AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I turn to her, and I know that we're still in front of the photographers, but I don't care. "You deserve this, Sally. You belong in any world you want to. Never doubt that." She's not looking at me, and even when I lift her chin she tries to not meet my eyes. "You don't believe me?"
"It's a little hard to. I'll explain when we get inside."
"All right."
I wasn't lying when I told her that I'm not a celebrity. I'm not, in the traditional sense of the word. I'm not a household name, and most people probably wouldn't know who I am. But in certain situations, I do have advantages. For example, when we enter the restaurant, I need no introduction and there is absolutely no wait. The hostess and smiles and greets us, and immediately asks us to follow. We do, to a lovely table for two in the middle of the room.
The Empire Room is very exclusive with just a dozen or so tables, so even though our table is in the center, there's plenty of room around us and we don't have to be concerned with being overheard. I pull out Sally's chair and she sits. I sit across from her as our waiter appears with the limited menu, but I'm not listening to him. I'm watching Sally. She seems dejected all of a sudden, and after the blissful glassy look that was on her face in the car, that's not what I want to see.
I hold up a hand to stop the waiter. "Could you give us a minute, please?"
"Of course, Sir." He disappears, no doubt used to the people who eat here and their need for privacy.
"Sally?" She looks at me. "What happened?"
She shakes her head. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't seem like nothing."
Reaching out, she straightens a fork that's barely an inch out of place. "This is just very sudden, and this morning—" She looks away. "This morning I had a job interview that went very badly. I wouldn't have hired me either. And it's a little hard to wrap my head around the fact that I'm living like a millionaire right now when I'm broke. I don't have a job, and the money I have left will cover my bills, but no more. I mean, I'm hopeful that I'll get one soon, but I don't belong here, Eric. I can't belong in this world when entry level jobs don’t want to hire me and I barely have money to take care of myself."
She looks at me, and suddenly looks horrified. "I know this isn't sexy or probably what you want to hear. But I can't justify it. I'm really sorry, this isn't what I thought I'd be talking about when you asked me to dinner. I just can't stop thinking about it."
Shit. Well, that wasn't what I had intended. "I'm sorry, Sally. If I made you uncomfortable, I apologize. That wasn't my intention."
"No," she says. "This has been great, and it's fun to pretend. But I can't belong in any place I like. That's just not the way it works."
"I disagree." She tilts her head, as if she's daring me to prove it. "Sure, you need money to eat at a place like this, but belonging here has nothing to do with the size of your bank account. They'll never know the difference. You are just as clever and just as beautiful, and if you believe you have a place here, you do, employment situation be damned."
She smiles a little. "Thank you."
"And if you need a job," I say, "I can help. There are open positions at Marshall Greetings. You wouldn't even have to interview."
"I couldn't do that," Sally says, freezing. "I mean, thank you, but I couldn't. You said earlier today that you wanted to find out what this is," she gestures between us. "I do too. And if it didn't work out and you were suddenly my boss, that would really suck."
I hadn't even considered that, but she's right. If one of us or the other decided this wasn't right for us, the other person would be stuck in a really awkward situation. "That's fair," I say. There's a silence for a second, and I have an idea. "I still want tonight to be fun," I say. "I asked you to dinner because I want to get to know more about you, what you like and who you are. So let's throw the rules out the window. Let's get dessert for dinner and just talk. No stress, no thinking about who else is here or how we might look. It's just the two of us."
Sally smiles. "I'd like that."
"Perfect," I say, and I raise my hand for the waiter. He appears immediately as if from nowhere. The Empire Room always has really good service, and I tip well for it. "We've decided that we'd like to hear your desserts for the evening."
He blinks once. "Will you be ordering entrées, sir?"
"If we're still hungry, we'll think about it, but for now we're in the mood for something sweet. What are you serving this evening?"
He looks a little confused, and I glance at Sally to find her smiling. I don't want to make him uncomfortable, but the surprise on his face is really funny. He clears his throat. "The chef has decided that as a Valentine’s Day special he's serving a special deconstructed banana split for two. We have a selection of individual desserts as well, if those interest you."
"I think that sounds pretty good," I say, looking to Sally. "What do you think?"
She nods. "I'm on board."
"We'll have that please."
The waiter nods and collects our menus. "Very well, Sir."
He might be nervous that he did something wrong or that his tip might be affected because we're not eating entrées. But he doesn't have to worry. He's helping me put a smile back on Sally's face, and for that reason alone my tip is probably going to be the biggest he receives tonight.
"Poor guy," Sally says.
"He'll be all right. You like banana splits?"
She laughs. "It's ice cream, chocolate, and banana. There's literally nothing not to like. Though I have no idea what he means by deconstructed."
It's my turn to laugh. "It probably means that everything is going to come separately and that we can combine it the way we like. But it also means that they have to do less work putting it together and get to charge more because it's a specialty item."
"Ah," she says, nodding like it makes perfect sense. And then she collapses into laughter.
"So," I say, "not to bring down the mood at all, but what do you want to do?"
She looks at me. "Right now?"
"For a job."
"Oh." She's not smiling, but she doesn't look sad like before. More pensive. "Iris asked me this earlier today, and I can't even tell you. Ever since I graduated and moved to the city it's all just been about survival job after survival job. I've been so busy trying to make ends meet that I haven't ever really figured out what I want to do."
"What was your major?"
Sally grimaces. "English."
I smile. "Why the face?"
"Because it's like the most basic degree you can get. A good degree for people who have no idea what they want to do with their lives."
I slowly take a sip of my wine. "I can't say that I agree with you."
Sally stops and looks at me. "You majored in English, didn't you?"
"That I did."
She curses under her breath and I laugh. She laughs too, and groans. "Oh my God I am all over the place tonight. I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize. It's not easy to tell s
omeone else your dreams."
She looks away, out over the room, and I get distracted by the curve of her neck and the way her hair is flowing around it. "I don't think I have any."
"If I gave you a million dollars, and you didn't have to work for the foreseeable future, what would you do?"
"I—" She stops herself, thinking. It takes a second, but I wait. This is something I really want to know. What someone would do with unlimited free time says a lot about a person. More than knowing their family history or what their favorite color is.
"I'd travel," she says finally. "I've only ever been out of the country once, and that was to Canada, so it barely counts. There are so many cool and beautiful places in the world, and I'd like to visit them. Learn about them."
I nod. "So you like history?"
"Yeah, I do. I have my favorite eras, but I think everybody has that. But yeah, I'd travel."
"Do you like to write at all? You could be a travel writer."
She laughs. "I wrote a little bit in college for some classes, but I was never that good. It would be really fun though, that's for sure."
I file that away for later because the deconstructed banana split has arrived and it's just like I predicted; it's all the typical ingredients of the dessert in separate bowls that our waiter arrays in an artistic design between the two of us. Three different types of ice cream, maraschino cherries, bananas cut in half, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, nuts. "Thank you very much," I say to him.
"You’re welcome, Sir. Please let me know if I can help you with anything else." And then he disappears.
"Where do we start?" Sally asks.
I gesture to the dessert on the table. "Wherever you like."
She grabs a spoon and dips it into the bowl of strawberry ice cream. "This was a really good idea," she says. "I don't understand why more people don't do this, it's brilliant. We're adults. Having ice cream for dinner should be mandatory like once a month."
