Page 5 of An Unfinished Story
Claire had thought she was a reggae aficionado until she’d hired Jevaun. “It’s definitely brightening up my day. What’s new with you?”
“Oh, just the birds and bees, my dear.Mi life irie.” She knew he was working two jobs to pay alimony for a wife who’d run out on him and child support for twin boys he never got to see. But Jevaun still found a way to smile.
“That makes me happy.” She stole an orange wedge. “I’m gonna go make the rounds.”
He looked at the next drink ticket in line, fully devoted to doing his part well.“Do yu ting.”
Claire glanced back at the kitchen and then bounced her eyes around the room at the servers running around trying to keep the guests happy. She would never have made it through losing David without everyone at the restaurant. This was her family.
Coming out from behind the bar, Claire dodged one of her servers, Alicia, who was ushering a tray of food. Claire glanced at the omelet on one of the plates, a mixture of duck and chicken eggs from a tiny farm in Palmetto, topped with fresh mint and dill from the large herb garden surrounding the perimeter of the patio out back. The plating was just as she wanted it.
Claire visited with each table, staying a little longer with the guests she knew. When she stepped outside to the crowded patio, a friend waved at her from a two-top in the corner next to one of the long, raised garden beds spilling over with herbs.
Didi, an older woman from her widows’ support group, was seated across from a much younger man.
“You’re very sweet to come today,” Claire said, straightening her glasses.
Didi looked stylish in her St. John dress, and her dark hair was pulled back, exposing stunning emerald earrings. Admiring her friend’s clear skin and elegant smile, Claire could only hope she’d age so well. Didi set down her fork.
“Darling, I don’t need an excuse to come eat at my favorite restaurant.” Didi’s dialect stemmed from sixty-plus years living within close proximity to Central Park—a lady who’d enjoyed countless performances in her box seat in Carnegie Hall and who’d sent her children to the same private school she’d attended so many years before.
Claire had met Didi at one of the group meetings, and Didi had become her mentor. Along with Claire’s desire to age as gracefully as Didi, she hoped she might one day recover as triumphantly. Not that Claire wanted to start dating again—she wasn’t there yet—but she at least wanted to get her life back.
Didi gestured toward her table guest. “Claire, meet Andrés. He’s just moved here from Barcelona and is doing some sort of tech-start-up venture.”
Claire turned toward Andrés and took his hand. “Hi.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,señora,” he said in a heavy Catalonian dialect and then confidently drew her hand up to his lips for a kiss. Admiring his arresting eyes and thick waves of brown hair tucked behind his ears, Claire almost broke into a laugh. The man looked like he belonged in a magazine ad for an expensive watch. Didi had outdone herself yet again. Her dark-skinned lover wore a crisp white shirt with three buttons undone, exposing a bare, perhaps waxed chest.
Claire was about to look at Didi with a dropped jaw when Andrés said, “Didi says very nice things about you.”Thingssounded more likesings, but Claire could follow him.
“That’s very kind of her. She’s a master of embellishment. How was your meal?”
Andrés held up a pinched index finger and thumb. “The black beans were exquisite.”
“Thank you,” Claire said proudly. “Theyaredelightful.” As a nod to the Cuban roots of the area, they did a rice and beans with an over-easy egg placed on top, decorated with perfectly ripe Florida avocados. That dish had been part of what had helped them establish a foothold early on in their career. Andrés might have been the thousandth customer to pay such a compliment.
Claire had met several of Didi’s younger lovers in the past two years, but she still found herself taken aback almost every time. First of all, how had Didi gotten in the mind-set to chase men after losing her husband? Claire wasn’t sure she’d ever remove her wedding ring. But more than that, Claire was surprised and, quite honestly, impressed with the men Didi had dated. She was indeed charming and stunning, but these younger studs fought over her, and she quite often broke their hearts in the end.
“How’s the packing going?” Didi asked.
“I’m almost done,” Claire said in an enthusiastic tone.
“Oh, that’s great. And you were so worried about it. Look at you.”
“I know!” Claire set her eyes on the rainbow table mat. “Everything’s fine.” Claire didn’t want to tell Didi the whole truth. Because as a matter of fact, nothing was fine.
“Please excuse my French, but you do know what F.I.N.E. stands for, right?” Didi answered her own question: “Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.”
Claire’s laugh was stopped short when she heard a customer behind her raise her voice. She spun around. Three tables over, a woman in a wide-brimmed black hat was verbally attacking Alicia.
Claire excused herself and crossed the restaurant. Standing next to Alicia, she looked at the four casually dressed women sitting around the table. Claire noticed large sparkly rings on all their fingers.
The one hot in the middle of a rant turned her angry red eyes to Claire. “These are the kinds of servers you hire now? I remember when this place used to be so good.”
Claire caught herself feeling intensely defensive. She wanted to snatch the floppy hat off the woman’s head and smack her with it, but Claire bit her tongue and kept her hands to herself. As a restaurateur in the modern world, between social media and the legions of review sites, one bad experience could be detrimental to your business. In no time in the history of the world had the notion of “the customer is always right” ever been more important.
Before Claire could get in a word, Alicia wagged a finger in the air. “She seriously doesn’t need this right now!” Everyone on the staff knew today was the third anniversary of the day David had died, so Alicia was being extra protective.
