Elin Hilderbrand - The Blue Bistro

“Zin, you said?”

“Zin.”

“Well, this is a Syrah,” Adrienne said. She eyed the podium. It was clear. “I wonder where the zin is.”

“I’d like it this century,” Christo said, then he checked to see if either of the blondes had laughed. No such luck. “Ah, fuck it, I’ll be back.”

“Adrienne!”

Thatcher’s hand smacked the blue granite. She felt like, well, she felt like she’d just been caught in her parents’ liquor cabinet. One of her heels snagged on the rubber hex mat and she stumbled backward. Her ass hit the rack of bottles behind her.

“I’m trying to help,” she said.

“Table twenty,” he hissed. “Take Wolf to the water.”

Wolf threw the fries, one by one, to the seagulls. Adrienne found herself surrounded by big rats with wings, cawing and pecking. She glanced longingly back at the restaurant, at Grayson eating his chips and dip, at Duncan, returned to his post, wooing his new lady friends. When the fries were gone, Wolf threw rocks in the water.

“Don’t you want to go back up?” Adrienne asked. He didn’t answer. She tried another tack. “Where do you live?” He didn’t answer. “Cat got your tongue?” she asked. He looked at her quizzically, and she could see his mind working: Was she talking about a real cat? But he wasn’t curious enough to ask. He sat in the wet sand, shed his dock shoes, rolled up the pant legs of his khakis, and waded into the water. Adrienne wished she had the words to reel him back in. She was afraid to turn around to face Grayson and Darla. What if Wolf went under? She couldn’t very well return him to his grandparents soaking wet. She wandered down the beach, saying, “I hope the sharks aren’t out there tonight, Wolf. Or the stinging jellyfish.” That got him out, though his pant legs were wrinkled and his seat was damp and sandy.

“Do you want to go back up?” Adrienne asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“Don’t you want to be with your grandparents?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I miss my mom.”

“I miss my mom, too,” Adrienne said.

Wolf tossed another rock. “Where is she?”

“She’s dead,” Adrienne said. It was easy to tell the truth to a child. Wolf said nothing, but he let her take his hand and lead him back to the restaurant. The footbath they had used after family meal came in handy. Adrienne rinsed Wolf’s feet and squidged them back into his dock shoes. Then, with her sitting next to him, he choked down a roll smothered with butter.

Darla was elated. “I’ve never seen him eat like this before,” she said. “Can we bring you home with us?”

At the end of first seating, Grayson tipped Adrienne two hundred dollars. She tucked the bills into her change purse.

“That,” she said to Thatcher, “was above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Nothing is above and beyond the call of duty,” he said. “Not here.”

No sooner had the Parrishes walked out the door than Caren yanked Adrienne into the wine cave.

“They’re still here,” Caren said.

“Who?”

“Those girls. They finished dinner twenty minutes ago and they’re still here.”

“You need to calm down,” Adrienne said.

“I can’t handle this,” Caren said. She plopped down on an untapped keg of beer. “I cannot handle being the bartender’s girlfriend.”

“He’s not doing anything wrong,” Adrienne said.

“He’s flirting,” Caren said. “You notice he put in a VIP order? When I saw that, I flipped. Two nobodies, never been here before, and he VIPs them? I let him have it.”

“What did he say?”

“He admitted he was flirting. He said it was part of his job.”

“Well, it is, sort of, isn’t it?”

“You’re not helping!” Caren said. “You put them at the bar in the first place! You should have put them on three. I would have waited on them myself and they’d be at the Rose and Crown by now.”

“Okay,” Adrienne said. “Next time there are beautiful unescorted women without a reservation, I will put them at three.”

“Do you promise?” Caren said. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Adrienne said.

Second seating brought the Lefroys-Mr. and Mrs.-along with Tyler and his younger sister, a girl of about thirteen who had the worst case of adolescence Adrienne had ever seen. She was a chubby girl stuffed into a pink satin dress that would have looked awful on anyone; she wore braces and glasses and had greasy hair of no determinate color forced back in an unforgiving ponytail. Tyler looked mortified to be seen with her, not to mention his parents: Mrs. Lefroy had dyed blond hair and the defined biceps of a woman who spent all her free time at the gym, and Mr. Lefroy was easily six foot five, balding, bespectacled, lurching.

Thatcher slapped Tyler on the back and made some perfunctory (and much exaggerated) comment about what a stellar employee he was. Then he handed four menus to Adrienne and said, “Seat them. Table twenty.”

“I never eat out,” Mr. Lefroy said on his way through the dining room.

“No?” Adrienne said. “And why is that?”

“Well, when you’ve seen what I’ve seen…”

“On the job, you mean?”

“The cross-contamination dangers alone,” he said.

“Dad,” Tyler said. “Please shut up. People are trying to eat.”

Adrienne let the family settle, then she handed out menus. “Enjoy your meal,” she said.

The Lefroys’ table was assigned to Spillman, but within minutes he found Adrienne at the bar, where she was drinking her champagne and trying to eavesdrop on Duncan and the two bombshells.

“Lefroy wants you,” Spillman said.

“You’re kidding.”

“He wants your opinion on the menu,” Spillman said. “My opinion apparently doesn’t matter.”

Adrienne returned to table twenty with her champagne. She complimented the sister, Rochelle, on a rhinestone bracelet she was wearing and she asked Tyler about his finals. He made a flicking motion with his hand. “Aced them.”

Mr. Lefroy pointed to Adrienne’s glass. “Now, what’s that you’re drinking?”

“A glass of the Laurent-Perrier brut rosé.”

Mr. Lefroy looked to his wife. “You want one of those?”

“Sure,” Mrs. Lefroy said. “It’s my lucky day.”

“One of those,” Mr. Lefroy said. “And what is fresh on this menu?”

“It’s all fresh,” Adrienne said. “The fish is delivered every afternoon, the vegetables are hand-selected by our…”

“That’s nice,” Mr. Lefroy said. “But what is really fresh?”

When Adrienne returned to the podium, Thatcher was grinning.

“What?” she said.

“Lefroy can’t keep his eyes off you.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s because you’re so damn fetching in that dress.”

For the first time all night, Adrienne felt the electricity that had buzzed up her spine that morning when Thatcher whistled. She was beginning to think she’d imagined it.

The Lefroy family had a wonderful meal. In the end, they all ordered the steak, which was not fresh, but aged, though Adrienne did not point this out. Adrienne asked Thatcher if he wanted to comp the meal, as it was Tyler’s family.

“I can’t,” Thatcher said. “The man is the health inspector.”

The two blondes unstuck themselves from the bar at ten o’clock. Off to the Boarding House, they said.

“Cute bartender,” the girl in the blue halter said. “He needs to lose the uptight girlfriend.”

“Okay, bye-bye,” Adrienne said. She was relieved to see them go. It had been another very, very long night, and it wasn’t over yet. At eleven, Thatcher helped her bounce, and this was something new. Adrienne relayed the saga of Caren and Duncan as they watched the headlights pull in.