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An hour later, I pulled my Benz up to the valet stand at Mable Mansion and stopped. I exited and handed over the key fob, warning the valet, “You might want to keep it close. I’m breaking it off with a guy, and I suspect he won’t take it well, so I might be out faster than your usual customer.” I handed the guy a fifty-dollar bill. “Sorry to be a problem.”
He pocketed the bill with, “Not going to be a problem for me.” He winked at me. “I’ll keep the getaway car close.”
I chuckled and headed inside. At the reservation stand, I said, “I’m meeting Richard Long. I’m sure he’s already here.”
“Ah, yes. Ms. Carmichael. He mentioned he’d be meeting you when he made the reservation. If you’ll follow me, please.”
I silently laughed. The creep had used my name to get the reservation. It was who he knew, after all, and the who he knew was me.
Hanging crystal chandeliers provided subtle lighting to the room. Rainbow colors splashed on the walls from the pendeloques. Fresh flowers and globed candles adorned the white-clothed tables. Each table sported fine china, crystal stemware, and heavy silverware. Classical music played quietly in the background. Tables were filled with elegantly dressed couples, although there were a few tables with foursomes seated. The Marble Mansion enforced a strict adults-only policy, and while I enjoyed children as much as the next childless female, I found I preferred this calm environment.
Richard stood as I approached the table. He was tall, dark-haired, and cut a dashing figure in his custom-made Italian wool suit. More than one female in the room let her gaze roam over his body. He did have a luscious body, all muscles and toned sinew. It wasn’t his body that was the problem with Richard. It was his attitude...or maybe it was just me.
“Andrea, you look beautiful,” he said, and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“Thank you.” He held my chair as I slipped into it.
“Your waiter will be right with you,” the hostess said.
“Can we have a drink before we order?” I asked. “I want to enjoy the atmosphere.” Plus, a drink might give me the boost of courage I needed to get through the next few minutes.
“Certainly.” He snapped his fingers at a passing waiter, and I winced. I found that to be so…classless and crass. “Can you send our waiter over?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Richard,” I admonished, “that was rude.”
He sniffed in such a way as to let me know he was in the right and I was definitely in the wrong. “They work here, darling. Our waiter will want a good tip, so I expect good service.”
I gave up. I’d found over the years that money made people feel more important in this world than they really were. Richard was one of these people. Raised in a middle-class home, he’d gone to college and, financially, had done very well. At times, it seemed as though he had to let everyone know he had money. I’d grown up wealthy, and maybe I did take it for granted, but I sure didn’t flaunt it, did I? I hoped not.
A middle-aged man attired in black slacks paired with a long-sleeved, white shirt stepped up to their table. A crisp, white apron was tied at his waist and covered his pants down to his knees.
“Good evening. I’m Paul, your waiter for this evening.” He gestured to the man standing to his right. “This is Zack, your waiter-in-training.” Paul then handed each of us a tall, leather-covered menu. “May I start you off with some drinks?”
“I’ll have the Pappy Van Winkle, aged twenty-three years,” Richard said, not waiting for me to give my order first. “Neat, ice in a separate glass.”
I wondered if I was supposed to be impressed with his order, or if maybe he was trying to impress the waiter with that order. Another way to flash wealth, I supposed. I’d had Pappy Van Winkle bourbon of all vintage years, and yes, the twenty-three was rumored to be one of, if not the finest bourbons in world. I wondered if he had any idea of the cost of what he’d just ordered. That fine glass of bourbon would set him back close to three hundred dollars minimum. It crossed my mind that the bar could probably pour any top-shelf bourbon for Richard, and he’d never know the difference.
I bit my tongue. That wasn’t nice and I was disgusted with myself for my harsh thoughts. For all I knew, he might have developed an excellent bourbon palate in the three weeks since I’d seen him.
I glanced up at the waiter and his assistant ready to order my usual martini. I almost gasped when my gaze met the gaze of the waiter-in-training, and then I could barely contain my amusement. Zack Noles, attired in the restaurant’s black slacks and white shirt uniform, stood solemnly beside Paul, the waiter. Zack was the waiter-in-training? Was he undercover, or—and this thought sprang to her mind—moonlighting as a waiter for extra money? Had renovating the Skaggs house taken more money than he’d planned?
Since he didn’t have one of the foundation grants, I was going to make it my business to see that he got some financial help. I hated to think of him working two jobs.
“Madam? A drink?” Paul asked again.
“Oh, sorry. Dry, vodka martini made with Ciroc vodka.”
Paul nodded. “Very good.”
Paul and his assistant left.
Or was Zack here to keep an eye on me? Did he not trust me to break up with Richard? Pulling myself together, I glanced across to Richard. “How have you been? Gosh, it’s been a while since our schedules meshed.”
“Busy.”
“Well, that’s good then, right?” I took a sip of the iced water on the table.
