Elin Hilderbrand - The Blue Bistro

Well, yeah! Adrienne shuddered with anger every time she thought of her empty Future box, her money gone, her prospects stolen, her master key card swiped. Doug Riedel was the devil himself. But if it hadn’t been for Doug and his felonious ways, Adrienne reminded herself, she wouldn’t be here on Nantucket, working at the Blue Bistro, with Thatcher.

Adrienne and Thatcher had been dating for less than three weeks and already this relationship was different. Exercise good judgment about men! her napkin screamed. Talk about your feelings, but give nothing away. Be careful, but don’t act scared. Nothing she told herself helped. With Thatcher, she felt like a person afraid of flying: Was it safe to board the aircraft? Would the plane crash? Would she be left on the open sea with a broken leg and a flimsy flotation device? Would she die? Already her emotional investment was so great that complete devastation of the life she had worked so hard to cultivate seemed possible. This was all brand-new.

On July second, there were two hundred and fifty covers on the book, their first sellout of the year. It was eighty degrees at four o’clock and when Adrienne sat down for family meal at five, she was uncomfortably warm. Thatcher was at an AA meeting; it was his second meeting that day. He had gone to one at ten that morning while Adrienne covered the phone. Now, as she ate, she worried about Thatcher. Was it normal to go to two AA meetings in one day, or was there something wrong? Then she worried about Mrs. Yannick.

Mrs. Yannick had called that morning with a trick question. “Is your restaurant child-friendly?”

“How old is your child?” Adrienne asked.

“Two.”

Adrienne faltered. Thatcher, no doubt, had a smooth answer that would perfectly convey to Mrs. Yannick that while they did have one high chair in the back of the utility closet, it was covered with cobwebs, and seemed to be there only in case of emergency. Would it be grossly inappropriate to suggest Mrs. Yannick get a babysitter?

“We don’t have a children’s menu,” Adrienne said. “And we don’t have any crayons. This is fine dining.”

“So you’re not child-friendly.”

“Well…”

“You allow children but don’t encourage them.”

“We do allow children.” Adrienne thought of Shaughnessy-and Wolfie. “And I myself am not a parent. But it seems like you’d be asking an awful lot of a two-year-old to have her sit through a meal with wine and so forth. And the other guests… I think you might be more comfortable if…”

“We tried to get a babysitter,” Mrs. Yannick said. “We tried and tried. But we’re away from home and I don’t want a stranger. I’m afraid I’m out of options.”

“Maybe another night?” Adrienne said.

“Not possible,” Mrs. Yannick said. There was a long pause. “We’re bringing William with us.” There was another long pause. “I’m really sorry about this in advance. I’d just cancel the reservation but the number-one reason why we come to Nantucket is to eat at your restaurant.”

Ah, flattery! Adrienne still wasn’t immune to it. “We’ll see you at six,” she said.

Adrienne had been too cowardly to mention the Yannicks’ reservation at the menu meeting. She tried to tell herself it was no big deal. After family meal, Adrienne pulled the high chair out of the closet and wiped it down with a wet rag. She set it at table four, the least desirable table in the restaurant-the farthest away from the beach, the piano, and the glitz of table twenty. The waitstaff worked on a rotating schedule; Adrienne hoped table four would go to Elliott or Christo, who were too new to complain. But no such luck. Tonight, it was Caren’s table.

At six o’clock, Thatcher still wasn’t back. Adrienne sat parties, Rex played “You Make Me Feel So Young,” and a very slight breeze from the water cooled the dining room down. At ten after six, the Yannicks arrived. They were a handsome, well-dressed couple and the two-year-old, William, was darling. He had strawberry blond hair and freckles that looked like they were painted on. He wore white overalls and little white sneakers. Adrienne congratulated herself for allowing such a cute little boy to come to the restaurant. When he saw her, he held out a plastic fire truck.

Adrienne smiled. “You must be the Yannicks.” She snapped up two menus and a wine list. “Follow me.” She led them to table four and stood aside as Mr. Yannick buckled William into the high chair. William was angelic. He chewed the top of his fire truck. “Caren will be your server tonight,” Adrienne said. “Enjoy your meal.”

Five minutes later, Caren stormed the podium. “I hate you.”

“I’m sorry. They’re sorry. They couldn’t find a sitter.”

“I don’t like babies,” Caren said. “Or toddlers. Or children in preschool.”

“But he’s cute,” Adrienne said.

“I don’t like anyone who isn’t old enough to drink,” Caren said.

“At least he’s well-behaved,” Adrienne said.

“They gave him a sugar packet to play with, which he spilled all over the tablecloth. And he got into the mother’s water. They asked for doughnuts ‘right away,’ but the kitchen isn’t making doughnuts tonight. Too hot. They asked for a plastic cup with a top. It seems they forgot his at home. Already it’s too much work. Why didn’t you refer them to the Sea Grille? It’s perfect for families.”

“I’m sorry,” Adrienne said. “I’ll take care of it.”

But because Thatcher was gone, Adrienne had to seat fifteen more tables, open wine, run chips and dip, and answer the phone. She went to the bar to pick up her champagne and Duncan was so in the weeds that he couldn’t pour it. “Get it yourself,” he said. “You know how.”

Adrienne didn’t have time. She raced over to check on table four. William was gnawing on a piece of pretzel bread and there were little bits of pretzel bread all over the floor. And the floor was wet. Adrienne nearly slipped.

“Whoa,” she said.

“Sorry,” Mrs. Yannick said. She was valiantly trying to keep William occupied by reading a small, sturdy book called Jamberry. Mr. Yannick studied the wine list. Adrienne bent down to pick up the pieces of bread. The floor underneath the high chair was soaked.

“Please don’t worry about the mess,” Mr. Yannick said. “We’ll get it before we go.”

“William spilled his water,” Mrs. Yannick said. “We’re very sorry. Our waitress couldn’t find a plastic cup with a top.”

“I’ll look in the back,” Adrienne said. “Have you placed your order?”

Mr. Yannick looked at his wife. “What are you getting, honey?”

Mrs. Yannick slapped Jamberry down on the table. “I haven’t exactly had a chance to read the menu.”

William threw his pretzel bread and it landed in Mr. Yannick’s water. Mr. Yannick laughed and fished it out.

“I’ll get you fresh water,” Adrienne said. She glanced about the dining room. Were people staring? William pushed himself up by the arms in an attempt to launch himself from his high chair.

“All done,” he said.

“You are not all done,” Mrs. Yannick said. “We haven’t even started.” She wiped the gummy bread from around William’s mouth with her napkin and this made him angrier. “Just order me the steak, Carl. Steak, rare, nothing to start. He won’t make it through two courses.”

“Honey…”

“Honey, what?”

“What was the point of coming if…”

“If you can’t order the foie gras? Fine, order the foie gras. I’ll take William out to the parking lot and you can eat it in peace.”

“Honey…”

“Let me get you the water,” Adrienne said.

“All done!” William said in a more insistent voice. He kicked his feet against the underside of the table and then swept Jamberry to the floor where it landed in the puddle.