Elin Hilderbrand - The Blue Bistro

Adrienne was caught completely off-guard. She made a gurgling sound. It was Tam Vinidin.

“Sure,” Adrienne said finally, her mind ricocheting all over the place. She wanted to shout, but she had to remain cool. She wanted everyone in the restaurant to know Tam Vinidin was there, yet it was imperative that no one found out. Did anyone recognize her? She was beautiful and all the more so because she wore no makeup and had her hair in a ponytail under a hat. Her friend was… no one Adrienne recognized. Sister, maybe.

“Follow me,” Adrienne said. She plucked two menus and led the women to the bar.

“Duncan!” Tam Vinidin said.

“Hey, Tam,” he said. “I heard you were on-island.” They kissed. Adrienne stared at Duncan in genuine awe.

“This is my cousin Bindy,” Tam said. “We decided to stay through the weekend. It’s so relaxing here.”

“Cool,” Duncan said. “What can I get you ladies to drink?”

“Champagne,” Tam Vinidin said.

“Laurent-Perrier?” Duncan asked.

Tam Vinidin took off her hat and let her fabulous black hair free of its elastic. “Sure.”

“Adrienne, are you willing to share your bottle with these ladies?” Duncan said.

Adrienne realized she had been gaping. “Okay?” she said, then she beat it into the kitchen.

“Okay,” she said to Paco ten seconds later. “Guess who’s eating at the bar.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Paco said. He was helping Eddie build club sandwiches. “I’m fucking busy.”

“Tam Vinidin.”

Paco yelled to Hector, who was grilling off steaks. “She’s here. Eating at the bar.”

Hector whooped then pleaded with Antonio. “Can I go out and see her, Tony? Please, man?”

Antonio wiped his forehead with a side towel. He was older than Fiona by at least ten years and it showed. He was sweating; he looked exhausted and second seating hadn’t even started yet. “Tam Vinidin’s here?” he asked Adrienne.

Adrienne nodded. “I came to put in a VIP order.”

“Hers is in the reach-in,” Antonio said. “Fiona ordered those Medjool dates, just in case.”

“You’re kidding,” Adrienne said. She checked the reach-in and found a plate of dates stuffed with peanut butter.

Caren slammed into the kitchen. “Is Adrienne in here?”

Adrienne turned around, holding the dates. “Did you see who’s-”

“You promised me you wouldn’t,” Caren said. She threw her hands up in the air. Her lovely neck was getting red and splotchy. “You put Tam Vinidin at the bar!”

“She asked to sit at the bar. She knows Duncan from…”

“You promised me you wouldn’t do it!” Caren said. “You could have put her at table three.”

“Put Tam Vinidin at table three?”

“Because now she’s out there with Duncan!”

“She’s a movie star,” Adrienne said. “She’s not interested in Duncan.”

“He’s interested in her.”

“No, he’s not…”

“Shit, yeah, he is,” Hector interjected.

“Shut up!” Caren said.

“You’re a bitch,” Hector said. “You think he wants you instead?”

“You’re a bitch, bitch, ” Caren said.

“No fighting in the kitchen!” Antonio said. He clapped his hands and pointed to the door. “I don’t want to hear anything else about the movie star. The dates, the organic peanut butter, fine. But not another word. And no more special treatment.”

As it turned out, Tam Vinidin didn’t want special treatment. She was thrilled about the dates and offered one to her cousin, one to Duncan, one to Adrienne, one to Leon Cross’s wife who knew Tam from New York and popped over to say hello, and one to Caren who passed by the bar three times in two minutes to keep an eye on Duncan. Everyone refused.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she said.

Rex played “Georgia on My Mind.” Adrienne forced herself to return to the podium. The phone rang and she realized she hadn’t thought about Thatcher for almost half an hour. She wanted to call him and thank him and Fiona.

Thank you for creating a restaurant so wonderful that people like Tam Vinidin want to come even without a reservation, even in their jeans. Thank you for ordering the Medjool dates and the organic peanut butter even though you never go to the movies or read People magazine. You made someone happy tonight. You make people happy every night.

You’re going to heaven.

That night, Thatcher didn’t answer his cell phone. Adrienne tried three times then called the hotel but he didn’t answer in his room either. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. Adrienne left a message in his room then called his cell phone a fourth time and left the same message.

“Hi, it’s me. Everything went smoothly tonight. We made twenty-one six on the floor and another nineteen hundred seventy at the bar.” Adrienne paused, thinking about how astounding those numbers were. Because she was the only one working, she herself had cleared over six hundred dollars in tips. And yet, under the circumstances, the money seemed very beside the point. “So I’ll take it home and make a deposit at the bank on my way in tomorrow morning. Call me… I hope everything is okay… I’m thinking of you.”

The first call that came in the following morning was on the private line. Adrienne punched the button, thinking Thatcher, Thatcher, Thatcher. There had been no message from him on the machine.

“Good morning,” Adrienne said. “Blue Bistro.”

“Harry Henderson for Thatcher, please.”

Harry Henderson of Henderson Realty. Adrienne had sat the guy half a dozen times and he still didn’t know her name.

“This is Adrienne, Harry,” she said. “Thatcher won’t be in today.”

There was a big noise of annoyance on the other end of the line. “What are you talking about? Forget it! I’ll call him at home.”

“He’s off-island,” Adrienne said.

“No!” Harry cried out, as though he’d been shot. “Listen, I have a couple standing in my office this minute who are extremely interested in the property. I’m bringing them over.”

“Wait,” Adrienne said. She glanced around the dining room. The cleaning crew had been in but the restaurant had that dull daytime look. And Adrienne was in jean shorts and flip-flops. When she’d walked back into the kitchen upon her arrival, Eddie and Hector were having a contest to see who knew more curse words. “I don’t think you should come now. Nothing’s ready.”

“You might not understand real estate, Amanda,” Harry Henderson said. “We have to strike while the iron is hot. See you in ten.” He hung up.

Adrienne dialed Thatcher’s cell; she got his voice mail. Then she called the hotel. Ditto. She called his cell again. What was the point of taking his cell phone if he wasn’t going to answer it? Then she pictured the hushed corridors of the hospital, the room where Fiona lay in bed hooked up to a ventilator, worrying about hell. She left a message.

“Harry Henderson is on his way over with some prospective buyers. I told him to wait but he couldn’t be dissuaded. He thinks my name is Amanda. Call me at the restaurant.”

Adrienne saw the Sid Wainer truck pull into the parking lot. JZ parked diagonally, taking up sixteen spots. He shut off the engine and climbed down from his seat. Instead of going around to open the back, he marched inside.

“JZ,” Adrienne said. He stared at her and Adrienne could see he wasn’t doing well. Just looking at him made Adrienne feel like a person with her act together.

“Have you heard anything?” he said.

She shook her head.