 And pretty soon, no one's talking. The music is going down. Everyone's on pins and needles. Oh, my God, Frank Sinatra's going to lose his temper. And finally, the bigoted owner whispers something to the head waiter. The waiter goes over to the table, hands them two menus, and says, Hello, Ms. Horn. Hello, Mr. Sinatra. I'll be back in a couple of minutes to take your order.