Dinner at Maison Centrale
“Do you think it’s safe?” Chantelle asked. She rapped the clear table.
Tabitha sipped her wine. “Undoubtedly.” She smiled at the prisoners gazing up through the table from the floor below.
“I feel bad for them.”
“This is your civic duty, darling. Let them continuously see and smell wonderful food just out of reach, and they’ll be model citizens once they’re released. Try some foie gras. I insist.”
“Do you think they at least get the leftovers?”
Tabitha looked affronted. “And reward them for being in prison? None of those bums could ever afford anything this good on the outside.”
Maison centrale is a French term for a high-security prison.