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“We’re not staying here a minute longer,” she hisses to my dad, who I can tell is already thinking about just how good the food might be.
After all, it is free, and they’ve come a long way.
I know his line of thinking, and my belly’s grumbling too at the mere mention of food.
But mom seems determined to pull one of her rare attitude explosions and turns her attention to me. She grips my wrist, yanking it hard as if I’m a child.
“And you young lady. I don’t want to hear another word about whatever it is you’ve been up to. When we get home, you’re going straight to your room!”
I’d normally feel upset if mom had one of these unusual turns of her temper, especially in public with strangers.
But for some reason, today? I don’t care one bit.
If anything, I kinda feel bad for her, only because she’s making herself look foolish.
“I think we’d all feel better after something to eat, don’t you, Janet?” my dad asks her, looking pained but trying to keep things civilized for my benefit.
As well as the free feed, I can tell he’s looking forward to the time when the sounds and smells of the restaurant grab our attention.
Daphne’s expected by the looks, and the maître d’ looks me up and down with mild approval, thanks to my new outfit.
My parents, on the other hand….
“We’re all together,” Daphne rasps. “Mr. Condor will be joining us directly,” she adds, slowly meeting my gaze, but I turn away.
Something about those eyes behind those glasses makes me edgy. Her hair’s dyed black too, but in the light, it’s obvious.
Her sultry voice has returned, and her movements look more like a sophisticated woman of class again.
But she doesn’t fool me.
I know orphans when I see ‘em.
Or at least, I thought I knew until I met Xander, that is, and now Daphne.
Well shit. How many orphans are there here? Is there a convention going on nearby?
“Right this way,” the maître d’ says, bowing slightly, and we all file forward, following Daphne, whose sauntering steps give her the air of someone who owns the place.
She’s not just some accountant either, I’m reckoning.
This whole business is getting fishier than a wharf-side lunch special by the minute.
It’s hard to be paranoid about everything, though. The atmosphere is over the top and very old money.
There’s more serving staff than members by the look of things, with most tables only seating one or two people who look like permanent fixtures in the place.
Large, embroidered high-backed chairs are pulled out and eased in behind us all as we sit down.
The table is gleaming with polished silverware and crockery that I’m almost too scared to touch. It looks so expensive.
The head of the table has a large leather chair, and it’s clear from the table’s position and layout that this is where Mr. Condor sits, keeping an eye on his club. Also, on his restaurant and most likely, on all his business affairs from that very seat when he’s in town.
There are no menus, and seeing what’s being brought out to other tables, I assume it’s a set menu. You get what you’re given.
But that isn’t to say the food looks bad. Quite the opposite.
There are lobster, shrimp, crab entrées, soups, and starters that look like a whole meal in themselves.
Whatever it costs to be a member here, they’re paying a fair chunk of that on the food and service, I can tell.
Once we’re settled in, with me sitting right across from Daphne, who’s made sure she’s right next to my mom, I can’t help but wonder how long Xander’s gonna be.
Suddenly, without him, I feel useless when dealing with my parents and especially useless against this new and mysterious stranger, Daphne De Laurent.
Her smoky glasses scan the room and then each of us again as if she’s waiting for the right moment to do or say something in particular.
My mom and dad have become wide-eyed and a lot quieter. Seeing how the other half live is a big deal for them, and once they see the food, I’m guessing my mom has decided to go along with my dad’s idea.
Stay for lunch at least, and we can fight about everything else on the way home.
I can read her like a book, but I’m not mad at her. I can understand how she feels after I never showed up.
I think for a moment about how I’d feel if my own child didn’t turn up.
Running my hand across my belly again, and the life that could be in there, I’m reminded of the fact that they’re not my real parents.
I almost ask Daphne about her own family for some reason but decide to stick to topics she might be willing to take on.
“Alligator skin luggage, huh?” I ask her out of nowhere, making her scrutinize me even more as I probe her.
