The Blue Bistro (16 page)

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Thatcher assigned Adrienne to the Parrishes during first seating.

“I want you to really watch them,” he said. “Anticipate their needs. Especially Wolf’s.”

“It sounds like you’re asking me to babysit,” Adrienne said.

“We’re going to do what it takes to give Darla and Grayson some peace,” Thatcher said. “We want them to enjoy their meal, yes or no?”

The Parrishes arrived fifteen minutes late, which was unheard-of, and what this meant was that instead of getting them squared away early on, they were smushed at the entrance with three other parties who needed to be seated, and two gorgeous blond women who showed up without a reservation. Adrienne directed the Swedish bikini duo to the bar, sat the Devlins at table twenty-five, and led a deuce staying at the White Elephant under the awning. Then she returned to the podium to properly greet the Parrishes.

“Sorry,” Adrienne said.

Grayson held up a palm. “It’s our fault,” he said. “We had a little trouble getting out of the house.”

Darla was holding a little boy’s hand. “This is Wolfie,” Darla said.

Wolf had white-blond hair and eyes that were mottled and puffy. His breathing was hiccupy. Adrienne crouched down. Despite her years of babysitting the twins, she did not consider herself someone who was good with children and yet now she wanted to succeed, if only to impress Thatcher.

“Hi, Wolf,” she said. “My name is Adrienne.”

He harrumphed and locked his arms over his chest.

Darla smiled at him with all the love in the world, then whispered to Adrienne, “He’s not having a good night.”

Adrienne led the Parrishes to table twenty, and Bruno appeared seconds later with their drinks.

Adrienne pulled Bruno off to the side. “Order of frites, pronto,” she said. “Wolfie’s not having a good night and Thatcher wants Mr. and Mrs. P to be able to eat in their accustomed silence.”

“Bitchy!” Bruno said. He paused. “Is that a new dress?”

“Yes,” Adrienne said. “Thank you for noticing.”

Caren approached Adrienne with a stone face. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Why?”

“You put those girls at the bar.”

“What girls?” Adrienne checked the bar. Ah, yes, the girls. They were laughing, and flashing Duncan with their remarkable cleavage. Adrienne instantly understood the problem, but come on! She was busy and they were all adults here. Well, everyone except for Wolfie.

“They didn’t have a reservation,” Adrienne said.

“You could have put them at three.”

“I guess I could have, but . . .”

“They’re all
over
him,” Caren said. “And he’s just eating it up. Oh, and look. They ordered apple martinis. What an insipid drink.”

“Okay, well, I’m sorry. I have to put a . . .”

Thatcher passed by, touching Adrienne’s arm. He raised one pale eyebrow.

“I have to put a VIP order in,” Adrienne said to Caren.

“Champagne?” Thatcher said.

“I’ll get your champagne,” Caren said. “Let me get it.” She strode toward the bar.

Bruno breezed by with a huge plate of fries. “These are for Dennis the Menace,” he said. “You want to deliver?”

“I have to put their VIP order in,” Adrienne said.

“Already done,” Bruno said. He handed Adrienne the plate of fries. “You go, girl.”

The Parrishes were sitting in silence, the elder two focused on their drinks while Wolf lay splayed across the wicker chair, his face sullen.

“Fries!” Adrienne said brightly. She took the seat next to Wolfie, but he couldn’t be convinced to eat even one. She tried to lead by example, eating one fry, then another, then another. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” she said.

“Please, Wolfie,” Darla said. “Just try one. Just one for Gam. Please.”

“I want yogurt,” he said.

Grayson finished his Stoli tonic and flagged Bruno for another. “Why don’t you take Wolf down to the water, Adrienne?”

“To the water?” Adrienne said. She considered informing
Grayson Parrish that she had work to do. The restaurant was buzzing around her. Thatcher sat tables, Elliott and Joe recited specials, Gage and Roy poured water and delivered doughnuts. Rex played “Happy Birthday” as Spillman popped a bottle of champagne for the Devlins. Adrienne wanted to get up and join the adult activity.

Bruno came to her rescue. He eased up alongside Adrienne as he served apps to the adjoining table and whispered, “You’re needed at the bar.”

“I’m needed at the bar,” Adrienne told the Parrishes. “I’ll be right back.”

At the bar, the blondes were splitting a VIP order, and at the far end, by the cherries and the citrus, Adrienne’s champagne beckoned. She took a long swill, appraising the situation. Duncan was MIA. It was much commented upon that Duncan had the world’s sturdiest bladder—he never used the restroom during service. Christo swaggered up to Adrienne and said, “I need a vodka grapefruit and a glass of zin.”

“Who do I look like?”

“The assistant manager,” he said.

“Where’s Duncan?” Adrienne asked.

Christo shrugged. “I just work here, lady. You gonna get my drinks?”

One of the blondes whipped around. She was one of the most attractive women Adrienne had ever seen, if judged by the standards that certain American men tended to use. Lots of natural blond, lots of natural tan, lots of natural breast.

“I think his girlfriend’s pissed at him,” she said. “She snatched him away.”

The other blonde, who was wearing a blue sequined halter top, sipped her apple martini. “We were just
talking
to him.”

“So he’s gone?” Adrienne said. “And where’s Delilah?”

“Night off,” Christo said. He grinned at the blondes.

“Okay, fine,” Adrienne said. She was thinking many things at once: She was the assistant manager, this was—if looked at from a very warped and immature point of view—partially her fault, and it had always seemed like fun to be a
bartender. Not to mention it gave her an excuse to blow off the Parrishes. Adrienne slipped behind the bar. She felt like she was about to drive an expensive race car. Look at all the stuff—the sink, the fridge, the rows of mixers, the gun, the fruit, the bottles in the well, the bottles of wine. She picked up a bottle of red and scrutinized the label.

“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.