’s closed on Mondays. It’s the only day I can get someone to serve
me
instead of the other way around,” said Ben, munching on an onion ring. The Three Amigos sat outside their favorite downtown restaurant, enjoying the first really warm spring day they had off work in a while.
    â€œOkay. Who else do you want to invite?” Annie asked Grace. Despite Grace’s innate self-consciousness, the guest list in front of Annie was growing with no end in sight.
    â€œAnnie, I told you, this is your thing. I really don’t want a party. Turning twenty-two is not that big of a deal. Besides, you two are the only friends I want to hang out with on my birthday,” replied Grace before she took a bite of her Caesar salad. With her party nerves revving up her stomach again, she now wished she had ordered the chicken noodle soup instead.
    â€œNo. This may be your birthday party but I’m the party planner and I say let’s make this thing big. You’re going to love it.” Annie glanced up from her party notes and nodded toward the street. “Hey, how about Old Man Hillary? Do you want to add him?”
    Grace looked up from her salad to see Carleton Hillary crossing the street toward them. Mr. Hillary was one of the older golfers from the club and a favorite member for all of the staff. The wisdom of his age allowed him to treat everyone as his equal since the years had granted him more tolerance than most people. He was distinguished looking, still boasting a full head of hair, and carried himself with the stature of a man half his age. If Lady Covington was the club’s matriarch, Mr. Hillary was the staff’s grandfather.
    â€œWell now, who do we have here on this fine spring day?” Mr. Hillary asked as he nimbly stepped up the curb onto the sidewalk near the trio’s table. He spent an inordinate amount of time playing golf at the club so he almost seemed out of place in his khaki pants and white button-down oxford cloth shirt today. He looked more like the retired businessman he actually was rather than the professional golfer he pretended to be.
    â€œHey, Mr. Hillary. Taking a break from golf today?” Ben asked.
    â€œMonday’s the only day I don’t tee off,” said Mr. Hillary with a mischievous grin. “But if I was able to play the club today, you all would not get the day off now, would you?”
    â€œNo sir,” said Annie. “And we certainly thank you for that!”
    Mr. Hillary tossed his head back with a deep–throated laugh. “Enjoy your day off!” The old golfer then scooted along the sidewalk and into his favorite men’s clothing store two doors down.
    â€œOkay. He is definitely invited. That man is a hoot!” Ben said.
    â€œIf we invite him, we better invite Lady Covington. You know how that old bag loves our Gracie,” said Annie. “Okay, who else?”
    â€œGuys, enough already!” said Grace. This party was officially getting out of hand.
    â€œNope, not enough. The Cavern Café is huge and they told us to invite as many people as we want. That guy who owns the place really loves you, Grace, so we are going to take full advantage of his hospitality,” Annie said.
    â€œOh, he just likes me because I give him the kitchen’s leftovers for his dogs.”
    â€œWell, who cares
why
he likes you? I’m just glad he does.” Ben laughed and looked over at Annie’s list. “Hey, what about Will Crenshaw?”
    â€œNah, I doubt he’ll come,” said Grace. “Broke his leg and fractured his elbow when he crashed his motorcycle last weekend. You can invite him but