“Lel’ka! There’s such a guy coming—wow. Tall, athletic, like he’s from the cover of ‘Forbes.’ And the car—big and black. I almost came apart while I was escorting him to the third ‘VIP.’ And that smell! I absolutely don’t understand what he’s forgotten in our neighborhood, but I have to think how to get away with him.” — Liza, our maître d’ in a skirt, leans toward the mirror, checking lipstick. “Don’t get spit on the floor, or you’ll slip on heels,” I laugh, setting the dirty dishes on the table…