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“Take it or leave it, Thad Jennett,” she said, “this is the eat me.”
La Gondola was Chez Louis by another name, or at least in another language.
It was small, intimate and dimly lit. And if the captain’s greeting was anything to go by, she wasn’t going to understand the menu here, either.
Still, only a coward would turn tail and run. So what if her comprehension of menu-Italian began with Chianti and ended with lasagna? So what if she was wearing more yards of fabric than all the other female diners were wearing, combined, or if each of them must have spent the whole afternoon on hair and makeup?
Looks, as her mother had often told her, weren’t everything. She was bright, she was well-educated. She could carry on a conversation, get by with ordering Chianti and lasagna. As for the rest...wearing a designer dress and having a perfect face and an even more perfect mane of hair wasn’t everything.
On the other hand, maybe it was.
And maybe turning tail and running was the better part o, valor, but it was too late for that. ‘Mad had already risen to his feet to greet her as the captain bowed her into the booth.
“EmilyDarling,” he said, touching his cheek to hers as he clasped her hands, “you’re here, at last.”
Yes, she thought, she was here. And now that she was, she wished she weren’t. Not because she was dressed wrong, or because she knew she’d never be able to read the menu, but because she was here with the wrong man.
Her name wasn’t EmilyDarling, and she hated air-kisses, and Thad was wearing half a bottle too much of cologne. Jake never wore cologne; his scent was simply of soap and man, and she had the feeling that sharing chili dogs on a sidewalk with him really would be the best kind of fine dining...
She blinked.
“Yes,” she said gaily, “I’m here, at last.”
Thad drew her down beside him. “Did you have a long day, EmilyDarling?” He smiled. “You probably did. That boss of yours doesn’t give you time to think. I’ll bet he keeps you chained to the desk.”
“He doesn’t. I mean, that’s not why I’m late. The crosstown bus—” She stopped, took a breath, and started again. “Sorry. You were joking, of course.”
Thad smiled. “Your innocence is so charming. Well, I know just the way to relax you. Let’s have a drink.”
“Chianti,” Emily said quickly.
Thad laughed. “Chianti,” he said, and laughed again. “Don’t be silly, EmilyDarling. La Gondola is known for its wine list.”
A hovering waiter handed him what looked like the Manhattan telephone directory. Thad opened it, glanced through it, and ordered something unpronounceable. Moments later, a bottle was brought to the table and opened. Thad sniffed the cork, swished some wine in his mouth, and nodded.
“Excellent,” he said briskly and the waiter poured the wine. Emily lifted her glass when Thad lifted his and took a sip of what surely had to be paint thinner. “Isn’t that delightfu1, EmilyDarling?”
“Lovely,” Emily replied, and tried not to cough.
“Well,” Thad said briskly, “did you hear what happened at the Bishikoffs’ the other night?”
Emily didn’t know who the Bishikoffs were, much less what had happened. It seemed to involve a dining-room table, a frantic rodent, and a rather athletic Persian cat. She tried to make sense of the story, got as far as feeling sorry for the poor mouse, then gave up listening and just smiled and nodded and said “oh, really,” whenever it seemed appropriate.
“Wonderful story,” Thad said, chuckling at his own humor, “don’t you think?”
“Wonderful,” she agreed.
What am I doing here? she thought. And where was Jake, right now? Was he out with some woman? Was he looking across a table like this one, smiling into her eyes? Would he go home at the evening’s end or would he spend the long night locked in another woman’s embrace...
“Emily?” Thad said. “What would you like?”
Emily jerked her head up. There was a menu lying in front of her. It made the wine list look like a short story.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, and opened the menu. If lasagna was listed in elegant gold script anywhere on those parchment pages, she didn’t see it. Determinedly, she snapped the menu closed. “I’ll have pasta.”
“Excellent choice, EmilyDarling. How about trying the house special? You’ll love it.”
“I’m sure I will.” Well, she would. She liked lasagna better but pasta had just popped into her head. How wrong could you go with spaghetti?
