We're in one of those posh eating places, where mediocre food is called by esoteric French names, and customers pay exorbitant, even obscene prices, to be treated like cattle by an arrogant, ill-mannered, staff. And yet they fight to get in! Why? You know why... To rub shoulders with, or at least stare, at the celebrities. Who is here tonight? Well at one table, we have the voluptuously lovely, if somewhat aging star, Margaret Constant. Nearby, Wilson Crawford, the illustrious critic...