The restaurant filled with people like Mrs Traynor: well-dressed, well-spoken, people for whom turbot quenelles was a standard lunch and not a conversational minefield.
The Great Room was full, sixty or so round, elegantly decorated tables, filled with well-dressed women, chatting over glasses of still mineral water or fruit punch.
Inside, a room full of smartly dressed businessmen talk among themselves, but when the clock strikes one o'clock, a hush of anticipation settles across the room.
Yet the throng of well-heeled New Yorkers, who queued up on opening day to enter what Tiffany has modestly rechristened the landmark, hints at a more nuanced story.
And he was, he was, he was, you know, in the book, I say he was, He wasn't a dandy or a fop, per se, but he was definitely known for being a sharp dresser.
Now, if I think back to that sports car and that person who's immaculately dressed, who obviously has a lot of money and lives a very nice life, I might be wishing that I had what they have.